A strange sense of deja vu cradled my sore bones when I heard water dripping from somewhere. I lay on cold, moist earth, sending shivers up my arms as I pulled them in. My fingernails dug into the cold, hard mud before I pushed myself up, groaning from the aches in my legs for buckling under me after a long fall. Instantly, I looked up, finding a ladder leading up to a tall ceiling. The roof was closed off, only a sliver of light from a glowing square of what could've been a door. The rest of the ceiling stood damp and covered in copper pipes.
Startled at where I was, I gasped, wobbling to a stand while shivering, patting the mud off my knees.
No way. Was this place real?
My breath shook as I pinched the back of my hand. Ow!
I was still standing in the darkened hall, with rocky walls glowing weakly from exhausted lanterns.
I pinched myself again. Ouch!
Nothing happened.
I scanned the dead moths on those old lanterns; glasses cracked to have insects fly inside for the heat to please them to death. One more pinch, but it was no use. I was still standing there, trembling even in the humidity of the strange eerie place.
"This is real," I whispered, banishing denial while hugging myself.
Was Nemo somewhere down here?
I shouted his name, and my voice echoed down the slope of the one-way cavernous path. A drop of warm water splatted on my shoulder, startling me to look up. I expected a monster hovering over me with warm blood dripping from its fangs, but it was just a zigzag mess of pipes, a few of them leaking warm water from loose screws. I steered my gaze back to the ladder, reconsidering climbing it and returning to a more familiar place, back to Slumberland. Whatever this place was, it wasn't Slumberland.
I took deep breaths as I weighed my options: To go back up or keep going?
Shivering with fear, I looked to the only path ahead: a steep descent into smothering humidity and weakened lanterns. My feet decided for me when they began to step forward, taking the first uneven stair. I plucked my toes into a puddle and took each step cautiously while my hand traced a warm, damp wall. The walls were rocky and complex, as though the whole place was inside of a living and breathing creature, sweating and breathing hot air down its deep throat from where I wandered. Some pipes hissed like the place crawled with snakes, making me jumpy.
The gap between each lamp was barely enough; it grew dark before another lit my path, allowing shadows to lurk around crevices and protruding rocks. I steadied myself, my white ballet flats already caked in mud.
My stained knees buckled, but my legs kept going, gliding down the stairs by the nostalgia of the place. I was ready to hear my mother's voice, echoes of my nightmare haunting me to almost hallucinate her calling out to me.
The deeper I went, the weaker the lamps emitted, some flickering, creating dim flashes of yellow light to create twisting shadows and shapes. The hairs on the back of my neck rose, feeling the air thicken and smell old, like a tomb. It was no longer earthy but decaying, rotten-like. I wrinkled my nose to it and spotted a strange phenomenon lurking around my feet: fog.
But it wasn't just any kind of fog. It was dark as smoke, with trickles of red sparkles. As I stepped through the gloom, it split away from me, falling to the walls to hover, unable to go anywhere but sit still and dwell around puddles. The deeper I went, the thicker the fog, releasing a chill around me as I stepped through, taking precautions not to inhale through a plume and swatting it away from my face.
"This is the Nightmare," I whispered, fearful of the fog lingering about the darkening, ancient tunnel. What was it doing here this close to Slumberland? My thoughts ran wild at the possibilities until, clumsily, I slipped, falling down two steps before I stumbled and landed on my hands and knees. With a splash, I landed in a puddle and gasped at its ice-cold black hands taking my legs. I jumped and rubbed at my bare legs, smacking away the filth and traces of Nightmare, breathing quickly through my clenched teeth. The broken steps had ended, nothing but hard earth and more rusty fog under my feet. Then I felt the pull to look up and exhaled a visible breath from the new cold air. Upon seeing what was ahead, my eyes grew.
"Nemo!"
With his back to me, he stood a few yards away.
Did he not hear me?
He was frozen before the dark fog that lingered ten feet over his form. As I stood there, petrified, I saw how Nemo's cape swayed away from him, how his hair tossed back, but there was no wind. Traces of the Nightmare danced around him, like tentacles whispering secrets only he could hear, a tempting mistress. The horrid fog slithered around his ears as though speaking to him, the boy hypnotized. He tilted his head back, pleased with what he heard.
"Nemo!"
I ran to him.
Nightmare's shadows dispersed as I neared, sinking back into the cracks around a titan door. My feet slowed, slapping over puddles until I came to a halt, unable to proceed.
That door...
"It's here," I trembled, unable to look away at its towering terror. Like in my dreams, it stood there viciously, pinned to the cavern by thick iron hinges and gears. It seemed to be breathing, its sturdy wood exterior whining with long exhales and pushing traces of gloom through the cracks. Etched on that door, the dragon symbol lay, its head bowed into its tail in an almost perfect circle as though bowing to the Nightmare behind the door. Galof's tattoo flashed, the emblem of Nightmare Land's royal crest.
A distant whisper of the dark prince's warning followed:
Don't go looking for that door. Forget about it. Don't even mention it. Ever. Understand?
I shouldn't have come here.
Panic began to swell my insides, first in my chest, as a balloon started to inflate under my breasts.
"Nemo," I squeaked, trying to catch his attention. He still didn't move. That only made me feel more alone. More balloons caught in my throat, and I could not breathe fully as I tried calling out to him, my voice cracking.
"Nemo, wake up."
Desperate to have him here with me, my shaky hand reached for his shoulder and took hold.
"Didn't you hear me?!"
I shook him. His arms jiggled, nothing more than a stand-up doll, his eyes locked on that door.
I got between him and the door, searching into his dim brown eyes only to find them lifeless. No light. No one was home.
"Nemo, please!" I didn't want to, but I smacked him lightly on his bandaged cheek. That seemed to work because he turned his head away from my hand, his eyes shut as he winced in pain.
"Ow!"
He blinked and took notice of me, a hand rubbing his newly throbbing cheek.
"Camille?" He paled, sweat dripping down his brow. "I..." he trembled. "What is this place?" he asked, looking lost, as he stumbled into this place drunk.
I took his arm and started to tug him away from the door.
"It doesn't matter! We have to go! We shouldn't be here-!"
I stopped short, all of a sudden smelling rose and jasmine. It smelt familiar. Goosebumps traveled across my shoulders and on the back of my neck. I turned slightly, my loose hair swaying over my hips, and laid one large eye on that door; specifically, the two giant boards pinning it closed, the only thing keeping us safe from what lay on the other side. But what if there was something important on the other side? Something or someone?
