A Fever Dream

CHAPTER 25. A Wrong Fairytale

I have always been fascinated by that time between night and dawn when dreams start to get whisked away, but the sun is yet to rise and the world stands half awake. Brimming with possibilities, with words yet to be said, things yet to be done, and countless futures in the making. In the wee hours of dawn, the most ridiculous illusions seem possible.

Even such as drinking centuries-old wine from ruby stubbed goblets in the dining room of the abandoned castle, after being given a ride by the ghost of its former owner.

Candles danced on the yellowed paper, as I turned page after page with my trembling hands. Weak threads of rising sun balanced on the patch of carpet under the tall hallway window. Other than that the castle was dark and silent. Somewhere outside, the links of the iron-wrought fence creaked in the wind, giving me a strange reassurance, just like a cold surface of an onyx ring I rolled between my fingers.

I did not feel particularly comfortable wearing it.

Sitting with my legs crossed on the giant sofa, I tried to gather my thoughts and connect them in a pattern that would make sense.

The energy that I felt at the alley, bouncing off my skin as if I was someone else for the moment - someone who knew how to fight a demon, someone, who wasn't afraid.

The words of the horned creature, which seemed to have been relieved to have found me.

My dreams, which became an asylum for Elliot's memories.

That dark cloud of blackness, moving in my direction, as I peered from the corridor at the dining room.

I can sense his brittle heartbeat. His little dreams. His rubbish memories.

At first, I thought they were talking about Jude.

Surely, they were talking about Jude, he looked and behaved like his master in every way.

But there were also the words of the human Lord.

They were searching for you. Don't you know what this means? Your ink?

In word, and in spirit.

Flushed, I rolled up the sleeve of my dress and stared at the tattoo. Once again it was cold.

I traced the pattern of it with my finger.

An idea formed in my mind, as simple and elegant, as it was ridiculous.

No. Impossible.

Absolutely not.

Besides, in no way it explained why the time seemed to stop in the Neversnow.

A vague memory of a sleeping town and sleeping girl and witches drifted in my mind from some long-forgotten children's book which I read in another time.

But it wasn't a correct fairytale.

What did Jude mean, when he said it was all coming to this? Unfortunately, he did not entertain any of my further questions, having vanished after he helped me into the castle. Off to his ghostly horses and coach.

"Mysterious bastard," I muttered to myself.

I took another swing from the goblet. August wine had a tart, earthy taste and unlike adoration water, made me feel less naive with each sip.

The memory of Alex's smug face flashed before my eyes.

You're just the same as me. We've always had so much in common, Aster.

I smirked. The goblet was now empty, so I took a swing from the bottle.

How could I even believe him for a moment?