The Nightmare Charade (13 page)

I lurched to my feet, my hand reaching for Bellanax. At the same time, I felt the sword reaching for me, calling me to it, compelling me.

“Luo-dikho!”
I hissed, the spell foreign on my lips and yet familiar, too.

I'd never cast it before.

I'd cast it a thousand times.

The knife in Katarina's hand exploded, the steel spraying outward like shrapnel. Pieces of it struck Katarina in the face, and she screamed.

I started to disengage the glamour on Bellanax, the sword's eagerness to be unleashed like gasoline poured onto the fire of my outrage.

Somewhere nearby, a voice shouted, “
Hupno-drasi
!”

I only had time to see Deverell raise his hand in my direction. Then the spell struck me, and I went under, asleep before my body hit the ground.

 

9

Motives

I dreamed I was back in the catacombs of Paris. Walls of bone surrounded me on all sides. Skulls stacked in uniform columns stared down at me with black-holed eyes and rictus grins formed by the femur bones set in rows beneath them. I turned in a circle, my gaze fixed on the walls, my heart racing with the sudden certainty that I wasn't alone.

“Dusty!”

I froze. It was my mother's voice, as familiar to me as my own.

“Dusty!”

I raced toward the sound coming from somewhere ahead in this labyrinthine palace of the dead. I turned left then right then left again, chasing it. “Dusty, Dusty, Dusty,” she called, her voice strained and growing weaker, even as I drew near.

I rounded a corner into a circular room. More bones filled the place, but they were stacked pell-mell, the dead nothing more than forgotten, inconsequential things. The dark narrow mouth of a pit leered from the center of the room.

My mother's voice rose out from it like a prayer. “Dusty.”

“Mom!” I fell to my knees at the edge of the pit and leaned over, staring down into it. It was no wider than a well, and my mother stood at the bottom of it, her face turned up, her eyes wide and terrified, red from crying.

“Dusty!” She raised bruise-painted arms toward me, her nails split and bloody from where she had tried to claw her way up and out. The walls of the pit were lined with more bones, thin and slippery, offering no purchase. “Help me, Dusty,” she screamed. “I can't get out. I can't get out.”

“Mom!” I reached toward her, on my belly now. She started to climb again, her fingers closing over bones, the veins in her hands and forearms popping out. She rose an inch closer. But then the bones inside the well began to crumble. Soon an avalanche of them was falling down on her. She struggled, trying to get atop of them, but it was no use. The bones were heavy and too many.

I screamed, stretching down toward the pit, but I couldn't get to her. In seconds she was gone, her cries silenced by the weight of the dead. Sobbing, I started to pull back from the pit, but something shoved me from behind and I tumbled forward into it. There shouldn't have been room, not with my mother buried beneath all those bones. But this was a dream, and it accommodated my fear, the pit expanding. It had always been so deep, so capable of holding us both. I hit the bottom, an impossible distance down. Bleeding and crying, I shuffled into a sitting position, the walled bones scraping against my arms. I struggled to my feet and looked up at the opening.

“Help!” I screamed, but I knew it was no good. There was no one to hear it.

Panting now, I grasped at the bones in the wall, trying to find a grip. My fingers ached as I pulled myself up. A face appeared over the edge of the pit.

“Eli!” I shouted, and lost purchase, sliding the meager inches I'd managed to climb. “Help me, Eli!”

He shook his head, his expression inexorably sad, desolate even, like the scarred ground left behind from a forest razed to make room for a parking lot.

“Please, Eli,” I said, no longer screaming but begging now. I didn't understand that look on his face. I didn't want it to be there.

He just shook his head again, and then he stood, and I saw a shovel in his hands. He turned away for a moment only to swing back, the shovel now full of discarded bones. He flung them into the pit. They struck me in the face and head and arms, a hundred dull hurts.

In seconds there were a thousand of them, an avalanche of bones coming to swallow me as it had my mother. I screamed and screamed until the bones pressed so tight against my chest I could no longer fill my lungs with air. And then the bones reached my neck and head. Darkness covered me, and I screamed no more.