Mother?
Nemo stayed still, tense.
"What is it?" he inquired. But quickly as it came, the delightful smell vanished, back to inhaling decay and old earth. Staring down at the door, I breathed very little, my senses heightened for any particular noise or sight to tell me that we weren't alone, like a perked deer waiting for a hunter to step forth into the clearing.
But after a time, nothing came, and the tension became too much. There was a bit of relief as I finally let go of my breath.
"Nothing," I sighed. I started pulling on Nemo's arm again, dragging him back to the stairs.
My muddy slipper touched the first step before Nemo stiffened, and he gasped, his arm stuck. I twirled around to find his eyes lost in another one of those trances, and it scared me.
"Nemo, what is it?" I gasped, tugging his rigid arm. I suddenly felt alone again, Nemo nothing more than a body, his soul lost. He stared absently at the ascending steps, traces of loose bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead like little dark tentacles going after his dead eyes. His mouth hung open, sucking in fractions of the Nightmare that hovered around us like floating, slithering snakes.
What was happening to him?
I bit my lower lip as I smacked his other damaged cheek, and he flinched from it, stumbling back a step.
"Ow, stop doing that," he scowled, rubbing his cheek until one bandage fell off. What was exposed was a blotch of black and purple under his eye, a mark from Vince's mighty fist.
I swallowed. "You just seemed far away," I tried, hoping Nemo had a reasonable explanation, but he shook his head and looked at me like I was wacky.
"I'm fine, but.." he trailed off, looking over his shoulder at the door behind us. It seemed a lot closer than before, and I had the terrifying fear that it was following us.
"Didn't you hear that?" Nemo asked, one eyebrow up.
I stilled and held my breath to listen, but all I heard was water dripping, maybe a harsh whisper from the fog. All the anxiety balloons in my body were ready to pop.
"You mean the Nightmare gloom?" I checked.
Nemo shook his head. "No. It's coming from the door," he whispered. He looked at it again as though he could still hear it, whatever it was. I clasped my hands under my chin, hating to be here every second.
"Nemo, I don't hear anything," I quivered, afraid the boy was going mad.
He spun around, eying me closely with a severe stone gaze.
And then he cracked.
He keeled over, arms around his belly, and he laughed.
"You should've seen your face," he cackled, eyes closed and his wide-open laugh reaching the high ceiling.
I simmered, burning him with my ferocious gaze that may come close to what Father could produce, and shot out a mighty fist upon his upper arm. Nemo immediately stopped and rubbed his arm up and down. "Ow!" He squinted at me. "It was only a joke," he reasoned lamely.
"That. Is. Not. Funny," I fumed, frowning at him so hard. Nemo raised his hands to block me in case I was to sock him again.
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I thought it was funny." He walked past me and muttered, "I wish everyone would stop hitting me."
I followed him closely, the gloom running away from us. I stared at it, feeling the pockets of cold it carried.
Nightmares are cold.
Yes, they are indeed. Smacking the Nightmare fog away felt like sticking a hand through an ice lake for a second, the cold startling enough to make me gasp.
Nemo was quiet most of the ascend, his steps echoing with mine. He made a face at his boots but didn't mention the filth; instead, he watched a moth struggle to break free from a web beside a lightbulb.
"Hey, Camille." His urgent tone made me tense.
"Yes?"
"You said you dreamt this place. Right?" He tried to remember.
I breathed before replying, "Yes, I've dreamt of this place. I didn't know it was real."
"It doesn't seem very Slumberlandy. Why do you think there's a door here?" Nemo pried.
I shrugged. "I don't know, but it seems to be leaking with the Nightmare," I mused. "All the more reason to leave it alone," I added when I sensed Nemo was less guarded about it than I was.
I watched him closely, wishing to know where his head went. He drifted back to himself often, keeping his thoughts when I wanted him to share. His attention wandered, unable to look at me, and then his next set of words came, broken and almost too fearful to let them out.
"But what if...we...could open it?"
I swallowed a hard lump into my curdling stomach.
"Why would we do that?" I challenged, wondering where Nemo's logic settled. His eyes hid under his wavy bangs easily, not bothering to swipe them back.
He stopped on a step. I stayed a few above and looked down at him, his form appearing to shrink in the darkness below.
He said flatly, "Because the one behind that door will grant you any wish you desire." Nemo stared up at me with that faraway look that sent me chills. It didn't seem I was looking at him but at a stranger.
"Where did you get an idea like that?" I inquired, curious. Did I miss something crucial?
Nemo shook his head, our connection lost, and he grunted, "Nothing. It was just a thought."
He started again, walking past me.
"Let's get out of this joint."
I followed closely and breathed a sigh of relief when we reached the ladder.
I put one hand on it and paused.
"Let's not speak of this place. Ever," I suggested grimly. "Besides…" I stared at Nemo and puckered my lips after a securing thought. "We don't have a key anyway. Thank goodness," I ended and awaited his reply. He fell into thought for a minute, and one of his hands smacked his chest as though feeling for something under his white military jacket. He then dropped his troubled gaze and pressed his lips together. With the delay, he nodded, trying to reel back to what I said a minute ago, and replied weakly, "Yeah." He looked at me and forced a smile.
"Why did you dream of this place? It seems odd, doesn't it?" He added.
I was ready to climb the ladder but stopped short, wishing not to answer that question.
"Yes, I do find it odd," I inquired.
"Don't you want to see what's on the other side?"
"No. It's dangerous."
"You didn't hear that voice?"
I reeled back. "What voice?" I imagined it to be Mother, but I didn't hear her during the excursion.
Nemo waved it off. "Nothing. Never mind. I'm kidding. There wasn't anything," he quickly threw away. My gut told me not to believe him, but for some reason, maybe out of fear or denial, I asked lamely, "You just trying to scare me again?"
Nemo dug into his pockets and smiled sheepishly at me.
"Yeah, that's it." His frozen smile turned my blood cold as I sucked in the gloomy air quickly, debating whether to argue. My hand gripped the ladder, desperate to leave.
"We better go before the palace flips over searching for you," I pressed.
Nemo gestured up the ladder with one hand.
"Lady's first."
"Don't look up!" I spat, already climbing as my dress danced around my knees. Nemo cleared his throat and kept his eyes straight ahead. "Sure. Sure." He followed with his cheeks burning.
...
"I'm sorry I disappeared like that," Nemo said later. Together, we sat at a private table in the parlor, eating dinner in whispers while servants brought in dishes. Professor Genius watched us closely at another table, enjoying his meal with Lady Elena and Bonbon.
