101 - A Perfect Sky; A Storm

7

It's daybreak. I'm standing atop the parking garage again, gazing out at the sprawling city below. London is cast in a milky haze. It doesn't look like natural fog or pollution; more like there is a thick layer of sleep coating my eyes, and no matter how many times I try to rub it out, it doesn't fade.

Faith is near me, but I don't see her. Only feel her, like a warm ghost petting the bakunawa inked into my arm. Once again, I'm only in the tank top I wear under a hoodie and sweats; oddly, I don't feel the October breeze against my flesh, its chilly temperature only evident by the smell of crisp air.

A blue dot catches my eye, rumbling toward me up the ramp. The van. I get a sense of déjà vu; everything plays out as expected: The vehicle growing nearer yet not actually swallowing the distance between us; the speed at which it feels like it's going but can't possibly, given how it hasn't reached me yet.

The morning sky splits open, and a beam of light pierces down into the center of London. Even miles away, I can feel its heat, its power, burrowing deep into the core of the earth.

The van still revs on, closer now. I shut my eyes, bracing for the impact of the aluminum grill, but to my surprise, I feel no pain, no impact.

I open one eye at a time, my face still set in a cringe, praying that the van miraculously skidded to a silent halt to spare me. Instead, I find myself standing outside the window to the Doctor's building. It appears empty...

Curiosity getting the better of me, I walk up to the front entrance. It's locked tight. One effortless, calculated kick sends the door crashing down, and I lift my fists to brace myself for a fight on the other side. The thud echoes back to me as the door hits the ground. I expect someone to rush in to investigate the commotion, but after a moment and no one comes, I relax from my stance and step inside.

Regardless of immediately realizing I'm in the Dreamscape, everything feels so real: the musty-dusty air, the sound of my boots scuffling on the concrete, and the feel of the wood trim as I run a hand along it. It makes it easy to forget.

The thought flees from my mind completely when my attention drops to the floor, my blood turning to ice.

Lying there, carefully arranged and perfectly posed side-by-side, are the twins, their arms crossed over their chests in a macabre embrace. Their fair skin has lost all vitality, their mouths agape and faces frozen, as if their last sights were on the ugly mugs of Der Kindestad or a Grimslaw demon. Their vacant eyes, once as vibrant as glacial ice, now stare emptily at the paneled ceiling.

Two holes mar the delicate skin of each of their necks—a stark reminder of the inevitable fate that awaits slayers and those who follow us into the fray. Or at least I can't help but see it that way as they lay before me, their very essence mercilessly siphoned away.

On the other side of Kai lay Sineya's skeleton, exactly as it was laid out in the hotel lobby.

Two dead twins and the remains of the First Slayer...

This can't possibly be a warning.

Though I know it is a dream, my eyes still burn with the threat of tears, and it singes away that comfort in my next blink.

Whatever reason that's got my eyeballs watering, I swallow it down. I'm no stranger to death, having experienced plenty of losses; dealt plenty of killing blows in the past five years... But seeing the twins like this turns my insides leaden in a way I wasn't expecting. My swallowed feelings are heavy in my gut as I push myself across the room.

At the far end, a desk stands, and upon it sits an open laptop; I go to it. Despite my tech-savvyness, I can't get the screen to turn on; it is black and unresponsive to my touch no matter how many buttons I push—and trust me, I am techy. My father made sure of that.