“I’m starting to think the only sister I’ve ever had and needed is you.”
We were both quiet for a moment.
“Ronen admitted he knew my powers were killing my mom. And my father knew too.”
His arms cinched around me. There wasn’t anything he could say. The only person who could fix this was me. And only if I ever figured out how to change the past.
“You know… if you wanted to win the emotional trauma contest, I would’ve given you the crown.”
“I don’t know. I think searching ninety-five years for your adopted sister only to learn she’s a witch who possesses and eats people’s souls while building an army of the Damned might win.”
“Damn…” he mused. “I think you might be right.”
I laughed softly. “I love you, Oliver.”
“I know. But do you love me enough to scoot off me? Your bony ass is cutting off circulation to my foot.”
“I suppose,” I teased half-heartedly, moving onto the mattress beside him.
A somber silence settled over us like a thick blanket.
“I need to dream-walk to Miriam,” I told him. “And for some reason, I just know it’ll be another blow. Not sure how much more I can take.”
Oliver knocked my chin upward. “A lot”
I gave him a small, tight smile.
“I’ll be brave for you, if you’ll be brave for me.”
“Will you be strong for me too?” I asked.
He lifted his arm and slapped his bicep. “They may shake and quake, but you can count on them.”
“You’ll stay with me until I’m done?”
Oliver settled back into his old spot. “Yes.”
I closed my eyes and thought of the list the cloaked female had given me. But this time, I didn’t think of them as Miriam’s attributes. I imagined them as Aspen might have when he was a little boy. I used the images from the dream-walk of her death to sink into her presence, into a life I tried desperately to imagine.
The dream-walk started with darkness.
Then the body I invaded opened their eyes.
I would’ve screamed if I could. A male with massive black horns and blood-red eyes locked onto us, unblinking. His wavy brown hair framed gray skin rough as stone.
“Are you okay, my love?” the male asked in a deep, gravelly voice.
No, she was not. Everything hurt and throbbed, and her clothes were soaked through with sweat.
“What happened?” she said instead.
Her voice didn’t sound familiar to my ears, but I’d only heard Miriam once, and that was in Oliver’s head right before she died.
“You passed out from the pain.”
She turned her head toward the bedside table.
Hana?