I sipped a glass of cider and shrugged.
"Let's just pretend the last hour never happened," I chirped, forgetting.
Nemo nodded after a gulp of his giggly juice of choice: champagne.
"All right. Forgotten," he bubbled. He was already slipping into a better place, his head probably full of bubbly thoughts. His eyes were blurring into the soft light through the glass ceiling, a wiggly smile of carelessness on his smooth face. Wherever the champagne took him, he enjoyed it, liquifying in his chair with long sighs. I eyed my glass, contemplating taking a sip, but instead, I watched the tiny bubbles stick to the sides before rising to meet the crowd of white foam.
I stared at my untouched drink for too long, Nemo noticing.
"You need some juice in it?" He enquired, pushing me to join him in the faraway place where bubbly drinks take you.
I blinked and looked away from the bubbles. "No, thank you. I'm not ready for giggle juice," I said tiredly.
Nemo laughed at that and swiped his glass.
"That means you NEED to drink it, babe. It's the drinking that makes you ready for more," he preached, tilting his head back to finish his tall glass. Under his glassy eyes, his cheeks turned pink, and he winked at me.
"Drinking will help you carry that torch of yours," he mentioned as he pointed a finger at me.
I stared. "What torch?" Was that more of his vocabulary? I didn't recall carrying anything.
Nemo laughed like I correctly responded to a joke, but I didn't catch on, and he didn't bother explaining it. He looked into his lap, lit a cigarette, and took it to his lips.
The cigarette made his words rougher when he said, "Say, just askin but, if you could have any wish, what would it be?"
Fresh smoke swirled, creating a soupy white screen across his stare, suddenly intense and ready to judge.
For you to be back in Middle Land. Have Vince be Prince instead of you. Help my Father smile again. To have Mother come back to life. To do whatever I wanted. Make Bonbon queen.
There were too many answers, one unable to trickle out of my mouth when they all crowded in my throat. I looked away as I shook my head.
"Nothing," I lied.
"Oh, applesauce," Nemo spat with a wave of his hand, now holding his cigarette. The smoke waved around our table like foul-smelling flies, and I waved my hand to disperse it.
"Honestly, must you smoke here?" I jabbed, and my nose twisted from the offensive smell.
Nemo leaned back in his chair, rolled his eyes, and blew out more smoke.
"Yep," he chirped, not in an arguing mood. Will it always be like this? Me complaining about his cigarettes and grunting about his manners while he sits there, being dismissive?
"Tell me your wish, and I'll put it out," Nemo offered.
"Why do you want to know?"
"Everyone has a wish."
"Not Bonbon!"
Bonbon perked at her name and stared at Nemo and me. "What about me?" She inquired, but it was quickly lost in the dinner chatter of her table.
Nemo tilted his closed eyes to the glass ceiling. His face softened, sweating like the room was becoming a sauna. A few drops stuck to his temples, tips of his hair attached to his skin.
"Unhappy people always have wishes," he muttered, opening his eyes at me in a dreamy state. "You're unhappy, Camille."
I don't know why I needed to take a deep breath. Something in my chest even cracked upon such an inhale, and I let it release, lost in his smoke, as my open lips froze.
Our eyes locked, Nemo holding mine with hidden meaning. His smile straightened.
"So, what's your wish?"
I stiffened, stuck as a mute. Such an answer could be taken lightly if I made an effort, but I thought it too intimate to share. Nemo had no right to try and pry me open, asking where my deep layers went in exchange for putting out a cigarette. I clenched my jaw and glared through the smoke.
"I'm not ready to share that," I warned with extra ice. We never looked away, the smoke our middleman to our stares. Nemo was squinting, giving off a message, "We'll see about that" kind of look. I gave him a warning, my silent words saying, "None of your business." We seemed stuck in that uncomfortable phase of tension for a minute.
Finally, Nemo looked away first and blew smoke with his scoff. "What do I care? It's not like I would grant it or anything," he grumbled. His cigarette was already almost spent. His hands trembled as he pulled out another, and it took a few tries to light it. Like he couldn't endure the pause without his cigs, he jammed it into his mouth and blew with growing calm. He closed his eyes, enjoying the heat and substances traveling down his throat and into his young lungs like a quick fix for his anxieties.
He seemed to be on edge since the door. He raised his empty glass to have a servant pour him more champagne to prove my suspicion. It didn't take long for him to gulp half of it quickly.
On my lap, my hands squeezed.
"Nemo?" I stuttered, grabbing his attention loosely. He sat one elbow on the table and silently rested his cheek into his hand, awaiting my words.
"What's wrong? Is it about tomorrow? Or..." I was afraid to say "Door" in the parlor, our table was surrounded by servants and teachers. Nemo seemed to catch the message, jerking his head back before shaking it firmly.
"No. Nothing. Nothing is wrong," he insisted and sucked on his cigarette. "Stop examining me," he added, smoke falling out with his words.
I suppressed an outburst, wanting badly to shout, "I was just concerned," but stayed quiet.
Eventually, a plate of cheesy macaroni was brought under my nose. It smelt very decadent. Nemo brightened, a new man before me, and his eyes grew at his plate. He was suddenly a child again, licking his lips.
"Macoroni and cheese! One of my favorites!" That's when he finally stubbed his cigarette on a clean plate, ash and smoldering paper bits smearing black charcoal strokes across the white porcelain. I took a deep breath to calm my agitation.
Nemo didn't notice or didn't care and pointed a fork at his dish. He winked at me.
"I told them to have this at the ball tomorrow. Everyone is going to love it!" And he dug in.
I let my fork fluff my gooey macaroni and stared uneasily at a tall window to catch the orange sky. The falling sun was nagging at me like it was trying to remind me of something. Warm, orange rays took to the windows instead of the roof, cutting across the room. Like it was smacking me with a reminder, a hot beam flared in my eyes when I rocked to one side to shift around in my short dress. That's when it hit me: I still had to meet Vince at sundown.
My eyes grew, my mouth going dry when I almost forgot.
How do I peel away from here and sneak off to the Royal Guard? Alone?
I stared down at my plate of cheesy noodles, thinking of any excuses for leaving Nemo's cage and evening plans. Playing with the dish, I watched as the cheese sauce and noodles stretched far too long from the lift of my fork. The stringy mess thinned until my hand hovered high above my head to give me a long, orange ribbon. A little more effort and the ribbon broke, along with a click of a pathetic idea I had to try.
Nemo watched, chewing loudly along with a gulp.
