The Nightmare Charade (16 page)

Eli reached across the table and took my hand. “Just make sure you don't go anywhere alone with him again. Ever. Okay?”

I pressed my lips together, fighting back a smile at his protectiveness. “I'll try not to.”

“I mean it, Dusty.” He locked his eyes on my face, his gaze intense. “He can't be trusted, and … and I'm worried about you.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “Don't be. It's like you said. Dreams are symbolic. It was my dead body but it wasn't me.”
Just don't let it be my mother either,
I silently added.

Eli shook his head. “It's not that. Well, not only that.”

“Then what?” My pulse quickened as I realized the depth of his concern went far beyond mere protectiveness.

“I'm terrified that you're going to get hurt. And Paul coming back into the picture just makes it worse.”

Blood rushed in my ears. One dream containing my dead body couldn't be enough to make him this spooked. “Why are you so worried about me?”

He sighed. “It's stupid. But I keep having a lot of bad dreams about you. Really bad.”

The bad dream I'd had about him rose in vivid details inside my mind, all those bones crushing down on me. I stifled a shiver.

“I've always had them since Lady Elaine first told me about the curse, but they faded some over the summer. Now they're back full force. Sometimes I dream about us arguing, you telling me that you don't want to be with me anymore.” He laughed, the sound hollow, like the tinny ping of a cheap bell. “Sometimes you even tell me that you'd rather be with Paul. But often, I just dream about you getting hurt.” A shudder went through his body.

I didn't press him for details. I knew well enough how vivid and relentless dreams could be and with a thousand ways to die in them.

“And the worst thing is,” Eli went on, “I'm the one who keeps doing it. I hurt you over and over again.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. It was hard to dismiss his worry when I'd had the same sorts of dreams. There was no such thing as coincidence in the magical world. “Do you think it's the curse?”

“I don't know, but it's definitely something.”

My heart did a hard stutter in my chest. Around my wrist, Bellanax felt cold, lifeless. All at once the certainty I'd been harboring that the dream-seer curse was a made-up thing, as powerless to hurt us as the boogeyman in children's stories, came crashing down. There was no denying what happened to Marrow and Nimue, after all. They'd been dream-seers just like Eli and me. By all accounts they had once loved each other, but the feeling had turned to hate. Nimue imprisoned Marrow in a dream, meaning to keep him there for all eternity. And when he awoke, he killed her.

With the very sword glamoured around my wrist.

This truth made me flinch. It was a terrible, wondrous thing to realize that Bellanax had killed people.

No
, I thought.
The sword is just a sword. Marrow did the killing
.

Eli squeezed my fingers again. “It's probably nothing. Don't worry about it. Goodness knows we've got enough on our plate right now.”

I opened my mouth, ready to tell him about my own dream, but Selene and Lance arrived at the table, trays in hand.

We never have enough time,
I thought, my spirits sinking.
Bad luck indeed.

“Hey,” Lance said, sliding into his chair. “And yes.” He picked up a unicorn skewer and pulled off the first piece, egg with onion, tomato, and spinach all wrapped in bacon.

I narrowed my gaze at him, immediately suspicious. “Yes what?”

He grinned up at me, forcibly chewing. He gulped the food down and said, “You can borrow my laptop.”

“Your laptop?” Eli said, looking puzzled.

“Yeah, she needs it for her ex to hack into the police department's computers.”

“Shhh.” Selene slapped his arm. “Keep your voice down.”

Lance winced. “Opps. Sorry.”

I turned to Eli and explained the rest of the plan.

He nodded his agreement, his earlier worry hidden behind an aloof mask—one he wore for my benefit.

We made plans to meet up in room 013 after dinner, then we headed off to class.

Out of respect for Eli, I waited until after homeroom to write the note to Paul—out of sight, out of mind. But it proved challenging to focus on during English and history. We were still studying
Beowulf,
a story I was familiar with thanks to various movies and TV shows. Only, like so many other ordinary myths,
Beowulf
was a true story. And the magickind version was a little more interesting.

