The Nightmare Charade (25 page)

Paul scratched his cheek, not quite meeting my gaze. “Kinda, a little.”

I closed my eyes and inhaled, reining in my fear.
This is for Mom
. I reminded myself.

“It's all right, Dusty,” Paul said. “We're not using it for anything evil, and we're not going to get caught.”

He seemed pretty confident, way more than I did. Then again, he'd probably gotten away with a lot more than I'd ever attempted. It was a sobering thought.
Be careful,
I heard a voice like Eli's whisper in my mind. “But how did you get it from Culpepper? I imagine it was expensive.”

“I traded him something for it.” Paul pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and checked his watch. “Damn, we need to hurry.”

I nodded, my heartbeat picking up. “What do I have to do?”

“Just put it on. The necklace does all the work. You just need to hold still and let it happen. That's the hardest part.”

“Why?”

“You'll see. Just don't take the necklace off, no matter what. Let the magic do its job. You'll know when it's done.”

Ill at ease with such vague, unhelpful descriptions, I raised the necklace to my neck and fastened it. Magic blazed into life, sweeping over me like a blast of furnace air. My skin began to itch as if a thousand ants were crawling all over me. I looked down at my arms, convinced I would see the bugs. There was nothing there, the magic invisible. I could feel it inside me, burrowing beneath my skin.

In seconds, I understood why Paul said this was the hardest part. Every single instinct I possessed was screaming at me to remove the necklace. My body felt like it was being stretched and poked and pressed a hundred different ways. It was excruciating without being painful. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. Shrieking, I raised my hands, ready to yank it off. Paul's fingers closed around my wrists, and he wrestled my hands away from the necklace.

“Don't fight it,” he shouted over my protests. “You're almost there. And trust me, you don't want to start over again now.”

I struggled uselessly against his grip for a moment, and then forced myself to relax. It was like trying to lie still and keep your mouth open with the dentist drilling into your teeth.

An eternity later, it came to an end. I opened my eyes, which I'd held shut the entire time and saw Paul looking at me with an odd expression. He let go of my wrists and stepped back.

“What?” I said, and jumped at the stranger's voice that had spoken my words. It was a deep voice, rough like a smoker's. I looked down and saw hands that didn't belong to me. They were older, the veins more prominent and etched with wrinkles. My clothes had transformed from my usual T-shirt and jeans into a turtleneck and cardigan ensemble over a pair of khakis whose waistband I felt pressing against my navel, several inches above where I normally wore it.

“It's weird looking at you at eye level,” Paul said.

I stared at him, suddenly disoriented. It was like I was wearing stilts. I became aware of how much bigger my body was, how alien. I swayed on my feet.

“Whoa.” Paul reached out to steady me.

I moved my right leg, widening my stance. “I'm okay. I think.”

“This is why we're practicing,” Paul said. “You've got to get used to the new dimensions.”

“For real.” I put my hands on my waist then dropped them away. It was like touching someone else.

Paul smiled encouragement. “That's it. Get used to it. When you're ready, try walking around.”

I did as he suggested, first raising my hands to touch the top of my head. The hair was thinner than mine, smooth like silk and ending just above my shoulders. I touched my fingers to my face, feeling the more prominent brow and sharply angular nose. I ran my tongue over my teeth, the sensation of someone else's mouth probably the weirdest part of all.

Finally, I worked up the courage to try moving. It was difficult, especially in the dim light and uneven floor. More than once I had to stop and steady myself.

“You're going to have to be extra careful about any low ceilings,” Paul called from inside the circle where he stood watching my progress. “You should wear the necklace on the way back up. That'll be good practice.”

“You mean a good way to knock myself out,” I said, stumbling over my too-large feet.

“If that happens I'll carry you out. Minus the shape-change necklace, of course.”

“Good idea.”

A short while later, I came to a stop and said, “I think I'm getting the hang of it.”

“Good.” Paul smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling out his cell again. He navigated a couple of screens and then held it up, pointed at me.

“What're you doing?”

