Page 9 of Sweet Nightmares (Wicked Mirrors #2)

“Why don’t you join us out here in the light?”

Jane bit the inside of her cheek. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t. “I think I’d rather stay here.”

“And I’d rather you come out.”

“No.”

Without saying another word, he reached in and yanked her out, nearly pulling her arm out of the socket as he did. Then he slammed her against the wall, his hand around her neck.

“Why does he want the diary?”

“I don’t know,” she croaked. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.

Jane was loyal to Nightmare. Despite everything, because in the two years that he possessed her, he had never crossed her boundaries, never hit her, and never even once raised his voice at her.

He wasn’t her protector because he barely cared for her. But he was her keeper, and while he didn’t always deserve her respect, she would give him her loyalty until he proved unworthy of it.

The man tightened his hand around her throat, obstructing her airway.

Nightmare, help. Help me. The words played in her mind on repeat. Over and over again because she couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t fight—she couldn’t even move.

“I’ll give you one more chance until I kill you. What does Nightmare want with the diary?”

“One more chance than I’m offering you!” Nightmare roared, slamming into the man. “I don’t give people who touch my things any chances.”

And he ripped the man’s throat out with his teeth, causing blood to splatter on Jane’s face and her dinner to nearly climb up her esophagus.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” His furious glare landed on her.

“You commanded me to stay put.” Her voice was raspy. “A command that is still active, by the way. I couldn’t do anything. You left me defenseless.” The last cracked.

“Oh,”—his eyebrows shot up, and something unreadable crossed his features—“move freely.”

Then he turned and began to walk out. “Come with me.” His voice was low, but not cruel; it was more imploring than anything else. “I want you to see something.”

It wasn’t a compulsion this time. She could deny the request. But she didn’t. Instead, she followed Nightmare down the stairs.

A soft light poured from the basement, haloing the door. The glow was unnatural, but it didn’t seem evil. However, it did call to Jane, feeling like a mosaic of dreams, thoughts, and fleeting ideas. Behind the door wafted a soft melody played on the piano.

One of Nightmare’s strong hands pressed the door slowly open, revealing a striking image. A translucent woman, coated in a white, glowing light, sat at a piano, her fingers light and delicate on the keys.

Nightmare held open the door for Jane to enter, and because she didn’t believe he would intentionally put her in harm’s way —after all, he needed her as his anchor—Jane slowly stepped inside.

But her voice felt clogged. She wanted to say something, but she couldn’t.

“Jane, this is Charlotte. She’s a—”

“A ghost trapped in this basement,” Charlotte said, her eyes snapping to Jane, and the force of it made Jane want to take a step back. “I am like a Mirror-Echo.”

Mirror-echo?

Nightmare must have sensed her confusion because he clarified, “Like the mirrors at the foot of the Ruins. I think you humans might call it Trapped Souls Row. Those aren’t mirrors. They are echoes of souls who control the mirrors in the city.”

“They’re echoes,” Charlotte added.

“And that’s what you are?” Jane asked.

“Not precisely.” Charlotte’s fingers stilled on the piano keys. “My soul is trapped here, while my body is long dead.”

“Why?” Jane breathed.

“Because I angered my mother’s minions, and this is how they punished me.”

There was so much information wrapped in that statement, but Jane barely had any information, so it just caused her to have twenty more questions. The one that came out was, “Mother?”

“Helene Ashwood.”

Helene, like Helene’s diary?

“Ah, I see you recognize the name.”

“Barely,” Jane admitted, but pointed to Nightmare with her thumb. “He’s mentioned it a few times.”

“From what I hear, he’s been on a rampage for the last two years to find her diary.”

Jane let out a laugh and then immediately tried to stifle it. “Apologies.”

Charlotte laughed, too. “He is a monster. More so now than ever, since my mother cursed him, but once, he was my friend. Perhaps there still might be some softness left within him.”

Nightmare let out a growl as he hovered behind Jane’s left shoulder.

Jane wasn’t sure if Charlotte was delivering a warning, but the way she spoke suggested that there was a lot of subtext beneath the words.

