The Nightmare Dilemma (Arkwell Academy) (18 page)

He picked up an object from the table that looked like a stick or maybe an overly thick wand. “The Beltane Festival.”

“Oh, yeah. That.”

“I’ve been thinking about volunteering for it.” Eli held the object up higher. “I really hope this isn’t a regular feature at senate meetings.”

I took a longer look at it and noticed a little piece of string sticking out from the end of the stick. “Is that dynamite?”

“Yep.” Eli leaned toward the table and set it down much more carefully than he’d picked it up. I understood his caution. Dreams were a lot more real than most people realized. Especially Eli’s dreams.

“Yeah, I think that would be out of place even among magickind.”

Eli grinned. “Not unless Culpepper suddenly gets elected to the senate.”

“Let’s hope not,” I said, picturing Culpepper’s secret storeroom of illegal items. It included not only candy bars and black magic objects but also entire crates full of dynamite and other dangerous explosives. Yeah, not exactly the type of guy I wanted in charge of things.

Eli started to say something more but stopped. I turned to see what had stolen his attention. More of the table had come into focus by now, and with a sickening drop in the pit of my stomach I realized that we were no longer alone in the vast chamber. People now sat in the chairs—twelve of them in all.

And they were all dead.

I gasped and took an involuntary step backward, repulsed by the sight of their slackened faces and dulled, unseeing eyes. Even worse was when I realized they were people I knew, schoolmates and friends. There was Britney, her head craned back over her chair, her long strawberry blond hair spilling downward behind it. Beside her sat Oliver Cork with Melanie Remillard next to him.

The girl in the chair nearest me was Katarina; her torso was slouched forward, braced against the table. Selene was next to her, her position upright and the most normal of those I’d seen so far, but still undeniably dead.

Terror twisted in my gut at the sight of my best friend. I ran forward and touched her arm, trying to remind myself this was only a dream and failing. Her skin felt frozen beneath my fingers. I let go of her at once, tears stinging my eyes. I looked away, only to be faced with more horror. There was Lady Elaine and Sheriff Brackenberry. There was Eli. And there was …

Me.

I closed my eyes as vertigo came over me again. Vomit burned the back of my throat, and I swallowed it down.

Crack.

I opened my eyes again to see the scene had altered. The bodies were still there, congregated around the table like revelers at a macabre feast, but now dozens of crows had joined them. They were everywhere, perched on the backs of chairs, on the table, even on top of the people themselves.

They were pecking at the dead bodies. I watched one rip away a piece of ashen skin from Bethany’s face. I covered my mouth, too frightened and revolted to scream.

“What is this?” Eli said, moving down the table.

I was amazed he could speak at all given how pale he was and green around the edges. I shook my head, unable to respond. I wanted to look away but couldn’t. My eyes continued to roam, transfixed by the gruesome horror as I watched the crows feasting.

When my gaze reached the head of the table, I realized the man sitting there was Eli’s father.

Eli had realized it, too.

“Dad,” he said, choking on the word. He rushed over to him, trying to shoo away the crows. But the birds only cawed and clacked their beaks at him. I moved to help, engaging my Nightmare magic. If the birds wouldn’t respond to Eli, I would imagine them away.

Only, I froze mid-step as my eyes registered the face of the woman in the chair to the right of Eli’s dad.

My mom.

The crows had eaten the eyes from her skull, leaving behind red, raw pits. As I watched one of them dipping in for another taste, rage exploded out from me. Screaming, I lunged for the birds, all reason forgotten.

As I reached my mother’s body, a cloud of dense fog swooped down, and the world vanished. I once more found myself shrouded by smoke and mist.

“What the hell?” Eli said from some far distance.

Then just as quickly as it had vanished, the world snapped back into place.

We had returned to the tower once more.

“What are you doing, Dusty?” Eli screamed at me from a few feet away. “We have to go back. That dream was important.”

I could only stare at him, my thoughts already giving in to that powerful, obsessive need to reach the plinth and read the word. The first two letters of it seemed to sing to me, beckoning me with a power stronger than any siren. I staggered toward them, struggling against the wind.

