Pressure will always make me run to the forest. But EverDark isn’t a forest, it’s a grave. “Escort, please.”
She nods and stands. With Riddle in on my shoulder, we walk out into the dark of the night. Ms. Fernren leads the way until we get to the main path. Then I sidle up to her the rest of the way.
We don’t go the way Tor and Sirocco came in. Ms. Fernren takes a different path that isn’t as worn as it is maintained. Large redwood sentinels line both sides of the dirt walkway. The fading light tips into twilight. Running water rushes in the distance, getting louder and louder until the trail takes us to a slow-moving river. Beyond the steam, on the other side, are trees—not so old as to be ancient, but not so young as to be seedlings. It’s a good forest, one that’s alive.
She stops at the bank and turns, attempting to hide a smile.
“Castle Raven Night,” I say as I realize she knows where I live. My shock is apparent.
“Yes. This is the backside of the castle.” She pauses.
I give Ms. Fernren the side-eye. I’ve been here for two days, and today is the first day I’ve been to school. “You knew I was staying here?”
“I’d heard through the vine a dryad was coming, plus, you did come to school with a vampire in tow. In daylight hours. It’s been the top buzz about the academy.”
She straightens. “And I shall give you a word of advice…”
“Okay.”
“Do not let whatever a nymph says affect you, Ms. Stillwater.” I figure she’s referencing Sirocco’s statement about me being Jean-Claude’s paramour. Ms. Stillwater’s tone is condescending. It’s clear she doesn’t think much of Sirocco.
“Thank you for that.” It’s surprising how her words, or maybe her non-judgement, helps me. It’s been weighing on my mind that people might think of me as a paramour, as Sirocco put it.
“You’re welcome.” Ms. Fernren turns back.
“Wait…” I hold my hand out. “Is there a bridge nearby?”
The blight turns back to me. “Not one that leads to the count’s land.”
I look across the river. It’s wide. A real divide between here and there. Far enough so that the tree roots from either side won’t touch.
“Don’t dryads have remarkable skill in bounding over things?” Ms. Fernren asks.
She watches me with interest.
We do. I don’t have time to argue the point, nor do I have the will to disguise my natural talents. I’m tired and wary. “Riddle, it’s time for you to do a little flying.”
The little guy jumps off my shoulder and takes to the sky.
“Thanks again, Ms. Fernren,” I say as I take a step back and run forward. My legs carry me swift, fast, and then I spring off the edge of the water bank. For a moment, it feels as though I’m back in the count’s carriage with Pilot flying in the sky. The sensation lifts my heart and allows me to feel light for one small second. But nature’s law takes over and gravity inevitably tugs me back down again.
I land, running at first, then slow. Then I turn and wave to Ms. Fernren. She inclines her head and, without looking back, turns and walks off the path, back into the woods.
TWENTY♀♥♂♂♂♂JEAN-CLAUDE
“How dare you.”
To think that I, Jean-Claude Von Zarovich, the third could be overtaken!
Laughter bounces inside my skull.
He is here.
The Necromancer.
We are linked. The only consolation I have is that I now know who is trying to bore into my mind. But alternatively, he’s inside my mind, constructing new thoughts over my old ones. Building a new infrastructure, overlaying my own thoughts. Forcing me to forget things… quite conveniently.
Clouding me, confusing me.
Come now, Jean-Claude. His voice is a smooth current inside my head. We are not so different.
“The hell you say?” I wrestle with the hooks that have me under his control. They are heavy as concrete and barbed like a wyvern’s tail.
Do you not handle Stregen in the same way?
Bastard. “Stregen is a ghoul who requires guidance.”
Guidance. Yes, well…
I feel the mind on the other end. It’s foreign and endless, wandering, the sphere of eternity wrapping around his thoughts. He’s a being that has lived a long time and expects to live a great deal longer.
But life isn’t what I would call this existence. When one such as myself doesn’t have mortality to contend with, time is no longer precious. Time often becomes something resented, disliked. There is only one in all of Dread with this type of high-concept mind.
“I know who you are,” I say as the realization dawns within me.
Do you? Fascinate me.
“Doctor Faunus Ephesius.” I grit my teeth.
The thoughts float back. You are quite clever, after all.
His attention wavers. I push, trying to grapple with his shields, but he’s strong. I am a master at controlling my blood urges, keeping my lucidity instead of falling to insanity, keeping my mind free from distractions, but Faunus is exceptional.
His mind is the right type of endless, like a hall of mirrors. And it sends me reeling. All the strings I try to grasp turn out to be reflections. The further I go down that corridor of mirrors, the further I lose myself.
One end of the hallway reveals to me the outside world. The window of the soul is the eyes, and they are the only outlet allowing me to see what he’s doing with my body. It is this window that I stand before, like a sentry—watching.
The other end of the hallway is the only way to get
