But there were more pressing questions at the moment. What if the person who bought me only wanted my heart? Eat a Nightmare’s heart, and you’d be fearless. That was our urban legend.
Too bad it was also true.
With every second that passed, my death drew nearer. I gripped the bars and gave them a futile yank. Even though the moon was up, I was virtually helpless. None of the buyers clustered around the platforms seemed concerned that I’d escape, either. According to my own list of facts, I was just a human. The prospective buyers still bothering to look at me wore expressions that ranged from appraisal to contemplation. Panic pounded in my ears.
My powers. I had to use my powers.
Right now, it wasn’t important that I couldn’t remember how I’d lost them. What I did need to figure out was how to find them again. A drop of terror slid down the small of my back. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to concentrate. Had Mom or Dad mentioned this during a lesson? All I could think of was Dad’s lectures on control, and control was the opposite of what I needed. I needed to lose control.
Control. Lose control. The words were like striking a match. Memories hovered just out of reach, and beyond that small glow, I could only remember faint moments. I saw a pair of silver eyes, smiling into mine. I heard a male voice, lilting and conspiratorial. Don’t you know what strengthens a Nightmare’s power? Unleashed fury. Pain. The things bad dreams are made of.
While my mind worked, my gaze happened to fall upon the stranger again. I saw his eyes brighten with interest. “What did you just say?” he asked.
Every face in the clearing turned toward me. Shapeshifters, faeries, witches, humans, and creatures who looked like humans. All of them waited for my answer. Somewhere in the trees, a crow cawed. The entire scene felt surreal, and suddenly I wondered if this was a bad dream. It had the foggy confusion of one.
Searching for some kind of confirmation or sign, I refocused on the beautiful stranger. He was still waiting for an answer. He had a long scar down the length of his face now. Strangely enough, I didn’t question the sudden appearance of it. The scar… belonged there. It was as if his face had been missing something before. I had an inexplicable rush of feeling, and for a disorienting moment, I was absolutely certain he was someone I knew.
Collith. The name came from nowhere, and the instant I thought of it, I gasped. A thousand memories broke free inside my head, and it felt like they bounced off the walls of bone, causing shudders of agony.
“She’s fighting me again,” the auctioneer said into the microphone. His ill-fitting suit bunched around his shoulders and his eyes squeezed shut, as if he were in pain.
I didn’t know what was happening, or why I was reliving this day, but I kept my eyes on Collith. He wasn’t as I’d last seen him, during that terrible scene in the throne room. Instead, he was the version of Collith that I’d last kissed. Last touched. Last loved. The Collith who’d spent weeks transforming a dilapidated barn into a luxurious loft, all so my family would have a home. I wanted so badly to believe he was actually here. There was nothing to indicate he was a hallucination—no flickering, no detail out of place. But my hope was a hollow thing, a child’s dream. This auction wasn’t real and Collith couldn’t access my mind anymore.
In spite of all that, I stretched my hand toward him. Suddenly nothing else mattered except the ache of missing his touch. “Don’t give up on me, okay?” I heard myself plead.
He frowned. I frowned.
Just as quickly as it had come, that feeling of familiarity was gone. I yanked my arm back through the bars of the cage. Why did I say that? There had been a softness to my voice that I’d never heard before. I glanced at the stranger again, and I wasn’t surprised to see he was still looking at me. Why were there so many gaps in my mind?
The bidding continued.
Desperation filled my throat, trapping a frustrated cry. Okay, I thought. Okay. Focus on your escape.
First things first, I needed my abilities. If a Nightmare’s power was fueled by the things bad dreams were made of, I had plenty of that. I gripped the cage bars in trembling fists and forced myself to think of the worst one. The crème de la crème of pain and fear. I blocked out the sight of the crowd by squeezing my eyes shut, and there, in the darkness, I revisited a memory that lived in it. Always waiting. Always ready for a chance to strike.
A dark hallway. A slumped shape on the floor. An open door. I heard my own screams. I saw my father’s ruined body. Looking down at it again, I felt everything I had back then, along with all the rage of an adult. There was so much we had missed out on because of this night. Matthew and Christine Sworn would never meet their grandson. They would never finish the teachings they’d been so diligent about. They would never offer advice, or wisdom, or meet who their children had grown to become.
All that feeling built and built with nowhere to go. My eyes snapped open and I let out a gasping breath.
It wasn’t working.
There were only a few in the crowd looking at me now. I didn’t need to touch anyone to know I wouldn’t feel their fear—that prickle hadn’t returned. I was still holding onto the bars of the cage, and the auctioneer rattled off numbers with practiced speed. Even knowing what awaited me at the end of this bidding war, I couldn’t get my powers back. And my head hurt. Why did it hurt so badly?
The stress was too much. I felt as helpless as a child again, and suddenly I ached to talk to Oliver.
“Who the fuck is Oliver?” a voice boomed from the sky.
I froze, and my heart felt like thunder as I searched the clouds. No one else at the auction reacted. Hadn’t they heard that? The wind in the clearing strengthened. At first, I ignored it. A second passed, then two, and I heard something else. Faint snatches of conversation riding that wild gust of air, like someone on a runaway stallion. Too fast, too chaotic to catch any details.
“Tell us who Oliver is.” This from a witch standing near the scarred stranger. Her warbled voice had a strange lilt to it, as if two accents were clashing. She looked every bit like the crone from a fairy tale, trying to lure children inside with candy and sweet smiles.
“He’s my best friend,” I answered immediately.
The witch turned her head, facing forward. The wind surged, and again, I heard something within it. Another voice, I thought, but more timid than the first one. Younger.
…she said… know what strengthens a Nightmare’s… things bad dreams are made of…
I searched the trees beyond the clearing, convinced I’d see the owner of that voice standing within the shadows. Was this the work of a spell? Why did I get the feeling something even worse was happening?
Because something had, I realized. While I’d been straining to hear that strange voice, the bidding must’ve come to an end. The crowd was dispersing, many creatures holding onto their purchases by leads, as if they were chattel—I was the last sale, then.
I’d barely finished the thought when I saw a man with yellow teeth heading toward the platform. There was a sneer on his lips and a promise in his eyes. Something about that look made it utterly clear I was looking at the winning bidder. Terror screamed through me. Desperate, I bowed my head and silently begged my power to return.
Nothing.
Even now, when I most wanted it, I couldn’t find the Nightmare part of myself.