Dark Side of Dawn: The Nightmare Chronicles by Kathryn Smith

someone who was half immortal, I was feeling pretty damn useless.
    The black cloud that the morning’s news account of the attack had brought couldn’t last forever, and by the time we reached White Plains, our collective mood had lightened considerably, although neither of us could entirely shake the gloom.
    If I had to put it to words I’d say that it was a feeling of defeat—that this guy would get away with what he did, and that Amanda would never have her justice. That she would go through life knowing “he” was still out there.
    Did I mention feeling useless? Sigh.
    It only took a few steps inside the door to start the distraction. Tables and booths went on as far as the eye could see, each displaying more food, art, clothing, and jewelry than a girl with my weak willpower should have to be tempted by.
    Noah and I bought butterscotch scones and ate them as we walked around. I couldn’t help but buy a turquoise and silver jewelry set. The large stones were polished to a rich shine and set in handcrafted bezels of bright silver. It was definitely worth the money. Besides, I put in on my Visa. I’d worry about paying for it later.
    I bought a bright orange silk wrap-skirt as well. It would be perfect for wearing around the apartment or next summer. Noah pointed out a dress that he thought would look good on me, but it was too rich for my wallet, even with my good friend Visa. What did the foolish man do? Bought it himself, of course.
    “That’s a lot of money to spend on someone you’ve been dating for, like, a month,” I told him, and I meant it.
    His lips curved at one corner as we left the booth, dress bagged and in his hand. “Guess you’ll just have to stick around for a while.”
    I grinned like an idiot—not hard to imagine, is it? “Okay.”
    He took my hand and we walked some more. We should have brought a shopping cart. Noah bought homemade jams and sauces, loose tea, and a Danish pastry ring that I knew wouldn’t survive the drive home. He also bought a metal wall sculpture, a shirt, and a glass spider that he caught me admiring.
    “The weaver of dreams, right?” He made the comment with a smile as he slipped the wrapped and boxed palm-sized arachnid into one of my bags.
    “I’m impressed.” And I was. “The mother of all, Ama, wove the universe and created the Dreaming.”
    We walked around for a few more minutes before Noah spotted a booth of swords that he wanted to look at. My attention was grabbed by a display of porcelain dolls, so I told him I’d meet him in a bit.
    The dolls were amazing. All shapes, sizes, and colors. There were Nubian princesses and geishas, Native beauties with shining braids, and fairylike delicate creatures with gossamer wings. The attention to detailwas exquisite. Each face was different, with a distinct personality. And the hair was soft, silky, and obviously real. The doll maker had styled each head with loving obsession, making each doll look as though she might come to life at any moment.
    One doll in particular caught my attention. Clad in a pale pink gown encrusted with Swarovski crystals, she looked like a giant Barbie—only more perfect. She was slender, but curvy with a golden complexion and large eyes with thick lashes. Her hair was long and blond, shimmering under the lights.
    Huh. She looked familiar…Amanda. She looked like Amanda. Maybe it was because I had been thinking of her, but the resemblance was uncanny. Even the hair was the right shade.
    “She’s lovely, isn’t she?”
    I looked up at the man who had spoken. The smile I’d been prepared to give him froze to my lips as the world seemed to tilt and distort beneath me.
    Oh. Fuck.
    It was him. I’d know his face anywhere. He looked so calm and serene. So fucking friendly—as though he wasn’t a monster underneath that perfectly ordinary veneer.
    Were all of these dolls facsimiles of his victims?
    “Yes,” I croaked hoarsely. “She’s beautiful. Did you make all of these?”