*   *   *

I woke with my heart pounding, the nightmare emotions chasing me into consciousness. I looked around, trying to will the fear away. I was awake now. It was just a dream. Eli didn't just try to kill me. My mom wasn't dead.

Yet.

I focused on my surroundings, surprised to find myself not in my own bed but in Arkwell's infirmary.

I slowly sat up and peered around, my head feeling like someone had taken a hammer to it, repeatedly. Fragments of the bone dream flitted through my brain, and I tried to ignore them.

I jumped when I saw two people sitting in the chairs across from the hospital bed. Neither was whom I wanted to see at the moment. I wanted my mom, but she was incarcerated. My throat constricted, tears threatening.

“Hello again, Dusty,” Lady Elaine said, the smile she offered looking tired and reluctant. The feeling was mutual. I liked Lady Elaine well enough, but never once had her presence in my life meant anything besides trouble.

Beside her sat Mr. Deverell. He, too, was looking tired. He stifled a yawn as he spoke a greeting. Suspecting it was late, I peered out the single large window beside the bed. The curtain was drawn back, the windowpane beyond a screen of darkness.

I looked back at my unusual visitors. “What happened?”

With a hooded gaze, Deverell said, “What do you
remember?
”

I blinked, my mind drawing a blank. Then slowly recollection crept in, of Mr. Deverell's class and Katarina holding the knife, the blade shattering. Choking on a breath, I reached for the silver band on my left wrist, only to discover that it wasn't there. I started to get out of the bed, close to panic, but my knee struck something hard. I knew what it was instantly—Bellanax, unglamoured. I slid my hands beneath the sheet and grasped the sword's pommel. At once, my panic subsided. So did the ache in my head.

“What do you remember, Dusty?” Deverell asked again.

I inhaled, the memory becoming clear in my mind. “I attacked Katarina because she was making fun of my mom. Only, I didn't mean to do it. I just lost my head for a minute.” I hesitated, my lower lip quivering. “Is … is Katarina all right?”

“She will be,” Lady Elaine said. “The wounds are superficial, and given that she's a siren, the nurses anticipate she will heal quickly.”

“Is she in the infirmary, too?”

Lady Elaine nodded. “Just next door, but she's most certainly asleep at this hour.”

I inhaled, gulping. “I didn't mean to hurt her. Not like that.”

“She shouldn't have made those comments about your mother,” Deverell said, his expression darkening. “I regret not putting a stop to it sooner.”

“Yes, well.” Lady Elaine folded her twiglike arms over her chest. “Dusty here needs to learn how to rise above the silly antics of a petty girl.”

I glanced away, ashamed at the scolding. Lady Elaine was right. It wasn't the first time Katarina had taunted me, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. I knew better than to let it get to me.

Lady Elaine sighed. “Not that it was entirely your fault, what happened. Clearly.”

I turned back to her. “How so?”

Mr. Deverell cleared his throat. “Do you remember the spell you used to make the blade explode like that?”

I thought about it for several long seconds, my mind racing as I tried to make sense of it. I remembered casting the spell, and I remembered the results clearly—the polka dot array of wounds scattered across Katarina's face—but I couldn't remember the incantation I'd uttered. And I knew without a doubt it wasn't a spell I'd ever learned. I shook my head. “I don't know that spell. I've never even heard it before. But how … how did I cast it?”

Beside my leg, I felt Bellanax grow warm, and a sound like a cat's purr filled my head.

“It was the asunder curse,” Lady Elaine said.

“What?” My mouth fell open. That definitely wasn't a spell I knew how to perform. The asunder curse was restricted—only law enforcement officers were permitted to learn it. I shook my head. “Are you sure? How did I do it? I don't think I could do it again right now if I tried.”

“We believe,” Lady Elaine said, “that The Will sword is starting to exert its will.”

“No pun intended,” said Deverell.

Any surprise I felt that Deverell now knew about the sword was short-lived. He was something of an expert on numen vessels, and to be honest, it was a relief that I no longer had to keep it secret from him. I snorted. “Tell me something new why don't you.”

Lady Elaine frowned. “What do you mean?”

I rolled my shoulders, surprised to feel how sore I was, like Deverell had used a dazing spell on me instead of a sleeping spell. Or maybe I'd just injured myself when I fell. “The sword has been like that from day one.” It should've been hard not saying Bellanax's name, but it was surprisingly easy, a secret I had no desire to share with anyone.