“I need a picture of you like this.”

I arched an eyebrow—at least I tried to, but this face didn't seem capable of the movement. Both eyebrows went up instead.

“For your fake ID,” Paul said, making an adjustment on the screen. “You've got to be in the system when we go through the guard gate or there'll be questions.”

“Huh.” I put my hands on my hips. “They don't check IDs at the gate.”

“They didn't used to. But things have changed since Lyonshold.” Paul aimed the phone once more. “Smile.”

I did, feeling a double dose of awkwardness than at a normal picture. I had no idea if this face would look better open-mouthed or closed, big smile or small, crinkled eyes or wide open.

The phone clicked and the bright flash struck my eyeballs. Paul lowered the camera and examined the result. “Not bad.” He handed the phone over to me. I looked at the picture, intrigued by the stranger's face. She was average looking with dark brown hair, the kind of woman that wouldn't draw much notice.
A good disguise,
I decided.

I handed the phone back. “Are you sure you'll be able to make an ID out of that? It's so exposed.”

Paul grinned. “Piece of cake with Lance's computer. Printing it will be harder, but there's equipment in the Menagerie. After that, all I've got to do is hack Arkwell's computers and add you to the database.”

Bemused, I said, “That's a lot of criminal activity.”

The grin slid from Paul's face. “I'm doing it for you.”

I inhaled a sharp breath. “I know. Thank you, by the way.”

A few seconds passed before he said, “You're welcome.”

Smiling, I wracked my brain for a safer subject. “So … once we have the ID, how are we getting off campus?”

“I'm going to borrow a friend's car, this guy I work with in the Menagerie. He's the same one whose face I've been borrowing, actually.”

I wrinkled my nose. I'd seen his alternate shape just the once, a dark-haired, dark-skinned man in his mid-thirties. “How does that work exactly?”

“It's all about the teeth, I'm afraid.” He grimaced. “This one here is different from the rest of the necklace.” He pointed to one of the beads that protruded a little further out than the rest on his necklace. “Took me awhile to figure it out, but if I focus hard enough on it, I can change into him.”

A quiver went through my stomach. “Do you mean to say that the teeth in this necklace belonged to the woman whose face I'm wearing right now?”

“I'd thought that would've been obvious.”

It was, but I'd been hoping the opposite. “But…” I raised my hand to the necklace and gingerly touched one of the teeth. “How did they get here?”

“I try not to think about it too hard,” Paul said, his gaze on the floor.

I cleared my throat. This woman whose shape I was borrowing wasn't exactly young but she wasn't old either. Was she dead? The thought sent a shudder through my body. “How did you get your friend's tooth?”

Paul blew out a breath. “Pure luck. He got whacked in the face with a dragon tail and it knocked the tooth clean out. I managed to find it.”

“Ew.” I scrunched up my nose in disgust.

“I was desperate for a little freedom.” He checked the time on his phone. “Damn. We need to go.”

Paul turned, picked up the lantern, and began leading the way back. I followed after him, anxious not to be left behind. I might be keen on exploring this place, but I didn't like the idea of climbing out of here in the dark. Not in this strange body. Over and over again I bumped into the walls or tripped over my own feet. Paul had been right about the need to practice.

When we emerged from the tunnels, I pulled the necklace off. Undoing the shape-change proved a lot more comfortable than putting it on. In an instant I felt my skin and body snap back into its right form. Relief came over me like kicking off an ill-fitting pair of shoes after hours of walking. Sweet release. I heaved a happy sigh.

“Welcome back,” Paul said.

“Thanks.” I held up the necklace. “Should I keep this or you?”

“You,” Paul answered at once. “And you should keep practicing. Maybe then you'll be ready by the time I've finished your ID.”

“All right.” I dropped my gaze to the necklace, able to see it more clearly in the light up here. It was hard to believe I ever could've mistaken the teeth for beads.
Teeth. From a dead woman.

Black magic.

I folded the necklace and slid it into my pocket. I thought I could understand why the rest of magickind had come down so hard on shape-changers, at least a little. They could steal your identity, your life, maybe even some of your soul.