“Take us back, Dusty,” Eli said, charging over to me.

I dropped to my knees in front of the plinth and started scratching at the space beyond the
E
.

Eli stooped and shouted into my ear, “Take us back!”

I flinched away from him, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Nothing else mattered but that hidden word. Already I could see the shape of the next letter. A vertical straight line with another running horizontally out from its base. It could be an
L
or a
Z
or another
E
.

“If I help you do this will you take us back?” Eli said, his voice loud in my ear, but oddly distant, like the buzz of some far-off machinery. He knelt right next to me, but he might as well have been a thousand miles away. He didn’t matter.

But then he touched the plinth. I screamed, outraged by the violation. My need to defend it rose up so strong I reached out and smacked his hands away with no thought of the consequences.

The dream world disintegrated around us as agony shot through me. A second later my consciousness slammed back into my body. With a garbled cry, I slid off Eli onto the floor. I lay there, unable to move until the pain receded.

Eli rolled over on the sofa, and his face appeared above me. “I can’t believe you touched me on purpose.”

“You and me both,” I said through gritted teeth. I hadn’t done anything that stupid in a dream since my very first time. At least the madness I was under hadn’t followed me into the waking world. But what was wrong with me?

“Are you okay?” From the sound of Eli’s voice, I knew he was wondering the same thing.

I sat up, and he rolled back, making sure our heads didn’t collide. “I’m fine.”

Eli swung his legs over the edge of the sofa, moving into an upright position. He didn’t offer to help me get up, just sat there, staring at me with an expression that made me want to check my face in a mirror to make sure nothing red or hairy had sprouted there.

Vivid memories of our last dream-session came back to me, and I understood why he avoided touching me. He didn’t want the same thing to happen again. Something hot and unpleasant burned behind my eyes for a second.

I pushed myself to my feet, wiping the hair out of my face. “I’m sorry I fumbled it. We’ll try again next time.”

I turned to leave, but Eli jumped up and grabbed my hand, stopping me. It never ceased to amaze me how fast he could move, his reflexes catlike. I faced him, trying to ignore the way my pulse in my wrist danced beneath his touch. His fingers felt like heat-wrapped steel. I didn’t pull away, wondering how long he would keep holding me.

He let go the second my eyes found his.

He didn’t look away but said in a soft voice, “We need to talk about what happened.”

I shook my head.

“What’s going on with you and that stone table thing and those letters? What does
B E
stand for?”

I folded my arms across my chest and glared at him. “I don’t know. It’s just something I’ve been dreaming about lately.”

“But why did you manipulate the dream? We needed to stay and observe that scene in Senate Hall a helluva lot longer than we did.”

“I didn’t manipulate it. Not on purpose. It just happened.” I took a deep breath, forcing my irrational temper back inside its cage. It was just that stupid plinth affecting me again.

Eli scratched his cheek, thinking it over. “Do you suppose someone’s interfering with us?”

“I guess it’s possible.…” I exhaled, wishing I were better equipped at lying. But I couldn’t. Not about this. Not to him. “But Mr. Deverell thinks I’ve got some kind of block in my brain connected to that dream.”

Eli frowned, his eyebrows drawing closer together. “A block?”

I nodded and then explained it to him.

When I finished, Eli said, “Why didn’t you take him up on the offer to help?”

I bit my lip, searching for any answer other than the truthful one—that I was afraid of anybody else seeing that word, being in that place. “I haven’t had a chance yet. But I will. I promise.”

He stared at me for several long minutes as if unsure whether or not to believe me. I wasn’t sure I believed me—only not getting help was stupid, and I knew it. I just had to get past this inexplicable impulse to protect the plinth and its hidden word.

“Okay,” Eli said. “So what do you make of what we did see in the dream?”

“That something bad is coming.” The image of all those dead people and the crows swam before my mind’s eye. I tried to draw comfort in the knowledge that dreams were nearly always symbolic. The only time Eli’s dreams depicted reality was right before the event in question was about to take place.

