“So which way do we have to go?”
Zee nodded toward the cave. “Through there.”
Weston looked at the mouth of the cave and thought about what lay within. His stomach churned; his mouth went dry. He shook his head. “There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t.”
“Well, then, I think we have a problem.”
Thirty-two
Her body was made of glass, fragile and transparent. Surely she would shatter at a touch. Her fragmented heart must be visible through the wall of her chest to anyone who cared to see. And yet she was breathing. Alive.
“Vivian?”
A vague memory came to her of winging above a forest fire, a fire she’d started by tormenting a man for fun, and she opened her eyes and looked up into Weston’s face. His skin was reddened, hair and beard frizzed; he smelled of wood smoke. But he, too, was alive.
“Oh, God. You’re singed. I—didn’t mean to start that fire—”
“Shhh. I know. How do you feel?”
“How transparent am I?”
“What?”
She raised her hand to her face, surprised that the joints bent where they were supposed to, relieved to see flesh and blood and skin. “I dreamed—so many things. I thought I was made of glass . . .”
Something in his face stopped her. “What is it? Tell me.”
He held something up for her to see. A large stone, bloodred but crystalline clear. “It’s beautiful, Weston. What is it?”
“Your blood.”
“My blood.”
The stone stirred a frail strand of knowledge, of dream, just a hint and then gone. No matter—there were more important things. “Weston—something killed the Guardian. The dreamspheres were all dying. I didn’t know what to do, I couldn’t think, but I had this instinct to eat them. It seemed right, but they made me feel so strange, all the dreams at once . . .”
Zee had tried to kill her. Surely that part had been a dream.
“That would explain the hallucinations.”
“So I was hallucinating?” That was a relief. Zee would never, ever hurt her. But then how had she come by this injury in her chest? She raised her hand to explore the burning place, but Weston clasped it and held it aside.
“What happened, Wes? Tell me.”
His sharp eyes glistened with unexpected moisture, and he hesitated, which told her what she needed to know.
“It’s true then? It happened? Zee . . .” She broke off, unable to say the words aloud.
“I’m afraid that part is true. He had a dragonstone knife.”
Vivian felt like the knife was in her heart, twisting, twisting. “Dragonstone? But I’m alive, still—”
“Yes, thank God. Because you were able to shift to human, I think. But, because of the shift to human, your body didn’t know what to do with all of the dream material, and thus the hallucinations.”
“Is this real, now?”
“Yes. Your body solved the problem—it made these.”
He put the stones in her hand. They were heavier than they ought to have been. She held one up to the light, wincing as the movement pulled at her breast. “It’s beautiful. And terrible.”
“That it is.”
Weston rubbed a sleeve across his eyes.
She tried to smile for him, past all of the pain and the fear. “You saved me.”
And then, remembering. Jaws snapping in anger and hunger at the small figure with the sword. Flame.
“Oh, God. Zee. No wonder he tried to kill me. I was going to flame him, Weston. Tell me I didn’t hurt him.” She tried to sit up and he pressed her back. Had she roasted Zee, burned him?
“What do you care? He damn near killed you.”
“Please tell me I didn’t. Tell me I didn’t hurt him.”
“He’s hurt some, but you didn’t do it. Now rest, will you?”
“Let me up, I’m all right. Please, I can’t breathe lying flat like this. I’m in my right mind, truly. Where’s Poe? Tell me he didn’t burn up too—”
“He’s here, he’s fine, he’s keeping an eye on Zee. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Seems like you’d be best to just lie still a bit.”
“Well, let me get dressed at least. Oh, shit. I don’t have any clothes.”
“You do. I’ve got a change for you in my pack.”
“Wait—how did you get here, anyway? With your pack and a change of clothes. There was that horrible fire, I saw it . . .”
“As it happens, I’m a Dreamshifter, like it or no. I ran from the fire, made a door, landed in a Dreamworld that just happened to have everything we needed.”
“But you’re here—at the Cave of Dreams—”
“Only place I know in this maze, Vivian. I thought I’d start here. It was a lucky guess.”
“Sounds like a freaking fairy tale, doesn’t it? I’m sorry about almost roasting you.” Gently she shoved away his hands, held the blanket to her chest, and sat up. Pain lanced through her body at the movement but eased as soon as she was upright.
“Give me something to wear, Weston. Please.”
He sighed heavily but didn’t argue. Sitting on the ground behind her, he supported her from behind, helping her get her arms into a warm flannel shirt. It was fully three sizes too large, but she wasn’t about to complain. While she fumbled with the buttons, she looked around for Zee.
He was propped up against the stone wall beside the mouth of a cave. Her heart turned over at the sight of his face, so changed from that first glimpse of him, sitting in a ray of golden sunlight in A to Zee Books. All of the artist had been beaten out of him, nothing but the warrior remaining. His head leaned back against the stone, eyes closed, but his face was tight and hard even in repose. The scars left by the bear were healing into long red welts. Both eyes had been blackened, and a greenish swelling marred his jaw. His right arm was bloody. A laceration ran along his rib cage; his belly and chest were marked with vivid purple bruises.
The strong hands were bound together, resting in his lap.
Vivian’s eyes blurred with sudden tears. “His wounds need tending. Help me up.”
“You are not getting up. Especially to tend to a madman who tried to kill you. Tell me what to do, I’ll take care of it.”
She shook her head, no, grateful that this small movement didn’t make the world spin. “I have to see.”
“I don’t see that there’s anything else to be done, and you need to lie down and rest.”
“There’s no time for rest, Weston. Look—my pulse is a little bit rapid but not too bad. I’m not feeling short of breath. We need to be moving soon, anyway. It’s not safe here.”
Zee’s eyes opened, those beautiful agate eyes, once light filled and now so dark. No smile at the sight of her, no softening of his face. “Rest,” he said. “I’m all right. We’ll try to move tomorrow.”
But he wasn’t all right, not at all. She could hear it in his voice. And she couldn’t bear the sight of his hands, tied together as though he were a criminal. She tried to push herself onto her feet, but her legs felt like rubber.
“I’ll not help with this madness,” Weston said, but when she started to crawl he picked her up like a child and carried her, setting her down in front of Zee.
She reached out to touch his cheek but he flinched away, avoiding her gaze, his eyes and face unreadable.
He was so very hurt. It was more than the wounds, all of which looked painful but not life threatening. The cut on his side was healing. The bruises didn’t indicate broken bones. But his arm was a mess. She kept her voice matter-of-fact and professional. “Looks like every time it starts to heal, you tear it open.”
“That’s been about the way of it.”
When she laid her hand on the taut skin of his bicep, his flesh quivered beneath her touch. She began fumbling with the knots in the rope that bound him, but they were tight and stubborn and her fingers kept slipping off.