Page 83 of Wings of Reverie

Wecouldn’t believe. Ourluck. Periwinkle looked at Weaver, wondering if it was possible to choke on someone else’s words. “I see.”

“You don’t understand,” he rasped. “I had to help him. Because it wasmyfault. I had the fairy flu, so Selene hurried and cut too close to Snow Globe Mountain because of me. Because she wasmyfriend, and she wanted to help.” He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I got better, eventually. But she never came back.”

Periwinkle put a hand over her mouth.

“You can’t even imagine how miserable I’ve been,” Dougal said. “How I’ve imagined her suffering. And now, I’m helping them see. Once they do, I’ll cut the thread, and the nightmares will end.”

Dougal opened his oak-leaf jacket. There, inside a pocket, were the magic scissors she and Weaver had found in the Bobbin Wood. Periwinkle’s heart flew into her throat.

“Dougal.” She reached out a shaking hand. “Please. Let me have the scissors. Just—let it be over.”

“No. They have to understand,” he ground out.

“They will. They’ll understand now.” She moved toward him, voice pleading. “I can talk to anyone. I can talk toeveryone. I can—”

“Can you bring Selene back?” he said. “Can you undo what Weaver and I have gone through?”

“Of course not. No one can,” she said exhaustedly. “I know it must have been hard to watch people’s lives change, while yours stood still. But Lord Milori deeply regrets her death. It troubles theKeeper that they haven’t been able to find her. Youheardwhat he was saying in his nightmares, how sorry he is.” Weaver’s face took on that unsettled look again.

But Dougal’s wild eyes didn’t change. He seemed almost delirious, like his exhaustion and sadness had almost crushed him, and this obsession was the only thing keeping him tethered to the rest of the world. “Nice thoughts. Nice words,” he said. “They’re cheap.” He paused, turning toward the closed hall doors, like he was surveying what he’d done.

That was when Periwinkle moved.

She was no fast-flying fairy. But she was a frost-talent who’d been racing through practices for months.

When she sprang from the ground and lunged at Dougal’s jacket for the scissors, she was so quick he hardly knew what had happened until she flung open the hall doors. Dougal shouted something indistinct as she tore inside, but somehow he didn’t catch her.

The magic scissors caught the light of the starcatchers as Periwinkle burst into the Hall of Winter, bolting toward the first carving Dougal had wrapped—strangled—with the nightmare-thread. Inside the circle of nightmares and all through the hall, fairies lay still or squirming, quiet or crying out at the horror of their dreams.

Periwinkle opened the scissors and closed the blades around the first segment of nightmare-thread with asnap.

From archway to archway, she circled the hall’s perimeter.Snap.Snap. Snap.The scissors cut each length of nightmare-thread with ease, and Periwinkle was careful not to touch it as it came apart.

Her whole body pounded with her heartbeat when she turned back to the winter fairies on the floor, ready to help them as they woke.

But the fairies slept on. The nightmare shadows still slithered along the walls.

For a second, Periwinkle couldn’t breathe.

Dougal and Weaver hovered, frozen, in the doorway.

“I’d thought—” Dougal gaped, shaking his head. “The scissors—”

“They should’ve destroyed it,” Weaver said. “The scissors should’ve destroyed the nightmares.” He looked like he was going to be sick.

Periwinkle fluttered to the ground, bracing her hands on her knees, trying to breathe.

They’d talked about this, she suddenly remembered. That very first night they’d sat on Periwinkle’s floor, musing over dreams and nightmares. Watching her darkest dreams, she’d asked Weaver if the magic tools could destroy them.

We’ll be careful until we can test the theory, he’d said. Watching him now, Periwinkle shook her head.

“You should’ve known,” she said furiously. “You should’ve known it would take more than cutting the threads to destroy them. The scissors and the spindle are magic, but being able to spin or weave or cut the dreams isn’t the same as being able to make or unmake them.” Periwinkle breathed raggedly as she stared aroundthe hall, at the tapestries and banquet tables and the dance floor, at the nightmares slipping horribly through everything. “The nightmares are still in force. And these fairies? They arestill trapped.”

Weaver’s face was pale with horror. Dougal looked confused, like he’d truly believed he’d seen exactly how this night would go. His arrogance shook and shocked Periwinkle, right down to her bones.

But there was nothing surprising about Dougal’s cowardice when he turned toward the door and fled.

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