"What's wrong? You don't like it?" he jabbed.
I made a face and put my fork down, deciding at the last second to rub my queasy stomach.
"I'm not feeling well," I groaned.
Nemo blinked at me.
"Too much cheese? I did ask the cook to add a lot of cheddar and cream," he brought up. I shook my head and laid fingers over my lips, pretending to be sick.
"Too much cheese. I think..." I set my napkin down and stood. "I think I should go lie down for a while," I fretted. I hated lying. It sounded wrong. What stopped me from whispering to Nemo my true intentions? He wouldn't care. And yet, I lied to him like I was about to do something more daunting than holding a sword for a few hours.
Nemo set his fork down and frowned up at me.
"Awww, but I wanted to go star gazing and taste more booze for tomorrow night's cocktail selection," he whined.
I shook my head.
"Maybe later tonight if my stomach settles," I sighed, ready to leave the parlor.
From her table, Bonbon perked at me and stood. "You leaving already?" She questioned.
I couldn't look at her as I held my stomach.
"Yeah. I'm not feeling well," I lied.
"Want me to go with you?" She asked, but to my horror, she was already walking over to me, ready to take my hand. I let her feel my sweaty palm as I uneasily replied, "No. I'll be fine. I don't want to trouble you for what ill symptoms will manifest from consuming that much cheese. I forget how sensitive I am to dairy." Again, I was exaggerating, and I feared Bonbon knew it. She twisted her nose at me, reeling back while holding my sweaty hands.
"Really? As your friend since forever, I don't remember that bit," she quipped. I freed my hands to clutch my stomach and keeled over like someone punched me there.
"Oh dear, it hurts," I trembled, looking at Bonbon's sharp red heels. One of them tapped once.
"If you are sure you don't want me to go with you," she checked.
I nodded as I rose, glossing over her hard stare. She frowned like a pufferfish.
"I'll be fine," I repeated, and turned away to avoid her evil, "But we're friends, we do everything together" gaze—even stomach aches.
A lady servant stepped beside me, ready to act as my escort since I couldn't just wander about alone, per Father's rule, until he departed.
"I shall accompany you, Princess," the servant greeted.
In a rush, I curtsied at Nemo. "See you later." In response, he waved and casually smacked his hand on his thigh, not even batting an eye. "Yeah, yeah. See ya."
Bonbon stood there, still puzzled about why I didn't want her with me.
"Feel better," she mumbled, not buying it.
I left the room before she could interrogate me, but I was feeling hot. With one last look over my shoulder, I spotted Bonbon easing into my chair, and her eyes held mine with glimmering curiosity. I gulped and turned away, smacking into the doors.
My servant opened a door as she mentioned, "I'm so sorry you aren't feeling well. I'll send someone to fix you a pot of peppermint tea if you would like that."
"I would like that," I muttered, plotting my next move.
…
I changed into my leather armor and paced back and forth in my room, grinding my teeth as I contemplated leaving. I was already in my leather armor and cloak. The hardest part was going.
I took deep breaths while looking at myself in the mirror.
"Okay, now is a good time to go," I told my reflection. The other Camille furrowed her brow, disagreeing. She eyed the teapot on her table.
One cup of peppermint tea didn't ease my stomach, but the cheese didn't upset it, of course.
I used my unique whistle to summon my swan companion. Frenella came to my balcony within two minutes, her large, white wings extending with a mighty flap to blow air into my room. The sun glowed red behind her long neck when she used her trumpet call to declare her presence.
I took flight, guiding her a short glide towards the high walls of the Royal Guard, the sun's red light making it appear to catch fire. I could feel the heat collect on my back as we flew away from its descent. I started to sweat.
...
The courtyard was empty, saved for lanterns and a few young men sweeping. I kept my head low, hiding under a navy hood, and trekked around the barracks toward the training grounds.
The Fighting Ring was empty—the blocks of barrel dummies open. I stood there alone, a bit dumbfounded. Maybe I got Vince's riddle wrong, but t it was no matter. I was already here and wanted to hold a blade, with or without Vince.
I studied the dummies against a stone wall, fresh and brimming with hay. There were scattered shields, spears, and swords loitering about the racks. I stared at an old sword, drawn to it, and reached.
My hand had never felt so familiar with an object, curling its leather fingers over the handle and squeezing. I inspected the sword, finding the red sunset colors hitting its blade like I'd slayed a beast with glowing blood.
It was beautiful.
It gleamed, flashing in my eyes to give me a hint of the heat, burning my cheeks as I noted the dents and marks of the poor, long blade—no traces of goblin blood. No specks of real blood, only cracks and hay trimmings around the hilt.
I held the sword, feeling out of place and in the right place simultaneously.
The last time I held a sword was on that horrible expedition with Vince when this story began. It felt like years ago; that incident may have happened in another lifetime.
I thought about my stupid mistake, leaving to go after Vince. Caught in a surprise attack, massive claws plucked our knights from the grid. Vince screamed to fall back, dark blood spilling down his face. The heavy rain and violent ocean tried to drown us. Vince was determined to keep me alive no matter how slim the odds appeared. He was so confident when he told the dark demonic lord, "No," after being offered his father in exchange for me. The look in his eyes when he growled all his hate for the Nightmare. The fight that swam his blood.
I cried out, hacking an arm off a dummy with a downward slash. A broomstick of an arm slapped the dirt.
More images of that day crept in: Vince reaching for me when I was torn away from him, claws pulling at my cape as many enveloped him like evil tree branches.
I jammed the sword into the dummy's belly, cutting into the barrel, and it cracked. Upon pulling back, pieces of wood and sprigs of hay fell out.
Camille, stay close to me.
His voice haunted my bones, those eyes of his sending me a secret softness that no one else was blessed to witness.
Sweat heated around my neck and under my arms, the leather of my armor crunching uncomfortably with each swing and wide step. But I threw harder thrusts, the sword feeling slightly heavier, and cried out each time. Memory after memory, another swing. Another scream.
I had to tell him. Tonight.
The dummy had compiled into a mess of a broken barrel with half its guts of hay falling out. Its armor lay in pieces. Its bucket head with red eyes sat upside down near my foot. I paused to collect my breath, enjoying the raw ache of my arms holding the weight of a sword, the heat of my muscles when I lunged forward, and the moisture of my neck taking in hints of a cool breeze.
Tonight. It had to be tonight.
