Someone’s going to take the manor. I’m going to lose everything.
“If you start wailing, I’m going to kill you again.”
I heave for breath, clutching at my chest. This is a joke. I never died. This is just a bad dream from one too many glasses of shitty wine, and I’ll wake up any second. I?—
Oh God.
I’m at the manor. This is Ella’s room.Idrew those sigils on the floor to summon her, andheappeared instead. He—fuck, he murdered me.
My hand flies up to my neck.
Again. He said he’d kill me again.
I scramble back to get away from him.I’m dead. I’m going to lose everything. I don’t—Why is everything soblurry?
The man watches me, lips curled into an impatient sneer. As ifI’minconveniencing him.
I trip over my feet trying to get away, which sends me careening toward the wall. I brace for impact that never hits. My torso goes straight through the plaster, and I throw my hands out to catch myself against the floor.
What…? I slowly twist my head round to find half my body is out of sight, hidden behind the wall in my sister’s room.
The world shifts again before I can get my bearings. A strangled cry rips from my lips as the floor beneath me gives way, and then I’m free-falling from the ceiling into the study.The matted Persian rug races up to greet me, and pain explodes from my side on impact. It shocks the panic into submission.
Oxygen punches from my lungs, and I groan, rolling onto my back as I blink back the dots clouding my vision. I stare at the peeling paint above me, breathing hard, the same words on repeat.I can’t be dead.I can’t be dead.I can’t be dead.Then, finally, something new.
I fell through the ceiling.
No, I—this?—
Thethumpof footsteps stirs me out of my stupor.
Still, my body is too slow to catch up to my brain. I scramble onto my feet and sprint for the entrance before he can get to me. This is a bad dream. I’ll wake up screaming any second now to thetick, tick, tickof the clock. My alarm will go off, and I’ll go back to being berated by strangers on the phone.
This can’t be real.
My feet go skidding around a corner, utterly silent, as if I’m not there. The front door looms ahead, my promise of freedom. But he’s at the top of the stairs, scowling at me.
His boot hits the first step like a bolt of lightning. It cracks through the hollow manor—all that remains of my broken dreams.
I force my legs to move as fast as they can, raising my hand toward the handle, only to fall right through, stumbling onto the porch.
No.
No.
Oh God.
Tremors ripple through my bones. I have to get out of here. I’mnotdead. And yet the wet earth doesn’t soak into my jeans. The grass doesn’t ripple as I charge across the unkempt field. My footing doesn’t catch on the raised roots; I don’t trip over therubbish. Clouds of condensation don’t plume in front of me with each hard pant as I close the distance to the gate I came through.
Tears stream down my face as pure panic sinks its teeth into me. I push my legs harder, expecting to hear my pulse roar in my ears, but there’s only insect song drifting through the air.
I’m dead. There’s no other way to explain it. This isn’t a bad dream. There?—
I crash into a hard wall and am thrown back onto the ground. Gasping, I blink up at the cloudy sky, attempting to realign my equilibrium before shifting back onto my feet to make for the gate that’s only a yard away.
A stone lodges itself in the pit of my stomach, weighing me down as I inch closer, trying to make sense of what I hit.
There’s nothing but air.
