Dream Dark Page 3

  If he hadn’t been staring so closely at the shoe box, he might have noticed the light still glowing, bright as a flashlight, through the crack beneath the closet door.

  By the time Macon sent Link a Caster key a few days later, Ridley and Link were back together again, as thick as thieves. I felt sort of jealous—not about Rid but about Macon. Seriously. I mean, I had saved Macon’s life, and even I didn’t have a Caster key to the Tunnels.

  “You also don’t have to hide that you’re a Supernatural from your mother, who doesn’t even like Methodists,” Lena pointed out.

  I guess she was right.

  Link didn’t have to wait long to try out his Caster key. We were shooting hoops over at the middle school court in the blazing heat, the blacktop practically melting into tar, when Boo showed up with a piece of paper rolled around his collar.

  It wasn’t signed, but we both knew who it was from.

  “What am I, a spy now?” Link crumpled the paper and tossed it into the green metal trash can. I half expected it to catch fire when it hit the rim.

  “Macon is supposed to be dead,” I reminded him.

  Link bounced the ball from one hand to the other. “Oh, right. I guess it isn’t that weird, then.” Only it was, and we both knew it.

  If we only knew how weird.

  CHAPTER 5

  Priority Mail

  Three hours later, Link knocked on Macon’s door in the Tunnels. He wondered if the Caster key would have worked on this door, too. He’d probably never know, since there was no way he was going to try it. Macon Ravenwood wasn’t an Incubus anymore, but he was still a seriously badass Caster. Even if he wouldn’t tell them what he could do.

  Link was ticking off the possibilities in his mind when the door swung open. Macon Ravenwood was holding a glass of sweet tea. Big surprise. Pretty soon he was going to need an IV.

  “Mr. Lincoln, I’m impressed. Four o’clock on the dot.” Macon stepped aside so Link could come in. “I believe punctuality is an entirely underrated quality, at least by your contemporaries.”

  As usual, Link had no idea what Macon was saying. “Uh—okay, sir.”

  “Please have a seat.” Macon gestured toward the pair of wing chairs in the corner. “I apologize for the cryptic nature of my message, but the matter we need to discuss is of great importance.”

  “Sir?” Link dropped down into the chair, and the wood groaned.

  “I need you to deliver an urgent message for me, Wesley.” Macon glanced at the polished table between the chairs. A heavy cream envelope was lying on it.

  “You want me to deliver a letter?” Couldn’t Mr. Eaton do that? He delivered the Casters’ mail, too.

  Macon lifted the envelope and held it between his fingers. “This isn’t just any letter. The recipient of this letter is a very old friend of mine, and this correspondence must reach him. It’s a matter of critical importance, I’m afraid.” That part wasn’t surprising. Everything seemed dangerous and important if Macon was involved.

  Link scratched his head. “Why can’t you deliver it yourself, sir?” It was a valid question.

  “The route is a bit treacherous for a Caster, which is what I am these days.”

  “Right.” Link doubted it. He might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but even he knew there weren’t a lot of things that were too treacherous for Macon Ravenwood.

  “I need an Incubus to deliver it, and my sister is indisposed.” Link was pretty sure Leah wouldn’t let Macon boss her and her giant mountain cat around. That much made sense. Just like the idea that Link was the lackey in this situation.

  Link gave up and stopped trying to figure it out. “Where do you want me to take the letter?”

  Macon handed it to Link. The paper was thick and heavy and securely sealed with wax. “Barbados.”

  “You mean like the island?” Maybe there was a city up north named Barbados that Link didn’t know about. Like Cairo, in Mississippi. It was possible, as far as he knew. He had failed geography a bunch of times.

  Macon looked amused. “Precisely the one, Mr. Lincoln. Although if you take the Tunnels, you probably won’t get to see the Caribbean. Obidias lives too far inland.”

  Obidias Trueblood. It was the name inscribed on the front of the envelope.

  “You want me to walk to Barbados?”

  “You can Travel, if you prefer. Obviously, it would be much more efficient.”

  Link wasn’t about to try to teleport himself anywhere. As far as he was concerned, that was like asking him to jump out of a plane. “No, thanks, sir. I think I’ll hoof it, if you don’t mind.”

  Macon nodded. “Not at all. But you have to leave right away. I cannot stress the importance of the contents of that envelope enough.”

  Link stuffed the envelope in his pocket. “How am I supposed to find my way to Barbados?” Link had gotten lost driving to Charleston once. Another time, he’d even called and reported the Beater stolen when he forgot he’d parked it in the lot at the Stop & Steal. Fatty hadn’t let him live that one down for months.

  Macon nodded toward the door. Boo Radley was sitting there, waiting. Link could almost swear Boo was rolling his eyes as Link made his way to the door.

  “All right. Let’s get to Barbados, Boo.” The dog barked. “Get it? Two Barbados? Barbay-dos? After that, should we dial things up a notch and hit Barbay-tres?” Boo whined and turned back to Macon, who shook his head.