I huffed, brushing my loose bun behind my ears and taking in more gulps of air, not realizing how much I've lost myself in the memories of the West Post until I stood there, eyeballing the dummy I hacked with unforgiveness like it was the soul-cause of all of my suffering.
There was a sharp sound like a blade being drawn. I picked mine up in time and spun around, following the sound. My sword clashed with another, and Vince smirked at me, my loose hair lifting into his stoic face.
"Nice block," he informed and pulled back, circling as the red sun hit his face. He held his blade.
"I saw how you tortured that dummy," he observed, widening his stance.
"Let's see you channel your anger on me. Just one hit," he tossed, trying to bring in some motivation. He gestured for me to come at him, fingers curling towards his smirk.
"You may win a prize," he hinted, though it could be another joke.
Regardless, I was ready to try, the fury still in my hands as they trembled, shaking my sword. The high of battle was simple to be lost in, but one look at Vince's cold smile, and I knew I couldn't lay a cut on him. It was a lost cause. I withdrew and collected myself, shaking my head.
"I can't do that," I argued.
The flash of his blade came at me unexpectedly, and I stepped back, lifting my sword to block. His face came close to mine; his long bangs tossed over my eyes.
"Why not?" he hissed. "Aren't you upset?"
I reeled back, dodging a quick downward slash, wind following near my left ear. I sidestepped and spun in time to avoid another, falling my bead back to watch Vince's sword dance over my eyes like a flash of silver lightning. My hair flew up around my red ears.
"Yes, I'm upset," I spat, trying to collect enough breath to steady my heart, but Vince wasn't allowing it, trying to hit me with too much speed to give me any second of rest. He hit my sword so hard that my arm trembled, and my hand was numb for a few seconds.
"Why are you upset?" Vince asked, and he peeled back his cape. He tossed it, letting it pile somewhere on the dirt. Lighter, he drew his sword and held it near his chin, its tip aimed at my neck. His eyes glinted darkly. I began to panic, wondering how far he would go before stopping this madness.
I gritted my teeth and raised my sword when he darted to my left.
A cut came at my shoulder, causing me to gasp when I mistakingly made a side step in the other direction. I hated how Vince pretended to fall in one step when he meant to go the other, tricking his enemies.
A piece of the leather strap was cut off my shoulder. I growled through my teeth, my fine leather armor already cut.
"I'm upset now because you cut my bloody armor," I cried.
A flash of his blade again, and I raised mine in between my eyes, my free hand wedged between my forehead and the sword from denting into my skull when Vince pounced. A gust whooshed my hair back, Vince in front of me. He reeled in, his hot breath spilling heat around our swords and hitting my drenched face.
"Liar. Why are you REALLY upset?" he hissed and shoved me. I fell back a few steps, wobbling as I did, and gasped to see the sunset hit Vince's sword like it was caught on fire, and it rammed toward my neck. I cried out and used my padded elbow to jam into his chest plate, knocking the wind out of him before he could strike.
"I'm upset because-!"
I threw my sword hard, and Vince blocked, grinning behind the cross-slash of our blades.
I screamed, "I just wanted to fight! I wanted my friends with me!" I cried so hard my spit sprayed, and I withdrew only to throw another swing. Vince ducked, smiling at the sword that cut a stray off his dark hair. It fluttered away like a black feather.
"I want to do this every day! That's all!" I cried, tired and frustrated.
I began to weep and growl simultaneously, hot and cold, and I dropped my sword when my hands became limp. My vision blurred, hot tears scalding my eyes all of a sudden.
"So then, why is all of this happening?" I whimpered angrily. I seemed to have transformed; a vicious fighter turned into a helpless child. Vince and the sunset all merged into a blurry red mess. I curled into myself and screamed to the red heavens, "Why do I feel so trapped?!"
My cheeks became wet. That's when I started to cry, letting it all out. Everything has been building up since my last hack-and-slash session, choking me with doubts, fears, and frustrations. Out they came, the heavy tears spilling over the sides of my bucket of awful feelings, a proper cleanse.
Vince sheathed his sword quietly.
"Why is that so much to ask?!" I cried at the sky and rubbed my eyes with my leather glove, sniffling and gurgling.
For a long time, Vince stood there, letting me get it all out. He was patient, waiting for the last of my tears before I gurgled an apology. He finally asked, "Feel better?"
I sniffed and blinked my wet eyes up at him, smiling nervously.
"Yes, I do, actually," I giggled uneasily, sniffing the last snot from my stuffy nose. My bucket was empty, at last.
Vince crossed his arms and smirked, the sunset fading. Lanterns lit the place, casting a soft glow to his pale face. He pulled back his long bangs behind his ear and simmered, "You managed to get a piece of my hair."
I gulped. "Oh, dear…" I was ready to hear his wrath.
Vince heaved half a chuckle, making my heart flutter fast.
"I'll have that count as you hitting me. As promised, I will show you my secret."
My cheeks burned, blinking at him with jitters.
"Secret?"
Vince closed his eyes and walked past me.
"Follow me."
I slumped my hood over my head and followed him across the courtyard. More lanterns lit the place, stars piling high above the darkening sunset sky. Vince led me quietly, taking me to the door that used to be his father's study. He opened it and walked inside. I hesitated, seeing warm light pouring into the open corridor. He hovered there in the doorway and lifted a brow at me.
"You coming? I won't jump you or anything," he muttered. I could hardly breathe, uncertain what "secret" he would show me. I swallowed and stepped inside the brilliant study.
"No. I'm coming in," I squeaked. Table lamps flickered warmly, casting the large room in an orange glow. The maps and paintings glistened softly. Vince passed the desk and took to another door between two bookcases.
I felt the need to pause long enough to find our ghosts against that one bookshelf in the corner, and I imagined the old sunset light spilling on Vince that day with his shirt open and my hands on his skin. His eyes that day, his breath, his heat in my hands. The long swallow, seeing it travel down his orange-glowing neck. That day, Vince was half made of fire, the other half always in shadow. I wish I could dig my hands into him, enduring the flames, and reach deep enough to grasp one of his shadows and hold it as a mother would.
The memory was fuzzy, possibly a dream.
I swallowed, wishing to be in that same moment with older Camille and whisper in her ear, "Go," with a shove. Then I would be in Vince's arms, feeling his lips. We would run away, taking a small airship in the middle of the night and leaving Father and all of Slumberland to do its bidding. Though, there was no telling if Nemo's doing would've been any different.
