haunting and horrifying are both understatements.
Someone knocks on the front door as the post-dream nausea starts to pass. Horace comes from the office he’s been setting up in the back of the first floor and does a
double-take when he sees me sitting on the floor.
“Again?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I drop the sketchbook and grab the edge of the counter to haul myself to my feet. And then fall right back on my ass when the wood cracks off in my hand. My fist automatically closes around the chunk, and I wince as splinters bite into my skin.
“Piece of shit house,” Horace mutters, his face flushing red. “Never gonna find a profit flippin’ a place in this condition.”
The person at the door knocks again.
Horace huffs. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’!”
I get up slowly, trying not to break anything else, and follow Horace toward the door. As I go, I pick the bits of wood out of my palm and watch the tiny slices in my skin seal themselves.
A thin man with light-brown hair and round cheeks is standing on the porch, shaking Horace’s hand. Before I come into view, I knock my sunglasses off the top of my head. They drop onto my nose, and I settle them better as I step up behind Horace.
“It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lawson,” the guy says. His smile is broad; he really does look thrilled to meet Horace.
“You an architect or a contractor?” Horace asks with a laugh.
I lean against the wall inside the door and watch as the guy flushes. “Well, uh, a—an architect. How did you know?”
“I’ve been retired too long for most people to know who I am, son. And my boy Greg’s been keepin’ a much lower profile than his ancestors were known to.”
“Oh.” There’s a pause, and the guy shifts uneasily, like he isn’t sure what to say. Horace never has that problem. He reaches out and pulls me closer, a huge grin on his face.
“This is Hudson, by the way,” Horace says. “What was your name again?”
The man glances at me, but his attention is almost entirely on Horace. “Frank Teagan.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, then I head back into the house. The guy’s obviously here for Horace.
I dig Horace’s laptop out of the chaos of half-unpacked boxes and plug in the wireless card he bought. I need to look for New Age stores. I find two within an hour’s drive that might have raw, unworked stones. Good. I need to restock.
My recent obsession with crystals and gemstones started with a dream. As freaky as my visions of the future can be, they’re also damn useful. The first one saved my life.
I dreamt I was walking through a parking lot at night when twenty wraiths appeared in the sky and attacked. Seconds before I was about to die, the entire scene froze and then played in reverse. Once I was back at the beginning, the scene repeated. This time, I held an amethyst geode the size of my fist. When the wraiths attacked, I threw my arms up and blasted them away with a beam of purple light.
When I woke up, I thought it was my fears and paranoia manifesting as a nightmare. Then, walking to the library the next day, I passed a street fair. The first stall on the row was full of crystals, and sitting on a shelf was an amethyst geode exactly like the one in my dream. I grabbed it, eyes locked on the clear blue sky for wraiths, and bought it. None came.
That night, a portal opened above my bed, and orange light filled the motel room. The amethyst was already glowing, creating a wall of soft light that pushed back at the dreamworld’s energy. I grabbed the amethyst, and as soon as my hand closed around the stone, the wall grew brighter. Stronger. Almost solid. One of Calease’s gifts let me use my own energy to reinforce the stone’s power, but it wasn’t until that night I realized I could do that. It was instinct.
Demons beat against my purple force field so hard the amethyst shattered, but the burst of energy released from the exploding crystal shoved them back into the portal and
Someone knocks on the front door as the post-dream nausea starts to pass. Horace comes from the office he’s been setting up in the back of the first floor and does a
double-take when he sees me sitting on the floor.
“Again?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I drop the sketchbook and grab the edge of the counter to haul myself to my feet. And then fall right back on my ass when the wood cracks off in my hand. My fist automatically closes around the chunk, and I wince as splinters bite into my skin.
“Piece of shit house,” Horace mutters, his face flushing red. “Never gonna find a profit flippin’ a place in this condition.”
The person at the door knocks again.
Horace huffs. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’!”
I get up slowly, trying not to break anything else, and follow Horace toward the door. As I go, I pick the bits of wood out of my palm and watch the tiny slices in my skin seal themselves.
A thin man with light-brown hair and round cheeks is standing on the porch, shaking Horace’s hand. Before I come into view, I knock my sunglasses off the top of my head. They drop onto my nose, and I settle them better as I step up behind Horace.
“It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lawson,” the guy says. His smile is broad; he really does look thrilled to meet Horace.
“You an architect or a contractor?” Horace asks with a laugh.
I lean against the wall inside the door and watch as the guy flushes. “Well, uh, a—an architect. How did you know?”
“I’ve been retired too long for most people to know who I am, son. And my boy Greg’s been keepin’ a much lower profile than his ancestors were known to.”
“Oh.” There’s a pause, and the guy shifts uneasily, like he isn’t sure what to say. Horace never has that problem. He reaches out and pulls me closer, a huge grin on his face.
“This is Hudson, by the way,” Horace says. “What was your name again?”
The man glances at me, but his attention is almost entirely on Horace. “Frank Teagan.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, then I head back into the house. The guy’s obviously here for Horace.
I dig Horace’s laptop out of the chaos of half-unpacked boxes and plug in the wireless card he bought. I need to look for New Age stores. I find two within an hour’s drive that might have raw, unworked stones. Good. I need to restock.
My recent obsession with crystals and gemstones started with a dream. As freaky as my visions of the future can be, they’re also damn useful. The first one saved my life.
I dreamt I was walking through a parking lot at night when twenty wraiths appeared in the sky and attacked. Seconds before I was about to die, the entire scene froze and then played in reverse. Once I was back at the beginning, the scene repeated. This time, I held an amethyst geode the size of my fist. When the wraiths attacked, I threw my arms up and blasted them away with a beam of purple light.
When I woke up, I thought it was my fears and paranoia manifesting as a nightmare. Then, walking to the library the next day, I passed a street fair. The first stall on the row was full of crystals, and sitting on a shelf was an amethyst geode exactly like the one in my dream. I grabbed it, eyes locked on the clear blue sky for wraiths, and bought it. None came.
That night, a portal opened above my bed, and orange light filled the motel room. The amethyst was already glowing, creating a wall of soft light that pushed back at the dreamworld’s energy. I grabbed the amethyst, and as soon as my hand closed around the stone, the wall grew brighter. Stronger. Almost solid. One of Calease’s gifts let me use my own energy to reinforce the stone’s power, but it wasn’t until that night I realized I could do that. It was instinct.
Demons beat against my purple force field so hard the amethyst shattered, but the burst of energy released from the exploding crystal shoved them back into the portal and
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