Lady Elaine crossed one leg over the other, both of her feet swinging more than an inch off the floor. The chair was normal-sized, she midget. “Are you saying that the sword has been trying to influence you since the beginning?”

“Well, yeah.” I tilted my head. “Why are you so surprised? I mean when I bonded with it the very first thing it did was take over my body and make me jump into that fissure. I never would've done that on my own, you know.”

“That was different,” Lady Elaine said. “The threat of the island sinking was imminent, and the sword has enough of its own intelligence to have sensed that everyone was in danger, including you, its new master.”

“Yes,” Deverell added, nodding. “But other than extreme cases like that most numen vessels are quiet. Their masters are barely aware of their existence.”

I frowned. That wasn't my experience at all. Right from the beginning, Bellanax had been a constant presence. Sometimes I could even sense it in my sleep. But I'd assumed that was the norm. Not that I'd had anyone else to talk to about it. There was Eli, of course, his wand a numen vessel, too, but thanks to the stupid dream-seer curse, I hadn't been around him long enough to compare notes. Then again, I'd been there when he'd bonded with the wand, but it had been nothing like Bellanax. He'd simply been drawn to the wand and it to him, no possession required.

“What sorts of things has the sword been doing?” Lady Elaine said.

I pursed my lips. “Nothing big, really. I mean until today. Mostly it just wants me to take the glamour off and flash it around. And sometimes it wants to, I don't know, like enforce justice.”

Deverell scratched his cheek. “What do you mean enforce justice?”

“Stupid, silly stuff, really.” I brushed strands of hair that had fallen free of my ponytail behind my ear. I realized I was still in my school clothes. That was a good sign. I might be in the infirmary, but if the nurses hadn't felt the need to put me in a robe, then it probably wouldn't be for long.

“Like what, Dusty?” Deverell pressed.

I wracked my brain, trying to think of the best example. There were so many to share. “Well, there was one time when Mom and I were visiting Stonehenge over the summer. I saw this little girl being picked on by her older brother and the sword wanted me to stop it. I did, sorta, but not the way the sword wanted. I just got the parents to pay attention to what was happening with their kids.”

“What did the sword want you to do?” Lady Elaine asked, her thin eyebrows arching high on her forehead, creating a cavern of wrinkles.

I scrunched up my face. “It wanted me to swat the little boy on the butt with the flat of the blade.”

Deverell cleared his throat. “Do you always do what the sword wants in some manner or another?”

A quake went through my chest. I could tell by his tone that this was serious. Deciding it best to downplay the sword's influence, I shook my head. “Some of what it wants me to do is crazy.” Then I relayed the story about the incident at Loch Ness and the sword's dislike of the men referring to Bessie as a dinosaur and not a wyvern.

There were other incidents I could've mentioned, but that one seemed the most harmless. Not all of Bellanax's “requests” were so innocent. Like the time Mom and I visited Isla M
à
gica in Seville, Spain, on one of our rare, nonculturally focused excursions. It had been sun-poisoning hot and miserable while we waited in long lines for rides. At one point, two teenage boys cut in front of us. They did it smirking and victorious, fully aware of their own asshat behavior. I wanted so badly to tell them off. Before I knew it Bellanax was prompting me to throw curses at them, to make them pay for their crime, a warning against anyone else. For a brief moment I almost did it, my mind heady with the thought of exerting such power. They were ordinary boys, not magickind, completely incapable of fending off the attack.

Even now the recollection of that dark impulse made my stomach clench.

Lady Elaine cast a quizzical look at Deverell.

“Should I be worried?” I said.

A few seconds passed with neither adult speaking. Then finally, Deverell exhaled loud enough to be heard. “I don't believe so. Not now that we know what's going on with the sword. We should be able to prevent a repeat of such behavior. In my studies I have come across a couple of stories about numen vessels that needed more than just the naming from their masters. Some of them seemed to require a relationship of sorts. Like a dog wanting the company of its owner. I believe the solution is for us to try to discover what the sword wants from Dusty and then fulfill that need as much as possible.”