"What is it?" Vince interrupted. It was enough to break my daydreaming, taking a few blinks to return to where I was, almost disoriented. After a few collected breaths, I turned to find him standing in the doorway, one hand on its frame. The lighting hugged his face, softening those hard lines of his with an orange fuzz of dream. His fire-catching eyes crawled to that bookshelf, his expression placid, and then he looked back at me.
"What is it?" He repeated. Thanks to the orange lighting, he almost looked like that same Vince in the memory, pretending to be those sunset colors raining on him through the glass window.
I licked my lips and looked away, my cheeks hot.
"Nothing. I'm fine," I tried, poised as best as I could, but without thought, my knuckles were already rubbing my chest, playing the same notes to play the same soothing song to calm me.
Whether Vince saw it or not, he didn't say. He turned away and muttered, "It's through here."
Collected, I was ready to proceed but stopped short, too petrified to enter.
It was a bedroom.
Sitting in the middle of it was a full bed with one pillow. Vince walked around it and headed for a ladder to one wall.
"Just up here, a little further," he hinted. He grabbed the ladder, ready to climb, but paused when he saw me hover at the door. "Camille?"
I took a deep breath, feeling hotter now than holding a sword earlier. My hand stayed on my chest, my knuckles tapping at my sternum to imitate a calm rhythm for my disobedient heart to follow.
"I'm sorry, it's just..." my eyes wandered to the walls, finding paintings of knights from different times in Middle Land. Armor, cloaks, jackets, helmets-the attire of war has changed drastically this past millennium. There was an old map of Slumberland with writing on it. A few places were circled with ink, one near Lake of Dreams and another at the Royal Guard fortress.
Upon his nightstand, a pile of books sat with titles related to Middle Land history during World War I, a few open with pages exposed under a lamp as though for studying. Everywhere I looked, there were little traces of Vince's private world in this room, and I saw it.
My face heated when I finished, "I've never been in your room before."
Vince's eyebrows rose, and he stared at me far longer than I was comfortable with. Suddenly embarrassed, I dodged his look by ducking my face in my hand. It felt intrusive to be in here like I was given special permission, and I couldn't decipher how to feel about it, choking on it.
"Oh..." Vince licked his lips and looked around his room as though noticing it for the first time.
"So? It's just a room," he grunted and shrugged at his small world.
My eyes burned a hole in his bed, thinking about how often he slept in it. Did he sleep on his side? On his back? Did he toss and turn from his Nightmares? Another scan and I found a bottle of Middle Land liquor on a small desk beside his bed. Did he have to drink the hard stuff to help him sleep through the Nightmares?
Sitting next to the bottle, another hardcover lay closed, almost hidden behind the clear orange liquid. In my head, I read the title and blinked to make sure I wasn't mistaken.
Vince followed my gaze and quickly discovered what caught my attention.
"It's rude to pry on personal items," he mentioned through his teeth.
"What are you reading there?" I asked anyway, feeling quickly drawn to anything with a taboo word. If I was correct, he was reading a book called, "Sane Sex Life and Sane Sex Living."
But Vince moved swiftly, taking his book and jamming it in a desk drawer. The liquor bottle rattled, almost falling over.
"That's none of your business," he hissed hotly, avoiding my large eyes. I've never seen him so embarrassed before.
I was ready to ask what he's learned from such a book with an exciting title, but he rattled quickly, "Stop obsessing about this stupid room and follow me, for fuck's sake." His cheeks were red. He then took to the ladder and began to climb.
"It's up here." And he vanished into the ceiling.
After one last glance at his bed, I followed to the ladder. Unable to get the images of him sleeping out of my head, I forced myself to climb.
The ceiling swallowed me up, taking me through an attic, but the ladder continued. Vince opened a latch and disappeared, the last to be his boot before a glimpse of stars took over the view. I slowed my ascend, anticipating what I would discover, and stuck my head out to the cool evening breeze. Lights sparkled from all directions.
I rose, standing tall, to find myself on top of one of the tall towers of the fortress. My eyes grew like I was floating somewhere high in the sky. It wasn't as high as my balcony, but I could still see Slumberland on all sides, a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. I spun slowly to see remnants of the sunset along the edges of the West, a thin ocean of bright lava. Dark blue colors rose to the East, taking a wave of stars across the sky.
The city in one direction, and the palace in the other, standing there like another city in gospel rainbow colors. I neared the edge of the tile roof, got on all fours, and crawled to get a closer look.
The castle held itself high with rounded glass ceilings of many colors, lanterns adding a glow to its inner white walls, and all across the main paths of the garden to appear as pockets of sparkle. The ballroom's dome ceiling glowed almost bluish like a blue moon came and fell halfway into the earth. Surrounding it, many round glass domes glowed like half, glowing planets.
I thought of myself as an outsider for the first time, seeing my home sparkle like a distant galaxy.
My mouth hung open.
"Wow..."
Vince smirked at my expression and sat down with one knee up.
"You had this view the whole time?" I asked, breathless. I leaned back and sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and I hugged my knees into my chest.
Vince shook his head as the wind blew his bangs to one side.
"No. Not until my Father died." He paused to swallow. "After he died, I took over his study and his room. I thought the ladder led to the attic, but I recently discovered it went up here." Under the stars, he turned to look at me.
"As soon as I found it, I wanted to share it with you."
I hugged my legs tighter, my cheeks tingling before gathering enough courage to match his gaze. I fluttered my eyes back too quickly, almost kissing my knee, and whispered, "Thank you."
Silence hovered. I couldn't tell if it was intentional or not. Vince seemed to be on the edge of saying more, but he thought about it for a while, careful at where he wanted us to tread.
"It's all my fault..."
I looked at him again, sensing something profound rising from his pain. He looked up at the stars and made a sour face at the little half-moon rising. She had her hard eye on him immediately. He looked down at his knees and tapped them uneasily.
"I shouldn't have left to go after my Father like that. I thought I was being brave, but..." he tapped his metal kneecap again, sighing. "But I was only fooling myself. I knew it was going to be a poor outcome. I had no idea that you..." he swallowed again and shook his head. "I didn't know you would come after me," he said softly.
My heart thumped hard.
"Then it's my fault," I added quietly.
Vince shook his head.
"No. I should've known. You were scared to be alone. I..." he took another deep breath and sighed across his kneecaps. "At the time, I didn't think about you. You're scared to be alone, and I was ready to leave your life like that. I don't know why I didn't think it through. It's…" he looked up at the stars again, more of them showing up as twinkling universes and worlds, some as little spies for the moon.
"It's my fault you feel trapped...why you have nightmares now," he sighed, then asked the stars for answers with a long sigh. His tone dropped when he finished, "If I hadn't gone to rescue my father, none of this would've happened."
