Morgan
Under the guidance of the handsome blond man, Maverick twists the door knob. The ravens screech overhead, angered by her actions, but the surge of power between her and the door feels right.
Something finally feels right.
The lock gives, springing inside, and she feels the click of release. Maverick tilts her head to look at the ravens flying overhead. She can barely hear them now and their bodies look like nothing more than shadows. The man’s hand comes down on her shoulder. “It’s time, Maverick. Open the door.”
With a firm grip on the knob, she does just that, pushing it forward until she can see to the other side. A veil of gray shrouds the distance, but the cold is unmistakable. Black tendrils of smoke weave around her ankles and the air smells of wet ash.
She steps forward, leaving the sunlight behind, and jumps when the land crunches beneath her feet. The girl bends and touches what appears to be stone covered in soot, but it only takes a moment to know it’s bone.
A wave of nausea rolls in Maverick’s stomach.
She looks to the man and says, “What happened?”
“You’ve opened the gates of Hell, sweetheart.” The beautiful man’s face shifts, eyes turning black and skin melting away. “Welcome back.”
Maverick screams…
The sound echoes in my ears and bounces across the room. I wake covered in a thick layer of sweat.
“No, no, no, no,” I cry, jumping out of bed. I brush my ankles to get rid of the smoke.
There’s no smoke. No ash. I blink, taking in the fact I’m in my room at Nead mansion. I’m not even sure when I came back up here. After midnight for sure.
Confusion and fear cling to my throat and I race to the window. I brace myself for destruction, for the kind of annihilation in my dream (memory?) but the city below functions like normal. Taxis and buses zip down the road. Green, thriving trees fill the park. People walk in that brisk, city way of theirs.
I lean against the window sill and rub my face and eyes.
Jesus, what a nightmare.
Across the room on the bed I spot my journal, open with a pen in the crease. Pushing back the blankets, I grab the book and flip through the last pages, ignoring the lingering feeling in my gut.
She looks to the man and says, “What happened?”
“You’ve opened the gates of Hell, sweetheart.” The beautiful man’s face shifts, eyes turning black and skin melting away…
I’d written it—not just dreamed it. I run a hand down my face. It had been so real.
A knock on the door draws me from going back down the rabbit hole. When I open it, Davis stands on the other side. “You have a visitor.”
“Now?” I look down at my pajamas. “Who?”
“Ms. Anita Cross.” His eyes linger on my neck. “Should I ask her to leave?”
I reach for the spot, remembering Sam’s mouth being there the night before. “No, give me five minutes. Ask her to wait, please.”
I pass the journal and snap it shut, as if that will keep the darkness away. In the bathroom I lean into the mirror and look at the dark bruise on my neck. Dammit, I think, reaching for my makeup. He fucking marked me.
*
At the bottom of the stairs Davis stops me and says, “I escorted Ms. Cross to the library.”
“Thank you, Davis.”
“I also have a package for you.” He holds out a small purple box. “Damien asked me to deliver it to you.”
I look at the square box. It’s not heavy and I tuck it into my jacket pocket and thank Davis again.