  “Be careful, Mr. Lincoln. Our fate is in your hands.” Now, that was a frightening thought, even to Link.

  The Tunnels twisted and curved in front of him, disappearing into the darkness, but it was nothing Link hadn’t faced before. It could be worse. He could think of more dangerous things than the Tunnels and whatever he might find down here—as long as his mom stayed aboveground. His mom, and maybe that cup of yellow pee.

  Link reached into his back pocket and pulled out his trusty gardening shears, snipping the air a few times for good measure. He was making a habit of bringing them whenever he visited Macon in the Tunnels. He felt much better with a pair of giant metal scissors in his hand, whether they were meant for clipping rosebushes or the backbone of a fetal pig in the summer school bio lab—not that he’d ever done either. It didn’t matter. Earlier this summer, he’d seen what those shears could do.

  Which was good, because Link was moving deeper into the Tunnels than he’d ever been before. He passed some places that looked familiar, but his memory was never great to begin with—one thing the Incubus blood hadn’t improved. He recognized Exile, the club where they’d found Ridley and Lena with John Breed and a whole bunch of Dark Supernaturals. Link knew he never wanted to see that place again. Luckily, Boo seemed to know the way.

  The Caster dog kept going, carefully picking his way on padded paws, until they found themselves in the darkest bend yet. The farther the dog walked, the blacker the Tunnels became, and Link realized exactly how well he could see in the dark now.

  You’re almost there. Just a little farther and you can dump the letter and go.

  Link kept repeating the words silently, but he wasn’t sure they were true. Link could see a long stretch of darkness in front of him, like an enormous black subway tunnel except without the tracks.

  He tried to distract himself by whistling one of the Holy Rollers’ latest and worst songs. But the lyrics he’d been playing around with—about a beautiful ex-Siren turned Mortal girl—didn’t work anymore. The ex-Siren in the song was his girl, connected to him in ways his mind couldn’t even begin to understand.

  He was still thinking about her cocky smile and the way she chewed stick after stick of gum, the way old Wallace Gunn chain-smoked Lucky Strikes, when he caught the scent of something unfamiliar and nauseating.

  Motor oil and rotten eggs and singed hair.

  Link breathed in again, gagging from the stench. He stared ahead, but the Tunnel was seriously dark, even for a quarter Incubus. And there were noises. Not the harmless kind of noises, like your house settl
ing at night. These were real scare-the-crap-out-of-you noises.

  Ragged, uneven breathing. Something sharp dragging against stone.

  What the hell was that?

  Boo stopped walking and growled, the black hair standing up along his back.

  Two yellow eyes were staring back from the depths of the Tunnel.

  Link was smart enough to know a Dark Caster’s eyes when he saw them. Especially after he had spent the better part of a year in love with one. But this wasn’t Ridley. All he could think about was Sarafine. He wasn’t sure he had enough Incubus juice to face off against her. Boo growled again.

  The figure stepped closer. It wasn’t Sarafine.

  He could see it now, but he had no idea who or what it was.

  As Link’s eyes settled on the smooth grayish-black skin, a part of him knew he was looking at a man, or what used to be one. Aside from the unnatural skin color and a head so bald it looked like it belonged in those alien photos, the facial features were completely human. Except for the enormous yellow eyes—crazed and primal—like a rabid animal.

  It was watching him, its eyes widening with anticipation as Link’s widened with fear. The figure stepped out of the black mouth of the Tunnel, where it had been lingering, and for a second Link was sure it was a man. He was wearing ratty black pants that were too short, as if he’d outgrown them a long time ago, and nothing else. Shirtless and barefoot, his body was the same sickening shade of bruised black as his face.

  But that’s where the physical similarities between this thing and a man ended. As it extended its hand, reaching toward him, Link saw a web of skin that stretched from the bottom of its arm down to the creature’s waist, like a deformed wing. It looked like something out of one of Link’s comic books, but he couldn’t turn the page and make it disappear.

  He jumped back, banging into the wall next to him. He smelled the blood as it ran down his arm.

  The creature’s head jerked up. “Where is the boy going?”

  A chill ran down the back of Link’s neck.

  The voice had a creepy quality that was always a sign someone was on the way to a padded cell, in the movies. It sounded like the thing was talking to someone right next to it, but there was no one there. At least Link hoped so.

  “I—I was just leavin’, man. Me and my dog,” Link stammered. “Sorry to bother you.”

  “The boy wanders away from home, and what does he see?” The voice rose and fell in the singsong rhythm of a terrifying and twisted nursery rhyme.

  Link wasn’t planning to stick around and find out. He started to back up, and the creature reached out its broken and bent fingers, exposing tears in the winglike web of dark skin extending from its body.

  It bared its teeth in a demented smile while singing the disturbing rhyme. “The monster in the mirror waiting to kill me…”

  For a second, the thing stared at him as if it had presented a riddle for Link to solve and it was waiting for an answer. Link didn’t have one.

  The smile twisted into a sneer and, without warning, the thing lunged at him.