I lifted my head a little, feeling oddly strange to have Vince open up so easily tonight. The wind blew my loose hair into his face.
"Let's just say it was both our faults then," I summarized. Vince turned his head to me.
"It was the two of us, then. Thanks to us, Slumberland will change forever," he grunted. When I didn't know what to say, he continued to study me as though he could see my face clearly in the dark.
"These Nightmares you're having..." he began, still whispering. I imagined myself growing pale under the distant moonlight, curling even tighter into myself like a ball until I was balancing on my rear, ready to rock back and forth.
"Camille, do me a favor," Vince sighed, looking at his knees again. "Whatever helps you wake up in the morning, never lose sight of it. Your inner flame; That is what keeps those Nightmares from consuming you. You got it?" He eyed me hard, awaiting my diligent answer. I swallowed and almost rocked backward.
I asked, "Is that how you've managed not to let it infest you this whole time? Don't they ever go away?"
Vince shook his head as he closed his eyes.
"No, they don't ever go away. I've had them since before I came to this land. But, yes, that's how I've managed this long without turning into a Nightmare."
"What is your inner flame?" I asked, curious. What helped Vince wake up every day? He lost his father, his home. He doesn't get along easily with others. He cannot stand most of Slumberland's customs. So, what keeps his inner flame alive?
Immediately, Vince turned his head away and cleared his throat. The air was quiet, easy to hear him swallow.
"Killing monsters. Booze. What else?" He muttered and didn't budge as though stuck marveling at the slim moon rising from the East.
I twisted my lips, loosening a little. "I thought as much," I grumbled, displeased with his answer. At most, Vince used to go on Goblin hunts once a month. And the booze? I've never seen him drink until a few days ago.
"What about you?" I froze when he fired the same question at me. He must've looked back at me because his voice was close to my ear. I pretended to be distracted by the stars.
"What?" I gasped, shocked that he would even care.
Vince swallowed again and said hotly, "You've lost your mother. Your father doesn't listen to you. You're betrothed to a spoon-fed, self-centered boy. You've seen more bloodshed than most Slumberland folk. So, tell me. What gets Camille out of bed every bloody morning?"
You.
No, I couldn't say that. I covered up my lips in case I was to leak the simple answer.
"What? I won't laugh," Vince assured, but then he cruelly added, "...much."
"Ha...ha..." I grumbled, glaring at him, only to see a smirk manifest from the dark. And it seemed all logic slipped away, his way of smiling making my chest full and achy.
"Vince..." I sucked in a deep breath, ready to try telling him again.
I looked at my hands fiddling around my ankles, fingers making knots and tapping together. Heat manifested around my leather corset armor, feeling too restrictive to breathe suddenly.
I eyed the nosy moon, wondering how much she could hear, and looked away quickly from her creepy grin. My hands fiddled faster.
"I'm not sure what to expect from this; it's selfish, but..." I tried my hardest not to sink my face into my knees, pretending to hide. "But I..."
"Is this from earlier?" Vince asked, scooting an inch closer. He leaned over my shoulder to hear my soft, tiny words.
I nodded, ready to burst.
"It must be important if it's got you this bothered," he noticed. His warm breath tickled my cheek.
"It's not a bad bother," I breathed, turning my head into his breath. I shouldn't have done that; the stars were bright but not enough to give me a glimpse of what Vince's face displayed. It was too dark, forcing me to read him longer than I anticipated, and I still came up with nothing, feeling lost. I peered deeper, trying to decipher anything, his face that of a mystery, and I suddenly touched his cheek because I was afraid he was disappearing with the falling sun. I didn't mean to reach or touch; instinct threw my hand up before I could control it. He was still there and with me, but I felt lost. Vince's cheeks tensed. Was he smiling or frowning?
His hand came in, fingers appearing black against the fading sunset, long, black shapes dancing over orange, pink, and blue layers. They curled around my fingers warmly.
I think he leaned in, but the darkness left me doubtful, uncertain if his head grew or if it just got darker.
"Not here," he whispered, his breath a hot gust over my lips.
"Where?" I said it before I knew what I was saying. I didn't know what he meant, but I was suddenly not feeling like young, child-like Camille, but someone older, someone who knew the signs before I could even register their meaning in my consciousness.
I heard Vince swallow. I couldn't see them, but I felt the heaviness of his eyes on me, weighing the choices between us until I feared the tower would crumble underneath.
I, too, swallowed, feeling tied to his shadowy stare. Something awoke, older Camille reaching from the depths of my deep pool of childish innocence, her hand extending to break the surface.
But I got scared.
I shoved poor, older Camille back into the deep end, drowning her. My eyes burned, rationale sinking in heavier than gold armor until I crumbled through the roof, leaving Vince atop the tower with his shadows and stars. My throat dried, thickening with a horrid taste until my stomach folded.
I pulled back, using my hand to brush my hair out of my face, and peeled out of Vince's shadow. I began to stand up, my jaw trembling.
"I have to go," I said too quickly, finding it hard to breathe.
Vince was quiet as I went for the ladder. I didn't want to give him enough time to speak, respond, or do anything. I hurried, cutting through the attic, and fell a few feet into his bedroom. I ran, glancing at his bed again before temptation became too real.
I got scared.
I got scared and hated myself for it, my eyes wet when I made it to the courtyard, shadows dancing around the lanterns.
"Wait!"
I ran faster, pretending not to hear him. But unlucky for me, Vince was a brilliant sprinter; he quickly caught up, and I felt his firm hold on my upper arm.
"Camille, hold on!"
I was jerked to a halt, suddenly able to catch my breath. Vince tried to look at my face, but I turned away, hiding my wet eyes. His hands gripped my shoulders.
"Camille, look at me!"
But I shook my head, fighting against him until he had enough, and held my cheeks, forcing me to keep my head still. He pulled my face up to his as my eyes looked away.
"Look at me," he demanded, softer but hard.
I did, gasping and seeing flames of lanterns fluttering in his eyes.
Vince studied me, soaking in my distress. He was barely breathing, even after he sprinted. His thumbs rubbed at what tears leaked, wiping them off my cheeks. Eventually, he opened his lips, ready to speak, or so he thought. For a moment, he paused, sitting just at the edge of what was barely contained in his softening eyes. And then, ready, he bravely whispered, "Just blame me."
I blinked at him, not following.
"For what?"
He seemed to melt, everything ready to spill out.
