The Horror and the Wild

XVI. Turning Crimson

January 19, Tuesday

Owen dreamt of Cillian.

He knew it was a dream for the glamour that Cillian managed, the look of his brilliant green eyes just then. He was something other, and Owen did not know how something other felt, didn't know how others were supposed to feel— and he imagined there was no mercy in them, in Cillian. Cillian stood above Owen, bent over him for so long that Owen began to mistake his shadowy angels' wings for the night sky. In his hand was a long spear made of gold, and emerald flames— glowing the exact shade as Cillian's eyes— burst forth from the fine point, curling around the head and reaching for the shaft. He thrust it into Owen's chest where a heart should be and Owen was on fire with the sweetness of the excessive pain. Consciousness disappeared from him. All he could hear was Cillian's halted breath with the impetus of repetitive stabbing into him. He smelled nothing but the perfume of gardenias, cut sharply by the sweet tang of burnt sugar. Cillian's magic smelled like that.

Owen could do little more than open and reopen his mouth as he let out a strangled cry. He could feel himself lifting from whatever surface Cillian had him draped over and wanted to ascend feather-light into the blinding white above.

Cillian murmured something that Owen didn't understand, but sounded like what he'd called Owen on the roof that night.

Mo ghrá.

His hand stretched the distance between them to trace the line of Owen's collarbone. His finger hovered just above the skin and Owen felt pierced even before the touch landed.

Cillian's hand settled on Owen's chest, and his burning green eyes met Owen's. He spoke softly, and Owen watched his pretty lips shape the words.

"You could have loved me only if I was something holy."

Owen was ripped violently from his dream and away from Cillian by Dani frantically shaking him awake. Tears messily tracked down his face as he fought back against the bone-deep weariness heavily settled within his joints.

The real Cillian hadn't contacted Owen since his birthday, ten days prior.

"Owen, come quick. Leo says I'm not allowed to see, but he told me to get you."

Owen sat up, rubbing at his face.

"What's going on, Dani?"

"Just get dressed as quick as you can. I'll turn around."

Confused, Owen groggily shuffled into a pair of jeans and a plain grey hoodie. He'd barely gotten his shoes on before Dani was hauling him downstairs. Owen felt it in his bones that something was terribly wrong the second he saw the first police officer. Suddenly more awake, Owen stepped past Dani to approach the hall leading out to the small courtyard garden. Stepping out, Owen was greeted with a carnage he couldn't have formerly imagined even if he'd watched a hundred horror movies. And once he'd seen it, there was no unseeing it.