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When this attempt failed too, she tried picturing her and Varen somewhere else entirely, in a desert far away.
Instead of sand, the pavement beneath her dissolved into the gray dust of the dreamworld. Isobel closed her fists around the powder, crying out in frustration as the scrapes in her hands burned with pain.
Nothing was working.
She was too late. He’d become too strong. She couldn’t fight against him like she had before.
Whatever this was—wherever this was—it felt like the end Reynolds had warned her about.
Opening his arms, Varen threw his head back.
Spears of violet lightning shot up from the ground around him, connecting with the darkness above and forming a cage.
Isobel zeroed in on Varen’s illuminated form, his arms spread like the wings of the white bird on his black coat.
As the lightning fluttered in and out of view . . . so did he.
In that instant, Isobel realized that no matter what dimension they occupied, Varen was not there in physical form. He was projecting. Like he had the day of the Poe project. Like she had when she’d crossed through the veil.
If that was true, then this—the parking lot, the coffee shop, and the street—must be reality. Because Varen wouldn’t need to project in the dreamworld. And if he was projecting here, then that meant the veil hadn’t completely eroded. At least, not enough to allow Varen to physically rejoin his own world.
But that would also mean that she could not overpower Varen, and she would have no way of stopping this. No way of stopping him.
Everything would merge. Reality and dreams. Eternity—it was all headed for oblivion.
Time itself would end.
Unless . . .
Isobel pushed up onto her feet.
Even with her thoughts still spinning, slowly formulating an answer she dreaded, she started moving toward him.
Before, when the two worlds had overlapped like this, the blending had happened through a link—a role previously served by Varen’s sketchbook.
According to Reynolds, that role had since been transferred to something else.
Someone.
Isobel sped her pace to a run, closing in.
Even as she neared him, dodging cars and entering the forest of lightning, she didn’t know if her plan would work. If it could.
Over the din of the whipping winds, the cawing of the Nocs, and the crashing thunder, she screamed his name.
Like before, she hadn’t expected him to hear her, to turn. But, just as he had then, he did now.
Launching herself at him, Isobel wrapped her arms around him. They fell backward together, and for one blissful instant, she held him tight.
And even as the flames conjured by her mind engulfed him, Isobel could not bring herself to let him go.
White-hot and blinding, the blaze enveloped them both.
Colliding with the pavement, Varen’s figure disintegrated on impact, his form dissipating against the dusty ground that caught her fall alone.
18
Ashes, Ashes
