CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The dreamscape was tinted in shades of pink when Oliver and I emerged from the cave.
We took a few steps into the open, both of us eager to put that eerie darkness behind us. No sound came out of it, but I swore I could still hear the shrieks and calls of Echidna’s creatures. Shuddering, I quickened my pace, and Oliver matched it without complaint. Miles of prairie surrounded us, the needle-thin blades of grass bending in a gentle breeze.
Despite the serenity of our surroundings, Oliver and I didn’t stop until the cave was out of sight. As we slowed, I inhaled the air deeply, enjoying the vastness of it. It smelled like salt, but I didn’t see any telltale glitter in the distance. I raised my hand, shielding my eyes, and took closer stock of where we were.
Nothing, I thought. There was nothing but plains and open sky.
“Ocean is that way.” Oliver nodded, and a gust of wind playfully mussed his hair. “We could hug the coastline for a while, then work our way inward. Any objections?”
I shook my head. “Sounds good to me.”
Once again, we set off to venture into an unknown land.
As was becoming our custom, I told Oliver about all that had transpired since the last time we’d seen each other. The cherubim attack, the opera, my night with Viessa, the encounter with Collith afterward, Savannah’s visit, my therapy session. And even though Oliver must’ve heard something in my voice every time I mentioned Collith or Laurie, there was no pain or jealousy in his countenance as he listened.
I fell silent and waited for any insights Oliver might have, but he didn’t speak right away. Instead, he turned his head toward the horizon, his lips pursed in thought. Then a line appeared between his brows and he murmured, “What is that?”
I’d already turned, too. There was a black line on the horizon, moving fast in this direction. It took a long time to figure out what I was looking at, and even when I did, my brain struggled to accept the sight.
The black line was an enormous flock, more creatures from Mom’s stories. They had a bird’s body and a woman’s head, along with huge wings and human-looking expressions, like malice and hatred.
Harpies.
“Shit,” I cursed softly. We must’ve entered their territory, which meant there was a memory nearby. This battle was going to hurt—I could already imagine the talons on those things.
“Run,” Oliver said.
We lurched into movement, our backpacks thumping hard against us. An instant later, I could hear them. The air ripped apart with sounds of human-like cries, as if dozens of women were being slaughtered high above.
As adrenaline coursed through me, my breathing hard and fast, I tried to remember what I knew about these things. Harpies were agents of punishment. From what I remembered, they abducted people, tortured them, and consumed souls. Though they possessed human-like intelligence, there would be no deals with these creatures, as there had been with Echidna—harpies were vicious, cruel, and violent.
The ones that came down on us were nothing like the wild, beautiful things I’d imagined. Their hair was ratty and wind-tossed. The fusion of human and bird was jarring, as if two puzzle pieces had been forced together rather than clicked into the correct place. Their feathers weren’t white, or red, or anything mystical and lovely. They were like a seagull’s. Gray.
One of them dove for me, her eyes so big and wide I could see them across the ever-shrinking distance between us. They were bright yellow, with black slits down the middle.
I ran faster, but it was futile. The winged monster snatched me up, ignoring my enraged screams. I longed for the gun I’d lost—Oliver hadn’t been able to make me another one yet—and all I could do was wrench at the harpy’s hold and kick my legs like a child. I’d already discovered that, like all the rest, my powers didn’t work on this creature. My magic went through it like an inconsequential puff of air, and then I was swinging over the frothing sea.
Feeling a chilly spray on my face, I did a wild scan for Oliver. There he was, dangling from the harpy’s other foot. His eyes met mine at the exact moment the creature opened its talons and dropped us. A scream lodged in my throat, trapped by rushing air, and then a jarring impact rocked my bones.
We’d landed in a nest.
A nest, I noticed with a suddenly dry mouth, pushing myself up, that held three very large, very creepy-looking eggs. There were other nests around us, too far away to reach. Most of them, I was surprised to see, were occupied by male harpies. It seemed they’d been left behind to guard the young. It was probably pure happenstance that we’d been put in a nest without one.
I started to ask Oliver about the eggs, but his head was turned, looking toward the land we’d been snatched from. “I think the memory is on that beach,” he said suddenly.
We’d just been snatched by a monster and left in a giant nest dangling over the sea. Normal people would be reeling, and the swiftness of Oliver’s recovery said far too much about how many life and death situations we’d been in lately.
The same could be said for me, as well. I followed Oliver’s gaze to the strip of land, pushing all my other thoughts away. He was right—the harpies had come when we’d started walking in that direction. They were guarding it, just like all the other creatures had been doing.
“Agreed,” I said. “But how do we get there?”
That was the question of the hour. Oliver and I looked around again, hoping the answer would jump out. The cliff above our heads was a flat wall. There were ridges in the stone, bits of moss and roots, but nothing substantial enough to use or hold our weight. Wondering if there was anything beneath us, I climbed up the side of the nest, choosing every step carefully. My palms felt sweaty as I peered over the edge.
“There’s another nest beneath us,” I told Oliver. “No male in that one, either, but the eggs hatched. They look like adolescents.”
Oliver glanced at the eggs on the other side of our nest, whole and still. Though he didn’t voice any of his thoughts out loud, I saw them in the lines around his mouth. Were harpies carnivores? And did that extend to their newborns?
Regardless of the answers, there was nothing to do but wait. Wait for the harpies to come back or wait for a miracle to happen. We were stuck. I settled on the lip of the nest, positioning myself sideways so I could keep an eye on the eggs and watch the light fade.
“Still think my mind is a beautiful place?” I asked lightly, trying to muster a smile.
Oliver didn’t answer straight away. He turned his face toward the ocean, too, and the departing sun bathed his skin in red. The wind stirred his hair, making strands catch the light like spun gold. At that moment, he looked like a stranger to me, and I wondered if I’d ever gotten to know the real Oliver… because I’d never allowed him to be anything more than the boy I had created.
Maybe this was Oliver, the man. A person who had fought past his impossible confines and forged new pieces of himself, finally becoming whole. Complete.
“Your mind has been home to me,” Oliver said finally, holding out a feather he must’ve found in the nest. “I wouldn’t exist without it. For that, I will always be thankful for this place.”
The way he spoke made me frown. I took the feather and touched one of its soft edges. “Are you trying to say goodbye again? I thought we were past that.”