Eli nodded. “I wonder what the crows represent. They could be a person, like how the black phoenix represented Marrow.”

“Maybe.”

We spent a couple of minutes speculating, but there was so little to go on at this juncture. At least talking about it made it less scary, that is, until I left, taking the tunnels so I could get to Vatticut Hall unobserved and retrieve
The
Atlantean Chronicle.

As I walked along, I tried to push the thoughts and fears from my mind, focusing instead on my surroundings. The danger of being down here alone late at night and with Britney’s unknown attacker still on the loose was more pressing than dreams and blocks and dead friends.

Dead mothers
.

No, don’t think about that. Don’t you dare
.

For a moment, my homesickness for my mom was so strong, I nearly burst into tears. We’d never been close, our relationship strained for years by the impact of my parents’ divorce, but things had changed between us after we took down Marrow. I needed to see her, to hear her voice and assure myself that she was all right. Tomorrow I would give her a call. A simple e-mail wouldn’t do.

By the time I arrived at Vatticut Hall ten minutes later, I’d gotten my emotions under control. To my relief,
The
Atlantean Chronicle
was just where I left it. I tucked the book beneath my arm and then hurried back to Riker Hall.

As my dorm room door came into sight, I grinned in relief at my success.

But when I reached the door, a hand closed around my arm, and for the second time that day, Paul Kirkwood spoke my name from out of the darkness.

16

Trust Issues

I didn’t panic. I didn’t scream or respond with an attack. Instead my whole body went numb. My heart gave one horrendous thump against my chest and then seemed to cease beating altogether.

“Dusty,” Paul said again.

I turned slowly toward him, and he released my arm. My eyes met his, and we stared at each other for several long seconds. I could see his pulse beating in his throat. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he held his teeth clenched tight together.

“I need that back,” Paul said, finally breaking the silence. His voice did strange things to me, oddly welcoming and repulsive at the same time.

I clutched the book tighter to my chest. “No.”

“Please.”

I frowned, stunned by his sincere tone. It wasn’t what I’d expected. This wasn’t the Paul I’d faced that day with Marrow, the boy desperate for power and as ruthless and cunning as Marrow himself. Still, I didn’t trust him. If it came to magic, I would have the edge, but he was easily big enough and strong enough to take the book by physical force. He could’ve done it already when I had my back turned.

“Why?” I said. “What’s so important about it? I know you don’t need it for class.”

He took a step toward me, and I fought off the urge to retreat. I’d forgotten how tall he was. Not quite as tall as Eli, but enough that I had to lean my head back. I could almost taste the memories as his familiar scent filled my nose.

Paul fixed his unwavering gaze on my face. “I want to tell you, but I don’t know yet if it’s the right thing to do.”

I glowered back at him. “What do you know about right?”

“I know you’ve been asked to spy on me.”

My mouth fell open. “How did you—” I cleared my throat. “That’s absurd.”

Paul grinned. “I don’t think so. If I were in their position, I would do the exact same thing. You’re more than capable.” The smile vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving his eyes cold, distant. The difference it made in his face was so startling for a second I wondered if he’d developed some kind of split personality.

“But I know it’s true, Dusty,” he went on, that sincerity back in his voice. “You don’t have to lie to me. I understand why you’re doing it.”

I glanced away, shaken up by his unexpected directness. I stared at the floor for a moment, regaining my composure, and then faced him once more. “Okay, if we’re going for the honest approach, why don’t you tell me what you’re really up to? How did you get them to let you off, who are you working for now, and what’s your endgame?”

Paul didn’t react to the accusation behind each question as I spouted them off, except for the tiniest flinch of his eyes. I couldn’t tell if he was hurt by my questions or offended. Maybe both. For a second I pictured Lady Elaine’s and Sheriff Brackenberry’s reactions when they found out how badly I’d blown project Paul Recon. Not good.

He took a long time to respond, as if weighing his answer carefully. He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “I
want
to tell you, Dusty. I really do. But I can’t.”

I tightened my grip on the book. “Same old Paul. Full of secrets and schemes.”