“When Beowulf's slave stole the golden cup from the dragon,” Mr. Corvus was saying, “the poor fool did not know there was a curse upon the gold. It was this curse that was responsible for all the destruction that came later. The dragon was bound by the laws of the curse to destroy the lives and property of whoever had committed the theft for seven generations on.”

I set down my pencil, my note to Paul only half composed. The idea of the curse had caught my attention. Curses came in two types: minor and major. Minor ones were those you could cast with an incantation, like the asunder curse. But major ones were a different beast all together.
A beast like the dream-seer curse
.

I raised my hand.

“Yes, Dusty.” Mr. Corvus motioned toward me.

“If the curse was supposed to be for seven generations, does that mean Beowulf broke the curse by slaying the dragon?”

“Yes,” Corvus said, scratching his neatly trimmed goatee. “But only because the dragon had cast the curse to begin with.” Corvus paused and swept his one-eyed gaze over the room, making sure he had everyone's attention. “Beowulf was very lucky in this. The dragon was extremely old. If it had died a natural death, the curse would have continued, only instead of the dragon causing the destruction it would've been the elements—storms, earthquakes, famine. That is the nature of major curses. Often, they grow more powerful over time.”

I leaned back in my chair, heavy with disappointment, and yet—“Is there no way to break a curse once the creator has died?”

Corvus stared at me a long time before answering. I resisted the urge to squirm beneath the scrutiny. “There are other ways, but none with any guarantee of working.”

With that, he turned away from me, the subject at an end.

*   *   *

When I arrived at biology, I spotted Paul right away. His creepy bearded-man disguise was slightly less disturbing in broad daylight, but still weird. Especially when he looked at me with such open familiarity. Ignoring my disquiet, I walked past him, slyly holding out my hand with the note tucked between my fingers. Paul plucked the note from me with an ease that suggested we'd been doing this sort of thing for a long time. I was glad Eli wasn't around to see it.

The rest of the day sped by quickly, mostly thanks to all the homework I was trying to squeeze in between classes. I needed to make some headway, especially with the start of my private lessons with Deverell this afternoon.

Fortunately, when I arrived at Deverell's room after classes, he told me we would keep it short that first day.

“I know you must be tired,” he said. “And there's little point in doing a whole lot if your mind isn't rested.”

I could've hugged him, but I refrained.

“I figure we will work on some mind-strengthening exercises, but before we do that, would you mind taking a look at this?” Deverell handed me a piece of paper that at first glance I took to be another nondisclosure agreement.

“Student conduct agreement?” I said, reading the title written across the top.

“Yes,” Deverell said. “The nondisclosure agreement I had to sign in order to help you with the sword gave me the idea.”

I scanned the fine print, which seemed to detail at length all types of bullying. “Does it work the same as the nondisclosure?”

“Indeed, although the range of the spell will be limited to this classroom.” He motioned to the room with its auditorium setup and large open space at the front. “But once every student signs one, they will no longer be able to partake in any bullying behaviors during my classes. The magic will quite literally seal their mouths shut.”

An image of Katarina looking like a cow chewing cud flashed in my mind. “You're doing this for me?”

Deverell cupped his chin, running long tanned fingers over his angular jaw. “Not just for you, but for all my students. I've had the option of implementing one of these agreements from the beginning. Psionics can be such a delicate area of magic. There are risks involved with opening your mind to other people, as you well know. If you're not skilled at protecting your thoughts, others can glean them.”

I nodded, remembering the way he'd taught me to guard my memories and thoughts I didn't want him to see during our sessions last year when we had engaged in
nousdesmos
, a special kind of mind-link.

“And I don't want a repeat of what happened between you and Katarina,” Deverell went on. “This classroom, if nowhere else on campus, will be a safe haven for any student who enters.”

Once again the urge to hug him came over me. I beat it back, settling for the hugest smile my face would allow. “Thank you, Mr. Deverell. That sounds wonderful.”

He beamed at me. “You're welcome. Now let's get started.”