"For-" he stopped short and hissed, his eyes suddenly furious, and they jerked to someplace behind us. He released me so that he could draw his sword and lunge into a pile of empty barrels. He cut them in half easily, the wood toppling down and crashing. And standing there behind them, Bonbon and Nemo blinked, their faces white.
The four of us held still, not even breathing. Vince kept his sword high over the spies' frozen heads as uncertainty bounced back and forth between him and their wide stares, their minds whirling. A long stretch of awkward silence followed, Vince still indecisive. Sweat dripped from his brow.
Nemo and Bonbon's faces melted, their uneasy smiles forming and chuckling nervously. Eventually, they rose, hands up and pretending to dance as they spun their backs to Vince. "La di da di da!" they sang, spinning around like a music box prop.
"Guys?" I quizzed, surprised to see them spying on us.
Bonbon's face turned red, and she fanned it with her hand. "Uh..." She looked at Nemo, who was also turning red. He stretched the collar of his jacket.
"We were just exploring the property of where..." he stretched his arms out wide toward a peeved Vince. "Where the great Vince will be training me! Yeah!" His eyes sparkled. "I wanted to look at the place while it was empty! We had no idea you two would be here," Nemo chuckled uneasily.
Vince sheathed his sword and spat at the dirt near Nemo's boots.
"You two are a load of shit," he seethed.
Bonbon gasped, her hands around her wide-open mouth.
"Vince, you have such a potty mouth," she blabbed.
"Fuck off," he spat, careless.
Bonbon crossed her arms and wrinkled her lips into a fine, swirly line.
Vince then noticed Nemo and glared at him while crossing his arms. The two boys had a stare-down.
"What?!" He snapped, agitated to be in Nemo's center of attention.
Nemo swayed to one side, his jaw clenched, but in the end, he said nothing.
Vince's eyes hardened. "Came for another sword fight? I'm ready," he welcomed, gesturing Nemo to bring it, but he shook his head at the invitation.
"No. Not tonight," he replied, his voice flat.
One of Vince's eyebrows jerked up. "Oh? Another night, then?" he said, that last bit through his teeth.
Through his eyes, Nemo flashed an evil secret at Vince. I may have seen it, but I was doubtful. So much hate boiled between the two young men I couldn't decipher what exactly they flashed at each other. Something did lurk from Nemo's face, something I hadn't seen yet, and it frightened me like a quick poke; it hurt, but it was already gone. It came and went too quickly, a flash of threat that shouldn't be taken lightly. Vince saw it as clear as crystal and breathed through his teeth. His hand came for his sword, but I reached, taking hold of his arm.
"Vince, no!"
Bonbon grabbed hold of Nemo's arm before he was to throw a punch.
"Nemo, don't!"
Vince fought against me, squirming to draw his sword until blood was on his teeth; he must've bit his tongue.
"That's right. You can't even lay a hand on me, so don't even bother!" He spat, and a wad of blood and spit smacked on the toes of one of Nemo's new ankle boots. After our little distraction with the forbidden door, Nemo changed his pants to a more crisp white, pressed and starched to perfection. His shoes had been polished. Now he stared down at the new mess, splatters of blood up his laces and along the hem of his white pant leg, and his face twisted grisly.
"Don't worry. You'll get your chance to feel insignificant. And then you will bow to me, as promised, " Nemo hissed, stepping away. He yanked his arm from Bonbon's grasp and walked off.
Vince took a deep breath, keeping his hateful eyes on Nemo's back.
"In your dreams," he sneered. I released his arm, still afraid he would draw his side pistol, but then again; I knew Vince always favored a fair fight. He thought about it, though, his eyes glinting at his gun, but he scoffed at the last second and spun around.
"Off with you, Camille. There's enough attention here now," he whispered over his shoulder. I took note of the few squires, their brooms frozen in their hands. I ducked my head, glad to remain under a hood, and stepped back. It seemed stranger still to leave it like this, much left unsaid.
"See you tomorrow night at the ball," I muttered. That sounded strange to say.
Vince stiffened. He may have muttered something, but I only heard "Sure" with little enthusiasm. He then walked away without looking back and barked at the stiff bystanders what they were staring at.
I ran to catch up with Bonbon and Nemo until we were clear out of the fortress walls.
"Hey, how did you two know I was here?" I asked.
Nemo seethed quietly, marching through the gates while Bonbon skittered in high heels, slowing down to walk along beside me. She closed her eyes, tilted her head high, and blew a raspberry at the stars.
"You don't fool me, girl! I knew you were up to something." We started through the flower field.
I ducked as soon as she steered her coy eyes at me. "I'm sorry. I wanted one more session with the sword. Of course, I wasn't going to tell you. You hate fighting, and you hate Vince…sometimes."
Bonbon jammed her fists on her wide hips.
"I don't hate him. He's just a sour candy, at best. Geez." She considered Nemo marching ahead of us, his feet plowing through tulips without consideration. I had to maneuver carefully not to step on one while brushing against a giant stem of another like a long human leg. A large, silky leaf brushed over the top of my head, pulling down my hood.
"I'm sorry," I tried again.
Bonbon puffed her cheeks.
"It's all right, I guess. I mean, who knows? You may have another go at sword fighting. King Morpheus can't keep tabs on you while he's away. Nemo won't care." Her voice rose to reach Nemo, adding, "Right, Nemo?!"
Nemo only scoffed and kicked a sleeping tulip the size of a child. It bent over, its curled form sinking into the long grass.
"What do I care? Camille can fight. Fine by me. I'll be king; she can do whatever she blooming wants," he sizzled. I was tempted to take his words with joyous applause, but I only tensed.
"You aren't mad?" I checked.
Nemo waved his hand in the air chaotically. "Of course not!"
I was surprised but also alarmed. Nemo didn't sound like someone who didn't care but someone who was envious. He paused with his head low before we walked into the castle courtyard. Bonbon and I waited, too, watching him think for a minute. A faint light along the castle wall lamps gave little glow to display what was on Nemo's face, most of him locked in shadow. He could've been staring down at the sleepy tulips or his fist, for which it curled.
"I'm pissed," he hissed through his teeth. "I mean, If I could have any wish I want, I would make sure I got two, and then I would be happy. One, to be with Will, and the other…"
He turned his head to look at me. There was too much shadow to tell how his face twisted, but I imagined his brown eyes roasting with bitter revenge and his teeth clenched. I held onto Bonbon's hand tightly.
Nemo hissed sweetly, "My other wish would be for me to be strong enough to kill Vince."
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