It never occurred to me that they had anything to do with the real Mr. Blackwood. That he might be sharing the dreams with me. That he might be aware of them, able to recall them.
And he knows my family are mahrts. Dream fae. He knows my mother is a succubus.
Which means…
I squeeze my eyes shut as if that can lessen my panic. Breathing as deeply as I can, I seek any strand of logic that might aid me, that might banish my growing fears.
The first strand comes to me.
If my mother is right and I’m really a succubus, and if the real Mr. Blackwood is what she calls mysubject, and if the dreams between us have been two-sided all along, and if Thorne just so happens to remember themandknows that I’m the cause…
Then wouldn’t he have shown some sign of recognition when we met in the convent kitchen this morning? Wouldn’t he be acting strangely around me?
The sight of him hidden behind his broadsheets comes to mind, but I try not to let that train of thought spiral out of control. Instead, I pore over what else my mother said, about every succubus being different. She said weak succubi create forgettable dreams while stronger ones can alter the content of them at will. While I can play around with daydreams, I have no control over what happens in my mind at night. Does that make me a weak succubus with forgettable dreams? Or no succubus at all?
Finally, I pry my eyelids open and meet my mother’s worried gaze. Forcing as much calm to my voice as I can, I say, “You mentioned you’ve had to sleep for entire days to keep your subjects dreaming. Does that mean a succubus’ power only works while she’s sleeping?”
“Oh, yes. Falling asleep is the first step. After you’ve chosen a subject, that is. You must learn to dream lucidly during slumber, for that is how you forge a connection with your subject and enter their dream or draw them into yours.”
“And there’s no such thing as…let’s say, a daydream succubus? Or one who draws subjects into dreams without trying to?”
She frowns. “I’ve never heard of a daydream succubus, and no, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of a subject entering a succubus’ dream of their own accord.”
I release a heavy sigh. Maybe I’m not a succubus after all. The children of fae don’t always take after their parents. Some have been born with wildly different powers and physical characteristics. I have dream magic, but it could be a coincidence that Mother and I capture memories the same way.
“Why do you ask, lovey? Are you like this? Are you a daydream succubus?” There’s a hungry gleam in her eyes, a chilling look that sends a shiver down my spine. It grows as she adds, “Can you paralyze a subject while you’re awake?”
I shake my head and watch as her strange expression fades back to neutral. “I’m still learning about my magic, so I honestly don’t know how it works, but I believe I only create dreamscapes. Are there any mahrts like that? Or ones who dream of a subject without sharing the dream with them?”
“Yes, I suppose,” she says a bit absently, clearly disappointed in my refusal to accept that I might be a succubus. “Some mahrts create dreams only for themselves.”
More relief courses through me. That sounds more in line with my magic. While dread continues to cloud my heart, at least I have the comfort of doubt now. The dreams I’ve had of Thorne might be nothing. My daydreams are clearly not the product of succubi magic, and my night dreams are devoid of control. Not to mention the fact that Thorne simply shows up. I don’t forge a connection or summon his presence.
But still…
“Mother, is it possible to rid yourself of a subject so that you can’t dream of them?”
“Oh, I never erase a memory. You never know when you’ll need it. Every subject is an asset to you.”
I lean forward and clasp her hands in mine. A mixture of fatigue and pleading strains my voice. “Please tell me how.”
Her brows knit together as she studies my face. Then, with a resigned nod, she rises from her crouched position and sits next to me on the bed. Her voice turns somber, a tone I haven’t heard her use. “While I’d prefer to teach you to strengthen your control rather than how to erase a memory, I must remind myself that you are a woman grown. You’ve had an entire life without me, with experiences and memories I know nothing about. You’ve had to sort out your magic all on your own, devoid of a proper teacher. So if there’s a particular memory you’re determined to relinquish, you can erase it.”
I give her an encouraging nod, hardly daring to blink as I await her instruction.
She lifts her hands and forms her triangular frame, though she doesn’t look through it. “You must frame your subject again, the same way you would if you were capturing a new memory, but this time you close the frame over your subject.” Keeping her hands only as high as her chest, she demonstrates by sliding her fingers together until the triangular gesture disappears.
I feel as if an iron weight lifts from my shoulders, releasing my panic, my fears. “Thank you, Mother.”
Her lips stretch wide and her giddy countenance returns. “Oh, I do love hearing you call me that! And don’t worry, love, we have plenty of time for me to teach you more. There are a few techniques that might come in handy with your fiancé, should you need to secure his attachment…”
She prattles on, but I tune her out. I’m too busy feeling intense waves of relief. I may not be certain whether I’m a succubus or if my dreams of Thorne have gone both ways, but at least now I have a sense of control. A plan.
Tonight I’m going to erase Thorne Blackwood once and for all.
12
BRIONY