We spent the rest of the time doing basic mind strengthening exercises. By the time we reached the end I was tired, but not nearly as exhausted as I'd been after some of our sessions last year. Before I'd bonded with Bellanax, the sword had haunted my dreams for weeks. But with Mr. Deverell's help, I finally figured out what it wanted—me. I could only hope it was quicker about telling me this time.

“Make sure you leave the sword unglamoured again tonight, Dusty,” Mr. Deverell said.

I nodded, picking up Bellanax by the hilt. Deverell had suggested we leave the sword in its natural state during the session.

“Also,” Deverell said, “we might want to consider trying some psychometry on it. That is, if you're willing.”

I cocked my head, alarmed by the suggestion. The sword had belonged to Marrow for
years
. “Do you think it might tell us something about him? Like what it's like when he resurrects?”

Deverell tented his fingers. “Anything is possible.”

The idea was both thrilling and terrifying. I examined the sword, seeing it in a new light. My mom was convinced that finding the person who freed Marrow from the tomb was the best way to stop him, but this could be even better.

As swords go, it wasn't all that impressive, certainly not as ornate as some of the swords you could buy at a Renaissance festival. The cross guard was made of black steel, narrow in width and perfectly straight except for where the ends lifted sharply upward. Bone as pale as ivory formed the hilt, an engraving of a phoenix covering the rounded pommel. I'd always assumed that Marrow had put it there, a symbol of both his familiar and his mastery of Bellanax. I supposed that was something the psychometry might tell us for sure.

Making up my mind, I pulled my gaze away from the sword and reapplied the glamour. “I'm up for it,” I said, sliding the silver band onto my wrist. “But maybe you should try it first though, since I'm so new at it.”

“That won't be necessary,” Deverell said, his expression confident. “We will do it together. Besides, I'm not certain the sword would permit me to probe its secrets without you.”

“Permit?” I started to smile, thought better of it, and frowned. “The sword could stop you?”

“Of course. This is not some mere inanimate object. It's alive, in a manner of speaking. If it does not wish to divulge its history to me it won't. I mean to say, that is the point of what we're doing here—for you to learn how to communicate with your numen vessel.”

“Right.” I hoisted my backpack onto my shoulder. “Together then.” It was a more reassuring option than going it alone.

Although Deverell had indeed cut the session short, there wasn't time for me to make it to Eli's practice. Even though I was anxious to see him—if only to quell the doubt that had been plaguing me all day—I returned to my dorm room, deciding to focus on homework instead. I wanted to get as much done before dinner as I could. I also took the time to try my mom's flash drive, which at last seemed to have dried out. To my dismay, an error popped up on the screen when I plugged it into my computer stating the disk was corrupt.

“Damn.” I smacked the top of the desk, and my radio gave a little squawk of surprise. I ejected the drive and slid it into my pants pocket.

When I arrived at the cafeteria, my brain hurting from overload, I said to the group at large, “Do you mind if Eli and I head to room oh-thirteen early? We've got some things to talk about in private.”

Lance smirked and then made a kissing sound. Selene smacked him in the back of the head.

I rolled my eyes, embarrassed with good reason—kissing was definitely on the agenda.

“I'll leave first,” Eli said as we finished eating. “I'll head around Monmouth and then double back. You leave a few minutes later and go a different way.”

I started to ask him why, then understood. We needed to ditch the Will Guard. For a second, I wished we had Paul's shape-change necklace. It would certainly make things easier.

Five minutes later, I left the cafeteria, making a left where Eli had turned right. I arrived at room 013 in the library a short while later. The moment I entered, a chair wheeled out from beneath a desk and charged me.

“Down, Buster!” I screamed, arms braced to defend myself. The chair slid to a stop with a loud squeak. It seemed to stare at me for several seconds—a weird sensation considering it didn't have eyes. Or a face even. Nevertheless the chair was capable of expressing itself—quite clearly. It was another unfortunate victim of the animation effect, which for some reason was particularly virulent in room 013. That was why we'd selected the place for Dream Team meetings. Nobody ever came in here by choice.