I wait until I can hear no sound, until after the door at the bottom of the stairs is closed and silence settles thickly in the air around me.
Then, I try the door again. It opens just a sliver, then gets caught on the chain. It’s too tight a space to shove anything through and manually move the links, but I can see it—haunting me.
It’s cruel and vicious to do this, to abandon me like this. Even as I can see the intention in the action, I resent my family for it.
Returning to my bed, I let my eyes close, and I return to praying. Crying and praying are all I do for the remainder of the day.
I’m dreaming. I know it, even as I’m in the dream, which is odd as I haven't had a genuine dream in forever.
But I know that is what this is because Julian is here.
The sun is out, and it’s warming our skin as we lie in my bed, his naked body wrapped around mine as he watches me with a gentle type of affection in his dark eyes.
He’s brushing my curls from my forehead the way he always does; his legs are rubbing against mine.
Every time I try to speak, to tell him how much I miss him or how deeply my love runs, he makes a soft shushing noise and kisses the corner of my mouth.
In my dream, Julian is not covered in gauze. He is not bruised and beaten.
The longer we lie here in this peaceful falseness, the hotter I get. Not flare-up hot—I am not dying with need—but literal heat. I’m sweating, borderline coughing, with how thick the air is.
I try to ask him what’s happening, if the sun has fallen from the sky and landed on the hardwood of the west tower, but Julian does not let me speak.
He shushes me and kisses the corner of my mouth. Rubs his legs over mine.
But eventually the heat becomes too much, too suffocating, and the dream begins to fade away.
I try with everything in me to hold onto the illusion, to keep any version of Julian I can within reach, but soon I am surrounded by the darkness of my quarters.
I gasp for breath, startled to realize that I am still experiencing that stifling heat.
As my eyes adjust to the dim moonlight spilling in from the skylight, I see a figure.
Panic courses through me. Has the incubus decided to start coming while I’m fully awake and not in some kind of sleep paralysis like before? Am I meant to be terrified for the rest of my life?
But the panic begins to fade slightly as familiar brown hair and hazel eyes come into focus, revealing Atticus to me as he stands next to my bed.
Or, it does until I notice theBlack Bookin his hands.
Atticus stands still as a statue, his back rigid and his face completely expressionless as he stares straight ahead.
I look over my shoulder, but nothing is there.
He’s wearing his sleep clothes, but his hair is perfectly placed, which means he’s yet to sleep tonight. By the placement of the moon outside, I’d say it’s at least midnight.
“Atticus?” I whisper, sitting up on my side. “What are you doing?”
My eyes flicker to the door behind him, left wide open.
My brother is unresponsive, so clearly out of it that I could probably sprint past him without worrying about his strength holding me back. I could escape.
But there is only one thing I know to associate this kind of heat with—onlyonething has ever appeared when the room has become this hot.
I can’t just leave Atticus here if the incubus is to show up soon.
“Atticus,” I try again, louder this time. “Can you hear me?”
He does not flinch, does not do any more than breathe lightly through his nose. He doesn’t even blink.