Feeling dirty from the outside in, I vowed I would destroy the necklace as soon as this was over.

 

18

Breakthroughs

My first order of business after leaving the Menagerie was to head to my dorm room and fetch my eTab. Selene wasn't there when I arrived, and I wondered if she'd gone to gladiator practice. She hadn't said she was planning on it, but she might've changed her mind.

I pulled my cell out and examined the screen only to find I'd missed a text from Selene that she'd sent an hour ago. Either I hadn't felt the phone vibrate or the surly thing had chosen not to vibrate. Probably the latter.

In 013 if you want to hang after.

I checked the time and saw it was a little too early for dinner. Tucking the eTab under my arm, I left the dorm again, heading for the library. When I arrived in the hallway outside Room 013, I heard Selene shouting. I broke into a run and skittered around the corner into the room, my hand raised and a dazing curse on the tip of my tongue.

I froze, stunned by the scene that awaited me. Selene was indeed shouting, but it was at Buster and not some enemy. Only a second later, I realized that the chair
was
the enemy. It looked like the two of them were sparring. She was strafing side to side while across from her the chair rolled and darted.

“
Fligere!
” Selene shouted and a stream of blue light shot out from her fingertips. The jab jinx struck Buster right in the headrest. The chair went flying backward, spinning on its axle.

“What are you doing?” I said, completely taken aback. For a second, I considered casting a binding curse at her just to stop the abuse. Sure, Buster was a pain in the butt but this seemed excessive.

Selene spun toward me, a hard, focused look on her face and her hand still held out in front of her, ready to throw another spell.

“Whoa,” I said, waving at her. “It's just me.”

Selene relaxed at once, lowering her hand. A broad smile split her face. “Sorry, I was just really getting into it.”

I shot her a confused look, my eyebrows doing the splits—one of them rising high and the other lowering. “Into it?”

“Practice,” Selene said, pushing her long black braid behind her shoulder. “Tryouts are a week from Saturday.”

I didn't know whether to laugh or shake her. “You're using Buster for target practice? Really?”

She shrugged. “He volunteered.”

“How—never mind. Why didn't you just go to gladiator training with the boys?”

A mischievous glint flashed in Selene's eyes. “I don't want to give up the element of surprise. Plus, sign-ups for the class closed two weeks ago.”

I sighed and sat down on the nearest chair, one thankfully not inclined toward animation. “You never cease to amaze me.”

Selene waggled a finger at Buster, and the chair came rolling over to her at once, turning to offer its seat. It seemed it really didn't mind being used as target practice.
Dumb chair
.

Selene sat down and crossed one leg over the other. “You really should consider trying out with me. It's good training.”

“For what?”

Selene's gaze seemed to pierce me. “Marrow's coming back someday, Dusty. We need to be ready for it.” Silence hung heavy around us for a moment, the only noise the click and beep of the two computers in the far corner. It sounded like they were bickering.

I frowned, mostly because I knew she was right. Only—“What good will it really do to be able to fight him?”

Selene scoffed, hands on hips. “How about staying alive?”

“That's just it though.” I idly began to twist Bellanax on my wrist. “
He
stays alive. Always. And no matter how good we learn to fight, it won't stop him, not for good.”

Selene turned her head to the side, considering the idea. “There has to be some way.”

“You think so? My grandmother imprisoned him in a dream, giving up her own life to keep him there and he still came back.”

“Well, yes,” Selene said, “but we can't know for sure that was the only option she had. Maybe she did know a way to kill him for good, but chose not to do it.”

“What makes you say that?” I forced my hand away from Bellanax.

“They were dream-seers,” Selene said, matter-of-factly.

“So what?”

“She loved him. Maybe she decided imprisoning him in a dream was more humane than the alternative.” Selene leaned back, propping one leg on top of the other. “I don't know much about Nightmare magic, but it seems to me that if he was imprisoned in a dream of her own making maybe she could visit him in the dream.”