Page 132 of Endless Terrors
I was slow to react—my energy had been depleted after getting stabbed—and I felt time shift as I watched her finger close on the trigger. There was a flash and a thundering sound.
I felt an instant of hot, searing pain before the light came back.
This time, I went tumbling into it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Heaven wasn’t a place of gilded streets or looming mansions.
Instead, it was a beautiful dream.
After Bella O’Connell shot me, I opened my eyes expecting to be back in Hell—I didn’t even let myself hope for anything else. Fallen or not, I was a killer. The blood of innocents stained my soul. But instead of a dark tower or red horizons, I saw familiar rolling hills and green leaves quivering above me.
The dreamscape.
I’d arrived beneath our tree, mine and Oliver’s. A moment after I noticed this, I spotted him farther down the path. Sunlight bounced off his bright head and his arms hung loosely at his sides. He was walking toward me, but his face was turned toward the horizon. His eyes squinted against the fading sun.
I hadn’t seen Oliver since Lucifer had broken free. Since the devil had whispered something mysterious in his ear and then shattered my entire world. As I watched my best friend close the distance between us, something about his expression made me decide not to bring it up yet. There would be plenty of time to talk about Lucifer later.
I knew, somehow, that I wasn’t here for a few hours, or a slightly longer visit. I’d seen that gun go off in Bella’s hand. I’d felt a flare of agonizing pain. Zara had been nearby, so there was a small chance of survival, but I wasn’t optimistic.
My instincts turned out to be right. I couldn’t be sure how much time had passed on Earth, but days went by in the dreamscape. It didn’t matter. That’s what I told myself, over and over. I said it to myself now as a storm raged over the sea, making the sky flash and the walls groan.
I stood in front of the kitchen sink and stared out at the rain, trying not to think of him. Because thinking about Lucifer hurt, and when I hurt, I started to forget that nothing mattered. Goosebumps raced over my skin, and I rubbed my arms. A damp chill clung to the air, a relentless cold that hadn’t eased over the course of the day. I couldn’t seem to get warm, no matter how many layers I put on.
Behind me, the door to the cottage opened. A gust of cold wind howled through the room before Oliver kicked it back shut. I stayed where I was, shivering, and listened to the sound of his boots against the floorboards as he went over to the fireplace. There was a hollow clatter as Oliver set down the logs he’d brought. He didn’t speak, but this wasn’t unusual.
Ever since I’d been back, Oliver had been quiet, distracted. I kept trying to resurrect the magic of the old days—going for swims, reading to each other in dapples of sunlight, lying beneath the stars—but it seemed like every time we did something together, Oliver eventually slipped away with an excuse. At first, I worried that he was in pain again, fighting some mental battle against Lucifer or one of the other countless nightmares Oliver had always protected me from. But there were none of the outward signs of discomfort, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was keeping something else from me.
So now, as Oliver resuscitated the fire, stoking the fresh flames with a poker, I said nothing. After a minute or two, he got up and put the poker back on its stand. I sensed him staring. I looked over my shoulder to confirm it, and raised my eyebrows. “Do you need something, Ollie?”
His eyes were hard. “Enough of this. You need to go back.”
I faced the gray downpour again, pressing my crossed arms even harder against my middle. “What do you mean?”
“I think you’re keeping yourself here,” Oliver said. Footsteps sounded behind me, and then I felt his warmth at my back. His voice softened as he added, “But you’re no coward, Fortuna Sworn.”
One of the logs shifted and sent a flare of light through the space. When I didn’t answer, Oliver moved to stand beside me. I glanced at him sidelong and noted the mud splattered on his clothes. “Where have you been?”
“I told you before I left. I was out chopping wood.”
I shook my head. “No, before that. You leave for hours. All day long, every day. What are you doing out there?”
Lightning flashed, making Oliver’s skin look pale and smooth, his freckles stark. His expression was resolute, as if he’d made a decision while he was out there chopping wood. “It won’t work, Fortuna. We need to talk about this,” he said.
A sigh filled my chest. He was right. There were a lot of things we needed to talk about, but neither of us had tried these past few days. Apparently that time was now. I faced Oliver fully, my arms still crossed. As I tipped my head back, I made a decision of my own.
“Fine. I’ll try to wake up … on one condition.” I met Oliver’s gaze. “Tell me what he said to you.”
His jaw clenched, but he didn’t look surprised. He’d known this conversation was coming, too. Oliver’s focus shifted to the window, and his gaze was dark with remembrance. “He urged me to be what I’m meant to be.”
I frowned. “What does that even mean?”
“Whatever he meant, it doesn’t matter. Taking advice from the devil would be like …” Oliver trailed off as it occurred to him that I’d done a lot more than take the devil’s advice. The corners of his mouth deepened, but he didn’t reveal any other signs of jealousy or tell me how much I’d fucked up. I knew that, anyway. Maybe this was my punishment. I looked back out the window, swallowing down a rush of guilt.
What had I unleashed on the world?
“I already tried,” I said abruptly. I turned my head and met Oliver’s gaze again. There was nothing I could do about the choices I’d made before, but I could make changes now.
