“Most aren’t real,” said the boy. “You can tell by the eyes. The people created by the reverie have white irises.”
Kane remembered the icy stare of the barbarian leading the caravan. Everyone else had been from the football team, but he had been a creation of this world.
“What are they doing?” Kane asked.
“Look closer, at the court.”
The court was a platform of obsidian wreathed in magma, giving it a malevolent under-glow. In the center whirled a man in filthy robes, shouting as he wielded a gnarled staff topped with a rattle of tiny skulls.
“The High Sorcerer,” said the boy.
“What is he doing?”
“Look closer.”
Stabbing up through the black tile of the court was an altar of pale marble, carved in the shape of a gigantic hand and draped in chains. Things were bound to it.
Not things. People.
His eyes came to rest on Adeline Bishop, her deep brown skin glowing against the cold marble holding her.
Of course, he murmured inwardly. Adeline had been the third person in the boiler room. Within the warped logic of this world—this reverie—it followed that someone as powerfully beautiful as Adeline Bishop would be cast as a damsel in distress. The main damsel, it looked like. The other girls were strung among the reaching fingers, while Adeline hung dangerously vulnerable in the palm.
“What’s going to happen to her?”
“Probably she’ll be sacrificed,” the boy murmured. “It depends if the hero makes it to her in time. He’s close.”
“What if he doesn’t make it?”
“Then definitely she’ll be sacrificed.”
Kane looked at the boy and then, perhaps by the brightness in the cavern or by the closeness they shared, recognition finally took hold. He knew this person. It was the eyes, the only thing about the boy visible beneath the thick mask of bone.
“You’re Dean Flores, aren’t you?”
The boy kept his eyes on the court, unblinking. Kane knew he was right.
“You’re the one who gave me that photo of the Others. You wanted me to find my way here, didn’t you?”
Dean turned to Kane. “Not quite, but I’m glad you’re here. They need you. But for now you need to keep out of sight until Elliot shows up. He’s with the hero—the person at the center of the reverie, the one creating it. They’re traveling through the traps beneath the cavern. They’re going to try to thwart the sacrifice, and maybe they’ll be successful. Regardless, the reverie is going to start collapsing soon after.”
“But—”
“And then it’ll be up to you to unravel it.”
“But—”
“And this last part is very important, Kane.” Dean’s face was a loveless mask of shadows. “You must never tell the Others about me. If you do, they will hurt you, and then they will hurt me. Do you promise?”
Dean was unflinching. Curiosity clawed at Kane to ask more, ask about the Others and their secret worlds. About his role in all this. He promised himself he would if he survived.
“I promise.”
“Good. Now don’t move, and try not to get in trouble. I’ve already spent too long here—I won’t be able to return.”
Another explosion blew from the mouth. Behind the blackened teeth squirmed a crimson tongue, something swollen deep in the earth’s throat.
When he tore his eyes away, Dean was gone.
He spun around. Dean had slipped into the caverns without disturbing a single pebble. Kane knew it was stupid to try and catch up; the boy had moved with the smoothness of a centipede through those lightless corners.
Kane had two options: stay, or go.
He made his choice.
• Ten •
PLOT TWISTS
Kane had many regrets, and somehow they all had to do with Ursula. Sneaking into the boiler room to eavesdrop on Ursula and the Others. Confronting Ursula on the fields. Running away from Ursula and into a deadly dreamworld. Going after Ursula again only to get whipped by a whip of actual hair. Disgusting.
Kane’s newest regret, however, was about Dean. Kane had of course decided against listening to the boy, sure he could find his way out of this cavernous mess, but as soon as he reentered the tunnels he was instantly lost. After ten minutes he couldn’t even figure out how to get back to the perch in the arena. The tunnels, he was sure, were rearranging themselves. Dean had said the reverie would collapse. Was it happening? What would it feel like to be crushed beneath miles of rock and dirt?
“Amazing work, Kane. Really awesome, amazing choices today. You’re killing it.”
He was so busy scolding himself he didn’t hear the barbarian guards until he waltzed right out of the passage they’d been guarding. They sat up, as surprised as he was, but soon had Kane backed against the wall at spearpoint. Their eyes were normal. People from school.
“Keologist,” the bigger one grunted menacingly.
Kane could have sworn he was standing before Evan from the pep band, except this version had a much more flattering chin. The other—possibly Mikhail Etan, also from band—had temple acne even in this world.
“Mikhail, Evan, it’s me! It’s Kane, from school! We had homeroom together last year!”
They blinked at Kane, uncomprehending.
They don’t know they’re acting. They don’t know this isn’t real.
“This isn’t real! This is all like…a dream or something. You guys aren’t really—”
Just then a sickening shudder rolled through the tunnel, toppling the three of them. A dark electricity zipped through the fibers of the world itself, shocking him—literally. The reverie felt…angry. The texture of the air went taut and smothering, like it was twisting itself around the trio. Punishing Kane for getting caught.
The two guards lunged, but Kane was quicker. He fled, and suddenly the world around him began to twist and warp. The rock beneath his feet shifted with every step. The tunnels before him smashed together, rearranging themselves into new routes, leading him somewhere like a mouse trapped in a maze. Dean had told him that it was imperative he play along with the reverie, and Kane had just broken character in a big way. Now he sensed the reverie was deftly leading him toward something much worse. But he couldn’t stop running. The guards were right behind him.
Kane’s next step struck nothing, and he was falling through open darkness until he plunged into a frigid, brackish pool. He splashed and sputtered as a current dragged him along curved walls slick with grime, his hands slipping and scraping. The current quickened, and a glow pulsed ahead. From it he heard chanting. The roar of falling water. He knew what came next.