Page 9 of Hallowed Bones

The eyes are anxious.

Someone else has come. Someone who should not be here. I round the corner, the scent of damp rock sharp and familiar—then I see her.

She’s fucking beautiful, and it’s as if the eyes recognize her presence as a gift that I am not. To those eyes, I am an invading and unwanted visitor. She’s not. There’s a halo surrounding her. My heart thuds erratically in my chest.

I stop breathing.

She turns from where she stands down the stone corridor. Her gaze locks onto mine—dual-colored irises, one a dark amber and the other a jade moss green. I’ve never been able to speak in this place, but right now, even if I could—I don’t know that I’d have the voice.

Her lips part, confusion puckering her brow as she gazes back at me. Silence echoes from the rafters of this hall that goes on for an eternity. We are neither here nor there—out of time and space yet trapped on the verge of both. My mind feels the draw on my power, a pressure that will never ease. It weighs me down and makes each movement all the harder.

The girl moves as if she’s unaffected. As if she doesn’t feel the same cost that I must pay every time I’m brought to the dream realm. I find myself drawn to her features, watching her, curious. My heart beats faster, the sound echoing in my ears as my eyes drop to her lips. Full and plush and inviting me to lean forward and take them with mine.

I shake my head, recalling myself to the reality that we’re trapped in together. The dreamscape. It’s a witch’s realm … so what is she doing here?

The first time I came here, I tried to find the exit. I’d done the same the second time and the third and fourth. By the tenth, however, I’d stopped looking for an end to the unending and simply let it bring me to where it wanted. Often, it shows me paths of the future that I either need to avoid or be wary of.

This time is different because of her. Is she my vision? A future I need to fear? Or something else entirely? I can’t deny that the sight of her makes me hunger with an unfamiliar desire that heats my blood and sends my pulse hammering against my rib cage.

“Hello?”

The sound of her voice slams into me in the near-deafening quiet.

I gape at her. Her long, ebony hair hangs to her ass. Yet her jeans and her white T-shirt damn near glow in the darkness of this place. There’s a singular stripe of pale silver framing one side of her heart-shaped face and illuminating her with a soft glow. But that’s not what’s important—what’s important is the fact that she can speak.

How? Why? Have the rules changed? The questions spiral through my head, but no answers are forthcoming.

I open my mouth and try to respond. The moment I pull air into my lungs, though, a smoky trail of magic wraps around my throat and freezes the words before they can come out.

Fuck. No, the rules haven’t changed. I’m just as silent as before.

Why is she different?

Annoyance makes my motions a bit rougher as I glare at her and then gesture for her to come closer.

She wavers, frowning at me. I gesture again, harder. I can’t fucking expect her to understand me from so far away if I can’t damn well talk.

“What do you want?” she asks.

I grit my teeth and wave my hand faster, hoping she gets the fucking hint. After a moment, she takes a step away from the wall and slowly—excruciatingly slowly—walks in my direction. Eons go by before she’s standing close enough that I can see she’s not a ghostly phantom like the other creatures who find themselves here usually are. Her body is completely opaque and her expression, dubious.

Who the fuck is she? Is she real?

I take a breath, and this time, there’s no tightening around my throat to halt any words. The magic can always tell when I mean to talk and when I don’t. I won’t try to cross that boundary again—not that it would do me any good—and I sign to her, hoping she understands.

Do you know where you are? I ask her.

Her eyes follow the movements of my hands, but there’s no telltale recognition in her gaze that says she comprehends what I’m trying to relay.

Fucking hell. I find someone in the dream realm and they can’t read sign language. Of course that would be my luck.

I try to sign again—even though I know it’s useless at this point, but what else am I supposed to do? I slow down the movements of my fingers so that as she watches them, perhaps she’ll recognize what I’m doing.

Do. You. Know. Where. You. Are? Each word is done with methodical intention.

She flicks her eyes up to mine before looking back at my hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “It’s been a long time.… I can’t really understand sign language—I … erm … I only remember the alphabet. Can you try doing it again by spelling it out?”

Despite my earlier irritation, relief fills me. Even if it’s ten times more difficult to spell each word out, it’s better than no ability to communicate at all.