Page 105 of Realm of Dreams & Shadows

No answer, and my heart lurches. I head to the bathroom, but the door is wide open, and no one is inside. Then I hurry to the front door and look out the peephole.

He’s there.

Not on the landing, but on the street, moving with that familiar masculine grace away from the apartment. And me.

What the hell?

I sprint back toward the bed and grab up my sweats and tee from where they’d landed ignominiously on the floor. I tug them on, then slide my bare feet into my Birks. Then I’m out the door, terrified that I’m about to learn something I really, truly don’t want to know.

The fog is heavy tonight, turning all the streetlamps into angels with glowing, ethereal halos.

I like the imagery. And since Chase—a supernatural Hunter, doesn’t turn around and catch me tailing him—I’m thinking maybe the lamps really are magical. And maybe they’re on my side tonight.

More likely, he hasn’t noticed me because he’s too caught up in whatever is going on in his head, because something is clearly bugging him. Even from a block away, I can see the tightness in his shoulders, the way his hands are shoved into his pockets, and the firm, determined cadence of his walk.

He’s a man with something on his mind, and I desperately hope it’s not regret for sleeping with me.

The thought hits me hard, and I wince. Surely not. Surely this isn’t about me. More likely, he caught a whiff of a mare, and I’m about to find myself in the middle of a gnarly battle instead of safe in his bed.

A mare. I shiver, knowing I should turn back.

Should…but I don’t. He’s half a block ahead and walking like he knows exactly where he’s going. And though I know that Adric was probably only baiting me, I need to hear it from Chase.

I need the truth about the Brides.

He turns east down an unfamiliar street lined with houses featuring shutters closed like eyes. They’re spaced far apart, with long driveways leading back to stately, half-hidden homes.

I expect him to go into one of the houses. Instead, he continues until we reach an iron fence surrounding a park I’ve never been to, its benches and trees shrouded in fog.

We follow the fence line until we reach the arched entrance. I can’t see the plaque at first, but once Chase is safely in the park ahead of me, I move closer to see the letters that gleam in the moonlight:

BRIDEWELL MEMORIAL PARK

Founded by Sir C.H. Nase

The year of our Lord 1671

Then the mist steals the shine, and the words are gone.

Bridewell Park?

In all the years I’d visited Finn as a little kid, he never brought me here. And I don’t recall a mention of this park when I was flipping through the tourist book I bought before moving here.

But here it is, and when Chase slips through the gate without looking back, I follow quietly behind.

I’m not sure what I expected, but I feel a stab of something almost like disappointment when I see that it’s just a park. Not the kind with a playground, but a lovely place with ancient live oaks that seem to hold up the dark, their branches draped in Spanish moss that catches both the mist and the moonlight. The path curves among trees, and I’m tempted to use the light on my phone just so that I don’t stumble.

I soon realize that this place is huge. I’d thought at first that it housed hundreds of trees. Now, I’m thinking thousands. It seems to go on forever, and I know I should turn around and go back if I want to get any sleep at all. I can confess my spying and ask Chase about this strange park in the morning.

That’s when he steps off the path and kneels in front of one of the trees. I stay put, but look around, only then noticing that each tree has a flat stone at the base of its trunk as well as the nub of a well-burned candle.

I watch as he strikes a match, then moves the flame to what remains of the candle. I don’t know what he’s doing, but I do know that it’s private, and shame curdles in my belly. I take a step backward, intending to slip silently away, so that he never has to know that I barged in on such an intimate moment.

But as I move, he shifts, too, and for just an instant, the flame of his candle illuminates the trunk—Cassandra L. And right beneath that is the date my mother died.

I realize only when he whips around to face me that I’ve gasped.

He stands, and so help me, I have to force myself not to bolt as Adric’s voice fills my head. The Brides. Ask him about the ones who came before you. Ask how he extinguished their flames.