wanted to ask what was happening . . . but that didn’t come out. I was horribly sick to my stomach and couldn’t move.
I am sorry, Mephistopheles said again in my mind. And I could feel his emotion in his voice. I was dishonest with you.
I blinked a few times before closing my eyes. What was happening to me? There was no way I was going to stay awake no matter how hard I fought.
Dishonest?
Yes. The Archer’s protest was valid to some degree. He knew what would happen if you released Mialani. He knew how it would affect you as well as himself.
I wanted to know, but I also wanted the dark oblivion I could see coming for me.
Mephistopheles paused. When you release a ghoul, Zoë, you don’t receive the benefits of its soul’s release.
I waited long enough on the precipice of that darkness for his explanation.
You take on its damnation.
11
USUALLY , it’s during this time I have some weird, wacky dream. Something that shows just how crazy the internal workings of my head can be. Yeah . . . well . . . I wasn’t disappointed.
I wasn’t on the back porch of Mom’s house this time—nor was I beside a babbling brook or even running through some deranged cave or other freakish nightmare place. This time I found myself in one of the squares in Old Savannah.
And you know how I knew it was a dream?
It wasn’t stiflingly hot like Savannah usually is in June.
I was dressed in my usual: dark pants, shirt, and bunny slippers (happy slippers with pink noses), and the sun was somewhere above the canopy of magnolias and Spanish moss. There weren’t any people out. No bums in the square, no shoppers, no elderly couples taking a siesta.
I couldn’t tell which of the squares I was in. No landmarks. Not even a sign.
Instead of just standing there, I started to walk around, looking for someone.
Anyone.
“Zoë?”
Ah—I knew it!
I turned—expecting to see Rhonda or Mom, or even Joe or Jemmy, Steve or even my dad. I wasn’t expecting the mature, whitehaired woman standing by the nearest tree. Her hair had a soft luminescence to it as it flowed down over her shoulders and seemed to disappear into the white—uhm—clothing she was wearing.
I tilted my head to the left, still trying to discern exactly what it was this person was wearing.
“You don’t recognize me, do you?”
My gaze traveled from her clothing to her face, and I concentrated on it. She had brilliant blue eyes, and wasn’t as old as I originally thought she was. But as to who she was? I was drawing a wholesome blank. I shook my head. “Hint?”
She smiled. “I’m a Guardian Familiar.”
Oh. Shit! “Alice?”
She nodded. I smiled. Hooo-kay. So . . . I was dreaming about one of Dags’s Familiars. How wrong is that?
“We need to talk—but I’m afraid I don’t have much time in this realm.”
“Realm?”
“Dream time.”
Oh. I nodded. Okay, I’ll play along. “You can do this? Come into someone’s dream?”
“Not everyone’s dream. But Darren shares a deep affinity for you—and you for him—so that makes the communication ea—”
“Wait.” I put up my hand. “Hold it. I do not have an affinity for him.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No. I. Do. Not.”
She glared at me. I sighed. “Go on.” Wasn’t this my dream?
“As I was saying . . . it makes it easier for me to find you when you are dreaming.”
I won’t say I wasn’t a little happy that I’d somehow established some kind of link with Dags—even if it was through some weird Familiar dream-link-thingie. And nothing was going to stop me from saying, “How is he?”
Saying hell. I blurted that out.
Blah.
What I didn’t expect was the confused look on Alice’s face. She opened her mouth, then closed it, and half turned away. “He’s not dreaming.”
“Not dreaming?” I frowned “You can tell?”
“Being”—she looked back at me—“what I am. I’m a part of Darren. Both Maureen and I are. It’s a symbiosis
I am sorry, Mephistopheles said again in my mind. And I could feel his emotion in his voice. I was dishonest with you.
I blinked a few times before closing my eyes. What was happening to me? There was no way I was going to stay awake no matter how hard I fought.
Dishonest?
Yes. The Archer’s protest was valid to some degree. He knew what would happen if you released Mialani. He knew how it would affect you as well as himself.
I wanted to know, but I also wanted the dark oblivion I could see coming for me.
Mephistopheles paused. When you release a ghoul, Zoë, you don’t receive the benefits of its soul’s release.
I waited long enough on the precipice of that darkness for his explanation.
You take on its damnation.
11
USUALLY , it’s during this time I have some weird, wacky dream. Something that shows just how crazy the internal workings of my head can be. Yeah . . . well . . . I wasn’t disappointed.
I wasn’t on the back porch of Mom’s house this time—nor was I beside a babbling brook or even running through some deranged cave or other freakish nightmare place. This time I found myself in one of the squares in Old Savannah.
And you know how I knew it was a dream?
It wasn’t stiflingly hot like Savannah usually is in June.
I was dressed in my usual: dark pants, shirt, and bunny slippers (happy slippers with pink noses), and the sun was somewhere above the canopy of magnolias and Spanish moss. There weren’t any people out. No bums in the square, no shoppers, no elderly couples taking a siesta.
I couldn’t tell which of the squares I was in. No landmarks. Not even a sign.
Instead of just standing there, I started to walk around, looking for someone.
Anyone.
“Zoë?”
Ah—I knew it!
I turned—expecting to see Rhonda or Mom, or even Joe or Jemmy, Steve or even my dad. I wasn’t expecting the mature, whitehaired woman standing by the nearest tree. Her hair had a soft luminescence to it as it flowed down over her shoulders and seemed to disappear into the white—uhm—clothing she was wearing.
I tilted my head to the left, still trying to discern exactly what it was this person was wearing.
“You don’t recognize me, do you?”
My gaze traveled from her clothing to her face, and I concentrated on it. She had brilliant blue eyes, and wasn’t as old as I originally thought she was. But as to who she was? I was drawing a wholesome blank. I shook my head. “Hint?”
She smiled. “I’m a Guardian Familiar.”
Oh. Shit! “Alice?”
She nodded. I smiled. Hooo-kay. So . . . I was dreaming about one of Dags’s Familiars. How wrong is that?
“We need to talk—but I’m afraid I don’t have much time in this realm.”
“Realm?”
“Dream time.”
Oh. I nodded. Okay, I’ll play along. “You can do this? Come into someone’s dream?”
“Not everyone’s dream. But Darren shares a deep affinity for you—and you for him—so that makes the communication ea—”
“Wait.” I put up my hand. “Hold it. I do not have an affinity for him.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No. I. Do. Not.”
She glared at me. I sighed. “Go on.” Wasn’t this my dream?
“As I was saying . . . it makes it easier for me to find you when you are dreaming.”
I won’t say I wasn’t a little happy that I’d somehow established some kind of link with Dags—even if it was through some weird Familiar dream-link-thingie. And nothing was going to stop me from saying, “How is he?”
Saying hell. I blurted that out.
Blah.
What I didn’t expect was the confused look on Alice’s face. She opened her mouth, then closed it, and half turned away. “He’s not dreaming.”
“Not dreaming?” I frowned “You can tell?”
“Being”—she looked back at me—“what I am. I’m a part of Darren. Both Maureen and I are. It’s a symbiosis
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