“I’m still trying to reach him,” Kirin says.
“What about me?” Carly asks, her voice trembling.
Doc hesitates for only a moment, glancing my way as if I have the answer.
I put my arm around her and nod, the circle of trust getting a little larger by the hour.
“You’re coming with us,” he says.
* * *
The four of us race into my suite, nearly tumbling through the door in our rush to get to Ani. The place is dark and silent.
“Ani?” I call out.
“Let’s go, Ani,” Doc calls, flipping on the lights. “We need to get to Red Sands Canyon. We’ll explain on the way.”
Ani’s not in the living area or the kitchen, but he’s definitely here. I can sense his presence, though his energy is weak.
Worry spikes in my gut.
“He must’ve fallen asleep,” I say, heading to the bedroom.
It’s dark and silent too, and for a minute I think he decided to go home after all. But then I spot a dark shape slumped over on the chair in the corner.
I should be relieved, but something about it doesn’t feel right.
“Ani?” I call softly, flipping on the light. “What are you—”
A scream cuts me off, and it takes me a beat to realize the sound of terror is coming from my own mouth.
Ani, my sweet, big-hearted, laugh-a-minute ginger, is unconscious in the chair, blood leaking from his nose and mouth, his breathing shallow. His eyes are half-closed, his legs twitching.
“Goddess, what happened?” Doc rushes past me and knees before Ani, checking his pulse. “He’s alive, but barely. Ani? Don’t do this to me. Not you. Come on, Ani. Come back.”
“He’s holding something,” Kirin says, reaching for Ani’s hand. “What the hell is this?”
He removes a small bottle from Ani’s hand and holds it up to the light. Silvery-white film coats the inside, but it’s otherwise empty.
Dread fills my insides, weighing me down like wet cement. The knot in my throat is so massive, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to breathe again.
I take the bottle from Kirin, stare at it as if it’s a bomb about to go off.
In so many ways, it is.
“Stevie?” Kirin asks. “What is it?”
“He’s… he’s in the dream realm,” I whisper, squeezing the vial so hard it bursts in my hand. “Ani is trapped in the dream realm.”
Thirty-Nine
ANSEL
Yes, I know all the signs. Of course I do.
My mother was an addict. After my not-father finally bailed, the rest of her life exploded spectacularly, and she used booze and sex and nicotine to patch up all the holes. It was never enough, though. Even when she burned through most of our money and all of our dignity, there was always one more bottle to buy, one more hookup to find, one more night of debauchery to endure like a downpayment on some future happiness that never, ever materialized.
According to her, she was blameless in her misery. It was all because of me, naturally. The cursed, red-headed, magickal freak.
