Delaney's Shadow by Ingrid Weaver Page A

together. Think of sunlight. Birds. You like birds, don’t you?”
    Fire billowed through the air, curling above the bed like a living canopy. The man was still screaming, only the sound was turning guttural, liquid, melding with the whoosh of the flames.
    “Think of roses, Deedee. I can smell them on your hair.” Max pulled out a memory to build the picture in his head. “Look, we’re in your grandma’s garden. Here’s a bud that’s almost open. Aren’t the petals soft?”
    Cold was spreading across the sheet as the glistening, wet darkness advanced. Overhead, the flames screamed in harmony with the man.
    Max lifted one hand to her shoulder, holding his fingers close enough for her to feel his warmth. “Deedee, you have to let go of this dream before it swallows you.”
    “I can’t.”
    “You can. What color is the rosebud?”
    “I don’t know!”
    “I think it’s yellow. Sure, it’s the color of soft butter.”
    “I don’t see it.”
    He concentrated harder. “There’s dew on the petals.”
    “It’s around my ankles. It’s wet and cold and—”
    “No, that’s only dew. Let go of the bad part and see the good.”
    “Max, I can’t . I forgot how.”
    He moved his hand down the shadow of her arm. Energy sparked along his palm. “Feel the moisture on your skin.”
    “Max!”
    “Use it. Make it do what you want.”
    Her breath hitched. “My skin’s burning. Don’t you smell it?”
    He did. He could feel his own skin puckering. He had nothing to shield himself. She’d brought him into this dream as naked as he’d been in his own bed. “Think of the dew. There’s rain, too. It’s going to put out the fire.”
    “But—”
    “You’re safe, Deedee. Nothing hurts here. Nothing bad happens.”
    “Nothing bad.”
    “It’s our own special place, remember?”
    She unlocked one of her arms from around her legs.
    “That’s it. Snuff the flames, Deedee.”
    She extended her hand past his shoulder. “I still feel them. They’re hot.”
    “That’s the sunrise.”
    “Is it morning?”
    “Sure. The night’s over. The sun’s coming up. It’s shining through the rain.”
    “On the roses?”
    “Right. Whatever you want.”
    Inch by inch, the wet blackness receded from the bed and drew back to the corner where the plant stood. The screams took longer to fade, but they did in time, taking the flames with them.
    In place of the nightmare, a rainbow-tinged mist spread through the air. From it came the lilting call of a robin, the whisper of raindrops on leaves, and finally, the image of a rosebush in a slanting beam of sunlight.
    Max sat back on his heels and rubbed his palms on his thighs. His skin was damp. He was breathing as hard as Deedee now, but it seemed as if the worst was over. Details continued to appear in the scene that was forming. Sunshine spread past the raindrops to warm his skin. The scent of earth wafted past his face. She was assuming control of the dream herself, as he’d known she could. Her mind had been almost as powerful as his when it had come to building their play world.
    She used to love playing hide-and-seek with him among her grandmother’s rosebushes. It had worried him, because she would often snag her clothes on the thorns and sometimes she’d get scratches, but she hadn’t cared because she never got punished. She’d giggle when he found her and raise her arms to him for a hug.
    She’d felt small and solid, or the next best thing to solid, since he hadn’t actually been able to touch her. The sense memory of holding her that first time by the pond had been enough to make her real in his mind. That, and the power of Deedee’s own imagination, had given substance to what had happened whenever their thoughts had been together, just as it had tonight. At times, she’d been as pesky as a real little sister, but he’d never been able to refuse her.
    Apparently, that hadn’t changed. He could be anywhere, and he’d sense her touch. He would know he was