Page 5 of Realm of Dreams & Shadows

I scoured the apartment for more journals after she died and my dreams started, but I couldn’t find even one. Not anywhere in our tiny apartment, not anywhere at Finn’s.

Except for the one last journal, the others were long gone, and so were any answers they might have held for me.

Mom had told me about the curse on all the women in my family, but she’d told me nothing else, and her few journal entries only set out what happened in her dreams but didn’t explain anything. Didn’t even say if I should trust the King or the Hunter.

She told me I would die in a dream, just like every woman in her family line, but she never told me how to live with them.

I hate her a little bit for that. Bitchy and unfair, maybe. But true. And as for that letter, all I can guess is that she meant to write a new one, but her dreams killed her before she had the chance.

Fiercely, I wipe away tears, then I glance into the box at the ring. It’s really the only thing I have of hers now. I remember the flea market excursion when she’d found the stone. It was one of our regular Saturday outings, and she’d been poking around in a box of unpolished rocks. I’d heard her little gasp, then peered at the treasure she’d held out on her palm.

I hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but a few weeks later, she’d polished the lapis lazuli and set it in the stunning silver and gold ring.

I’d begged to try it on, but she’d insisted it was a Mommy ring.

“It’s not good enough for you,” I’d said, all grown up at eight. I’d pointed to the white line that bisected the stone. “It’s broken. You should have a good one.”

“That’s a white calcite vein,” she’d told me. “And it’s part of what makes this a good one. Don’t you think it’s more interesting than a plain old stone with nothing on it? Besides, didn’t you tell me you don’t like rings?”

I’d shrugged. I still don’t like rings, but back then I’d just wanted the thing because it seemed like a piece of my mom.

Now, I’d gladly toss the damn thing in a wishing well if that would give me back my mother.

With a small shudder, I close my scrap box and finish unpacking. By the time I’m done, Tia has transformed herself into a party-ready coed, complete with enough eyeliner to supply a small theater troupe.

“You sure you don’t want to come to the mixer with me now? Your uncle wouldn’t mind, would he?”

“Oh, he would. Family time is sacred to Uncle Finn. Besides, I’m wiped. I’m going to grab a ten-minute power nap before I head to his place.”

“Good plan,” she says, then points a finger at me. “But if you decide to bail on me, I’ll have to kill you. It’ll suck losing my first on-campus friend, but at least I’ll have a room to myself.”

“I won’t bail. Promise.”

She cocks her head, nods, then grabs her phone and room key. At the door, she pauses, then looks back at me. “And Cora? I’m really glad you’re my roomie. I have a good feeling about us.”

The sincerity in her voice catches me off guard. “Me too,” I say, and even though it’s been years since I’ve had a close friend, I truly mean it.

Chapter

Two

After she leaves, I head to the communal showers and let the hot water soothe away the tension of travel and new beginnings. As I dry off, I catch my reflection in the steamy mirror—pale skin, copper hair, and eyes the color of emeralds. My mother’s eyes were brown, but other than that, I look like her, a resemblance that had once been a source of pride but now feels like a warning. If I stare long enough, I can almost see her face superimposed over mine, wearing the same expression of haunted exhaustion she’d carried in the weeks before she died. The weeks when she’d been so strangely distracted, as if she knew Death was coming for her.

No.

That may have been Mom, but it’s not me. Death may be knocking, but I am damn sure not opening that door.

With a firm nod, I pull on my sleep shirt and shorts and slide into bed. Just a quick nap so that maybe Uncle Finn won’t see my exhaustion and insist I get some sleep before he feeds me.

I put my headphones in, then go to the phone app that supposedly uses NASA technology so astronauts can stay fresh and sharp on very little sleep. Then I do what the app tells me—I focus on my surroundings and let myself drift, using the app’s tones and the ambient sounds as anchors to keep me just shy of deep sleep.

The thrum of the soundwaves.

The echo of footsteps on the stairs.

The soft brush of the tree limbs against the window.

I focus on each, letting relaxation come, but not giving in to the pull of sleep. Not succumbing. Fighting it. Focusing on the footsteps. Focusing on the leaves. Focusing on the waves that tease my ankles, the cool wind that whips my hair into my face.