took a deep breath. “Okay. You wake up now. Find Jordan.”
They both had the same worry.
“Harlen, you too,” said Eleanor.
Viv reached out and touched Rook’s bloodied hand. “Thank you.” She’d loaded the words with feeling, and it flowed into the waters, warm and sweet. “I won’t let them touch her.”
“I know you won’t.” He caught Harlen’s gaze. “Let’s go, eh?”
Rook didn’t even have to push to rise toward wakefulness. His soul already craved to wake, and he lifted in a painful rush of release. The waters moved as if troubled and rough, like a storm was brewing in the waking world. And yet, the blackness of the waking world was oppressive. He couldn’t move.
But it wasn’t the dreamwaters holding him back. He was in a dark room, his body restrained on a gurney.
“Jordan?” he called, fighting the bonds. What was this? Where was he? “Jordan!”
CHAPTER FOUR
A fear-fueled shriek from somewhere inside the facility made Steve open his eyes. A second one, high and desperate, joined the first. The cries were soon underpinned by a masculine voice bellowing orders, the words made indistinct by the walls separating Steve from the action.
The Sandman? Already?
Rapid footsteps passed beyond Coll’s door. “But my ex is dead!” a woman sobbed. “How can he still be alive? How can he be here ?”
“It wasn’t your ex,” another woman responded breathlessly. “It’s one of them .”
Coll took a deep breath. Not the Sandman. A nightmare. That ex must’ve been quite the charmer for a nightmare to take his form.
“Third time this week,” a man’s voice said. “Best to throw it a bone. That nurse maybe.”
Throw it a bone? Coll was disgusted. As a Chimera marshal, it was his duty to protect people from dangers originating Darkside. He couldn’t just lie there.
The room spun when he sat up, and he put a hand to his head to steady himself, fingers gripping his skull. A strange sense of give made him pull it away to find tufts of his hair falling through his fingers. He swallowed against the nausea that racked him.
He’d been out in the Scrape for extended periods over the years, even periods about as long as the couple of weeks he’d spent following the Sandman. He might have awakened disoriented in the past, wincing at the light and slow to gather his thoughts, but he’d never been…falling apart.
Another scream warped through the walls. The room had steadied, but a cold sweat dampened his skin. A glint caught his eye, and he turned toward it. The shiny metal IV stand made for a slender mirror, and in it, he spotted the reflection of a nightmare looking back at him, one gray eye in a sliver of a hollow-cheeked, colorless face.
He looked like hell. Or he looked like he was from Hell.
The catheter had to go first. Finding the thin tube, he gritted his teeth and pulled it out with a harsh curse at the burn that followed. The IV was nothing after that.
His legs dragged the sheets to the floor as he shifted around. The room spun again, but he breathed through it. When he tried to stand, the nerves in his feet lit like sparklers and the cramps in his calves made the whole attempt momentarily dangerous.
He hobbled to the door, and instead of putting his ear against it to hear if anyone was outside, he rested his forehead upon it, grateful for something to hold him up.
What would Maisie think of him now? He was unable to help anyone, not even himself.
He involuntarily coughed a short, hoarse laugh. She’d smack his butt through the open hospital gown and say, Quit wasting time .
“Okay,” he murmured.
Bracing his weight on the wall and the door handle, he managed to pull it open slightly and peeked into the hallway through the narrow space. No one was visible; they’d all fled.
He opened the door a little bit more to find a nurses’ station nearby, empty and abandoned. The screams had subsided, so maybe the nightmare was gone, too.
Might as well find
They both had the same worry.
“Harlen, you too,” said Eleanor.
Viv reached out and touched Rook’s bloodied hand. “Thank you.” She’d loaded the words with feeling, and it flowed into the waters, warm and sweet. “I won’t let them touch her.”
“I know you won’t.” He caught Harlen’s gaze. “Let’s go, eh?”
Rook didn’t even have to push to rise toward wakefulness. His soul already craved to wake, and he lifted in a painful rush of release. The waters moved as if troubled and rough, like a storm was brewing in the waking world. And yet, the blackness of the waking world was oppressive. He couldn’t move.
But it wasn’t the dreamwaters holding him back. He was in a dark room, his body restrained on a gurney.
“Jordan?” he called, fighting the bonds. What was this? Where was he? “Jordan!”
CHAPTER FOUR
A fear-fueled shriek from somewhere inside the facility made Steve open his eyes. A second one, high and desperate, joined the first. The cries were soon underpinned by a masculine voice bellowing orders, the words made indistinct by the walls separating Steve from the action.
The Sandman? Already?
Rapid footsteps passed beyond Coll’s door. “But my ex is dead!” a woman sobbed. “How can he still be alive? How can he be here ?”
“It wasn’t your ex,” another woman responded breathlessly. “It’s one of them .”
Coll took a deep breath. Not the Sandman. A nightmare. That ex must’ve been quite the charmer for a nightmare to take his form.
“Third time this week,” a man’s voice said. “Best to throw it a bone. That nurse maybe.”
Throw it a bone? Coll was disgusted. As a Chimera marshal, it was his duty to protect people from dangers originating Darkside. He couldn’t just lie there.
The room spun when he sat up, and he put a hand to his head to steady himself, fingers gripping his skull. A strange sense of give made him pull it away to find tufts of his hair falling through his fingers. He swallowed against the nausea that racked him.
He’d been out in the Scrape for extended periods over the years, even periods about as long as the couple of weeks he’d spent following the Sandman. He might have awakened disoriented in the past, wincing at the light and slow to gather his thoughts, but he’d never been…falling apart.
Another scream warped through the walls. The room had steadied, but a cold sweat dampened his skin. A glint caught his eye, and he turned toward it. The shiny metal IV stand made for a slender mirror, and in it, he spotted the reflection of a nightmare looking back at him, one gray eye in a sliver of a hollow-cheeked, colorless face.
He looked like hell. Or he looked like he was from Hell.
The catheter had to go first. Finding the thin tube, he gritted his teeth and pulled it out with a harsh curse at the burn that followed. The IV was nothing after that.
His legs dragged the sheets to the floor as he shifted around. The room spun again, but he breathed through it. When he tried to stand, the nerves in his feet lit like sparklers and the cramps in his calves made the whole attempt momentarily dangerous.
He hobbled to the door, and instead of putting his ear against it to hear if anyone was outside, he rested his forehead upon it, grateful for something to hold him up.
What would Maisie think of him now? He was unable to help anyone, not even himself.
He involuntarily coughed a short, hoarse laugh. She’d smack his butt through the open hospital gown and say, Quit wasting time .
“Okay,” he murmured.
Bracing his weight on the wall and the door handle, he managed to pull it open slightly and peeked into the hallway through the narrow space. No one was visible; they’d all fled.
He opened the door a little bit more to find a nurses’ station nearby, empty and abandoned. The screams had subsided, so maybe the nightmare was gone, too.
Might as well find
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