I shake my head. “Maybe it is, but I’m still this.” I point at my face with a clawed finger.
Gloria taps her chin. “Hmm, she must have a mask kink. Probably a fear kink, too. Making things sexy isn’t enough.”
“I’ve tried getting her into the holiday spirit, too. She used to have the happiest dreams about Christmas, so I thought maybe if I could remind her of how much she loves the holiday, they might come back. But so far, I’m still a monster, just now with a festive flavor.”
“What are you doing to remind her?” Rhys asks, brow furrowing. “I was under the impression that you had little control over dreaming. That you’re more like an actor in a play, allowed to maybe improv a line or two but not able to deviate from the overall narrative.”
Shit. One of the biggest risksa dream spirit can take is manifesting in the mortal realm, yet I’ve been going there to try to get Ada into the Christmas spirit. It’s like spending night after night living out the same dream. The more you do it, the more immutable your form becomes.
“Well, uh…I’ve been texting her to put up her lights and doing little things around the house to make it more festive, and sending her presents.”
“Fuck, you really have it bad,” Rhys says, shaking his head at me with a rueful smile. “Are you sure that’s safe?”
I frown. “No, but what else am I supposed to do? I can’t stay like this. I need to fix it.” My voice raises as I start to panic a bit.
Gloria rests a hand on top of mine. “You will. Everything will work out as it should.”
I know she’s trying to help, but I hate it when she says shit like that. Not everyone can rely on luck to sort out their lives.
“As I see it, there’s only one course of action.” Rhys leans back in his chair.
From the weird, excited look he’s giving me, I’m reluctant to ask, but I do, since I’m desperate. He’s had a lot more experience with being in the mortal realm, so maybe he has some tips to keep it from affecting me. “What’s that?”
His grin broadens, showing off his razor-sharp teeth. “You’ve got to woo the shit out of her. Do all the sweet, romantic Christmas things you can during the day, then be her sexy masked dream man at night until she’s so in love that she won’t have any more nightmares.”
I should’ve known his answer would be romance. I want to protest, but there’s a strange flutter in my chest thinking about actually being able to be a bigger part of Ada’s life outside of her dreams and the brief moments I creep around her house in the dark while her dog trails behind me begging for pets.
I shove the sensation down. I don’t care about what happens to her, only that I find a way to fix things. If thatmeans manipulating her and using everything I have to make her want me as more than her masked tormentor, so be it.
I’ll be gone the moment the nightmares subside. She won’t matter anymore.
There won’t be a romantic, happy ending to my time with Ada. I’m not a creature of love. I’m a creature of dreams—of a million possibilities, not one. No matter how tempting that one possibility is.
CHAPTER
NINE
The vibration, the swaying—it's not something I've felt in a year, but instantly it's familiar. Have I parked my car at the station in the suburbs and now I’m headed into the city? Am I headed home? Worse… am I headed to the airport? I find I have no idea.
Across from me, an elderly man sits with his head propped against the railing, snoring. With each click of the tracks, his balding head shakes, making the wispy hairs on his head sway in time.
How long has he been here? How long has he slept, the rocking a paltry replacement for a mother’s arms? He doesn't even wake when the train screeches to a halt. The force of it sends me careening until I catch myself with a hand. Across from me, the old man sleeps on, seemingly oblivious to the train around him. How nice it must be, so entrenched in a dream that you don't want to leave.
That's certainly not my experience.
It's obviously his, because as I stand to leave, the corner of his mouth hitches in a smile.
The doors open, and I walk to stand before them. It's dark outside, and I squint to see through the murk. Frigid and cloying, the outside comes in to meet me. A thick black fogrolls in and fills the inside of the train car. It creeps over my skin, freezing every inch it touches, making me hiss. The stinging chill freezes me in place, even though my brain is screaming at me to run. My heart is racing so fast that I feel dizzy, and sweat bursts from my pores only to freeze atop my skin.
It doesn’t take long before I’m encased in a thin sheet of ice, trapping me further than even my own nerves.
Still, the fog swarms in, hungry for every inch of space. When I'm surrounded, the thick black miasma tightens, constricting and choking me. Somehow I canfeelthat I am an obstacle, like the fog is thinking and feeling. It’s pressing its thoughts and intents into my brain, and Iknow.I see it as it sees me, and it’s horrifying.
I am not an enemy.
It bears me no ill will.
It thinks almost nothing of me.