“It is with that hope that I give you this.” Out of a pocket in her skirt, she pulled out a leather-bound journal that looked ancient and fragile.

Nightmare sidestepped Jane, stepped up to the ghost, towering above her, and held out his hand. Charlotte handed over the diary, and her face grew even more ashen—if possible.

“I am so sick of this, Gavri.”

“I know.” He kneeled beside the ghost, and in that moment, he had never looked more human. At the very least, it was the first time he showed any form of empathy.

“I’m trapped.” A white tear rolled down her face. “Do you know how to help me, old friend?”

Nightmare placed a large hand on either side of her face and kissed her on the forehead. As he pulled back, he nodded his head at Jane. “Do you know who she is?”

The ghost’s gaze once again landed on Jane. “Is she a lost Ashelle?”

“Precisely that.”

“Why are you keeping her?” Concern dripped from Charlotte’s face. “She’s supposed to—”

But she never finished the sentence because Nightmare silenced her with, “Yes, she is, but that’s my problem to deal with.”

Charlotte nodded. “Be careful, Gavri.”

“I always am.” He dropped his hands from her cheeks. “If anyone could break your curse, it would be an Ashelle.”

Charlotte’s nose flared, and more tears fell down her face, but it was now painted with hope.

“Jane, please join us. Kneel beside me and take her hands,” he said, and Jane complied.

Charlotte’s hands were cold, like touching a corpse, but they felt solid.

“I’m not sure what I can do. I’m not a witch. I’m not anything.”

“A witch without magic is still a witch.” Charlotte’s voice was airy and coated in faith. “You wouldn’t even be able to touch me if you didn’t have magic within you, girl.”

Jane’s face grew tight with confusion. For two years, Nightmare had been calling her a witch, but she had never believed him. Yet, if what Charlotte was saying was true and only those who possessed magic could touch a ghost, then… Was she?

Nightmare leaned into her, his body framing her and his lips touching her ear.

His breath was hot on her neck. “Close your eyes, Jane, and feel. Feel the temperature in the room, hear the humming of streetlamps outside, and hear the calls of owls in the distant trees. Sense the world around you and feel its magic.”

At first, it felt like a fruitless task. What would listening to her surroundings truly do? Jane had spent twenty-three years listening to her surroundings, but nothing was ever special or different.

“Be still,” he said, his lips on her.

Jane was, and she tried, but everything felt normal. Because she wasn’t special, she never had been, and she never would be.

“My realm speaks to you, Jane. It sings to you, and sometimes it even bends to your will.” He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. “Humans cannot bend a god’s realm.”

Jane gulped because his realm did sing to her.

“Listen. Feel,” he whispered into her hair.

Jane did, and nothing happened until… Vibrations. She felt them first in her hands, warm like firelight. But then she felt them everywhere. The ground, the electricity, the warmth of the god holding her. Everything had a pulse, an energy.

“Good,” his voice was smooth whiskey. “Now pull the string. Absorb the curse’s magic.”

Jane didn’t know what that meant, but instinctively, she felt the pull of a tainted enchantment. She felt its edges and heard its rhymes, and she pulled and pulled and pulled. Unlocking, unshaping, undoing. Absorbing.

The whole time she worked, she also felt him holding her, supporting her.

“Goodbye.” Charlotte’s voice was a faraway ring.

Throughout the process, she kept her eyes closed until the very last moment, when it was too late to stop what she had done.

When she opened her eyes, she saw the white light, the edges of what once was Charlotte, fold into Jane’s skin.

She’d consumed the magic, everything, including the ghost.

“I absorbed her.” Jane jumped back and tried to get to her feet, but she couldn’t get away. Horror licked at her bones. She’d just consumed a soul.

She was a monster.

“Calm down.” Nightmare was on his feet quickly, and he pulled her into a tight embrace, cocooning her body. “You didn’t consume her. You untethered her. You released her soul.”

“I ate it.”

Her body shook uncontrollably.

“No, shhh,” he said into her hair. “You ate the magic. Trust me, witches can’t eat souls.”

The shaking didn’t stop. She wanted to believe Nightmare. She wanted to believe that she wasn’t a monster, but she felt the magic in her veins—pulsing and alive.