Chapter Four
Her dreams were nightmares.
Kira, Michein, Franklin, Parmella, Sage, and the other villagers Maria had been introduced to by Gramps’s sketchbook were in these nightmares. They looked exactly how Gramps had drawn them.
Where they were in this dream, Maria was unsure. It was as if they floated through a gelatinous haze.
The world in between, a voice said in her head. Whose it was, she didn’t know. It sounded like a mixture of all those who had given her help—Duke, Gramps, Anwyn, Frieda, and so many more. Then the ghosts of Gramps’s friends called out to her.
“Help us, Mariaaaaaa. Help ussssss.”
“I’m trying,” she replied.
“It is coming. The darkness.” Gaunt faces looked at her with an underlying kindness. “It will consume us all. If it escapes, it will consume the worlds.”
“I won’t let it,” she promised sternly.
Suddenly, there was a crack like thunder and a flash of lightning. The villagers of Dominion parted. Maria was pulled forward; she could feel her insides stretch, then snap back into place when she stopped.
Now she stood before a great, dark mist, a storm cloud from hell. Inside the mist, electricity fizzled and blazed. A heat radiated from it, but so did the icy chill of death and despair.
It almost sent Maria’s heart out of her chest.
She wanted nothing more than to cower, but she knew that was what the darkness wanted. Ignatius Apple had not taught her to fall down before darkness. No, she stood up to darkness. She wouldn’t let it win, even if this was a dream.
Her hands clenched into fists, and she looked right into the mist with a snarl on her face.
A wisp of the cloud reached out toward her with talon-like hands. She clamped her teeth together, lest they took to chattering.
For a moment, the hand hovered there in front of her face. Maria reached for her sword, but it was gone. She hadn’t brought it with her to this dreamworld. But she was more than a sword. She was a witch with powerful magic. She allowed her mind to wander, seeking out the magic that would defeat this entity, this creature, this thing. But she got nothing. The magic was gone. It wasn’t there.
Like a striking viper, the darkness’s hand shot toward Maria’s chest. The chill present all around her now invaded her body. She screamed, but there was no sound.
“Release me, Maria. Releaseeeeee meeeeee.”
No, she tried to say, but the darkness had more than her heart; it had her body. It pulled her closer with a jerk. Spikes of pain rippled over her. She screamed, again soundlessly. She was so close to the darkness that each breath she took was painful and full of ice.
“Poweerrrr, Maria, I’ll give you power,” the voice cooed.
No, no!
“I’m coming whether you like it or not. I’ll be there to devour your world.”
No, no, no—
“Never!” she shouted as she shot up out of bed. Sherlock rolled off the side and bounced off the floor with a snorting whine.
What the hell? That wasn’t cool at all, the Bloodhound moaned.
Maria’s heart beat frantically. “Did you hear that?”
What? Maria, are you okay? You’re not going crazy, are you? Sherlock asked. He was pulling himself up off the floor. He gave his head a great shake, ears flapping all around, drool spraying like a fine mist. Some flecks of spit hit Maria, but she hardly noticed. Her mind was elsewhere.
“I saw them all. They were so close to death. That darkness was going to consume them,” she was saying as she got out of bed and rushed to put on her clothes.
What are you on about? You nearly broke my back. Don’t you care about me? If you broke my back or one of my paws, how the hell would I ever dance at Dog Prom?
Maria ignored this, too.
“I gotta tell Gramps. If he doesn’t hurry up and get that ruby-thing, I’ll have to go myself.”
Sherlock followed behind her at first, and then ran in front—probably thinking it was breakfast time. Old habits die hard, and all that. Maria did notice he walked with an exaggerated limp; it wouldn’t be the first time, if he was playing up the injury to get more food.
She came upon Gramps’s door and didn’t bother to knock.
Wait, Maria—
The hinges creaked open and she was looking inside her grandfather’s bedroom—a place where he had slept alone for many years.
Now, though, he wasn’t so alone.
On the bed, covered with at least four blankets, all of vibrant color and exquisite stitchwork, were two lumps.
“Oh, my—” Maria began, but then one of the lumps started to move. Frieda’s hair spilled over the edge of the bed, and her arm hung next to it.
Quickly, Maria closed the door.
Told you, Sherlock said. I could smell Frieda almost as soon as we hit the hallway. She smells sweet, like the forest, but I smelled something else, too.
“Oh God, please don’t say you smelled…lovemaking,” she said, bringing a hand up to her mouth.
Sherlock’s lips pulled back in a grin. No, no, not lovemaking; not yet at least. But I did smell love. Loads of it. Those two are about as head over heels for each other as you and that security guard.
“Joe,” she insisted. “Don’t act like you don’t know his name. And I’m not head over heels for him. Geez, Sherlock, you know me better than that. I’m not into all that lovey-dovey crap.”
Sure you’re not.
“I’m not. I have a mission to accomplish first.”
Uh-huhhhhh, Sherlock said.
Maria turned from the door and headed down the steps. Sherlock pushed past her, not so much walking as he was waddling.
Maybe I really should integrate a bit more vegetables into his diet. He’s looking like a blimp. Maria smiled. All that