  Boo charged forward, but the creature caught the dog in the air as he jumped, knocking him against the exposed stone wall. Boo yelped, and Link felt his hands curve into fists.

  Grayish-black fingers reached for Link, and his instinct took over. He lurched forward, and in a split second his hand was around the creature’s throat. The movement happened so fast that it surprised them both, and Link almost forgot to tighten his grip.

  The thing lashed out, clawing at Link. “The boy is too far from home.” The voice was strained, a hiss more than anything else. A hand caught the side of Link’s face, broken nails sinking into his skin.

  “Don’t touch me, you freak!” Link threw the mutated thing backward, and it flew at least ten feet, skidding across the dirt. Until then, Link hadn’t realized how strong he was.

  He watched the dark figure rise.

  A smile spread across Link’s face. That thing wasn’t the only creature in the game. There was a Linkubus there, too.

  Boo was back on his feet, stalking across the Tunnel floor and snarling.

  Link held out his hand. He wondered if Macon was watching through the Caster dog’s eyes. “Don’t worry, Boo. I’ve got this.”

  The yellow eyes locked on Link, and he watched as the man-that-wasn’t-a-man surged forward like he was running in slow motion. Link pulled the garden sheers from the waistband of his jeans and waited.

  The creature sprang, throwing itself on top on Link.

  He felt the blades make contact and saw the creature’s eyes widen.

  It fell backward, hitting the ground hard. It wasn’t moving, but its chest was still rising and falling as Link sprinted past it, with Boo Radley right behind him.

  CHAPTER 6

  Apocalypse

  Link didn’t stop running until he made it all the way through the pitch-black Tunnel. But even when he slowed down, his mind was still racing.

  What had he done? It wasn’t like he’d had a choice—that thing could’ve killed him.

  What was it?

  Did Macon know it was down there?

  The farther Link walked, the more questions he had. His heart didn’t stop pounding until Boo stopped in front of a Doorwell. Even then he still didn’t feel right—not that he ever did lately.

  Was this what it meant to have superpowers? Was it an unfair advantage in a fight? Did it count if you were fighting some kind of monster?

  When Link stepped out of the Outer Door and saw the house, he forgot everything else. Macon said the house was inland, but he must have been joking. Obidias Trueblood’s home was practically carved into the side of a cliff. The warped gray wood blended into the stone surrounding it and hung dangerously close to the waves hitting the rock wall below. Link was sure that if one of those waves was big enough, the whole place would crumble into the sea.

  Who the hell would live here?

  Boo barked as if he was offering an answer, but Link already knew it. A crazy friend of Macon Ravenwood’s—that’s who.

  Link navigated the rocks until he reached the part of the house facing the land, where he saw two crooked windows and a door that had lost its paint to the salty air long ago. There was a round iron ring in the center of the rotted wood.

  Link glanced at Boo, who was watching him expectantly. “Maybe nobody’s home.” The Caster dog didn’t look convinced. “Okay, I’m knockin’.”

  The ring struck the door, and it slowly swung open.

  “Hello?” Link called.

  No one was there. Link glanced down at the lock. It was busted. He stepped into the entryway tentatively. “Hello? Is anybody home?”

  Inside, the place was like a library. Books were stacked everywhere, and except for a few chairs by the fireplace and a plank table, there was no furniture. Just books and journals from floor to ceiling, and maps tacked to the empty spaces on the walls in between. The kitchen was off to one side, with a huge window that overlooked the water.

  Someone had to be there. The fireplace was still lit.

  “Mr. Trueblood?” Link called out over the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks outside. “Macon Ravenwood sent me. He has a message for you.”

  Boo sniffed around the room, pausing by a long hallway. More maps were taped to the walls there.

  “You smell somethin’, Boo?” Linkubus senses were sharp, too. He inhaled deeply—pipe tobacco. Link followed the combination of licorice and oak until he reached the end of the hallway, where a door was cracked just wide enough to let a slice of moonlight escape. There were voices—no, one voice—followed by a low moan.

  A new smell flooded Link’s heightened senses—something more familiar. Copper and salt. Blood.

  He zeroed in on the thin space between the door and the frame. There was someone in the room, cradling an old man in his arms. Blood seeped onto the floor.

  Link would’ve known that leather jacket and slick black hair anywhere. It was Hu
nting Ravenwood. And the Blood Incubus wasn’t supporting the wounded man. He was feeding.

  “Hunting!” Link shouted before he could stop himself. He wasn’t sure what he was planning to do, but he was going to do something. Link burst through the door, brandishing his shears just as Hunting flashed him a bloody, satisfied smile.

  “You’re a little late, kid.” He dropped the limp body. “I’d kill you, too, but you don’t matter.”

  Link heard the sound of the rip. Hunting was gone before Link could make it across the room.

  The old man—a good twenty years older than Macon, judging by his white beard—was lying in the center of the room, where Hunting had dropped him. The moon shone through the window, casting a pale and eerie light on his features. His white shirt was streaked with blood.

  Boo barked, and the man stirred, tilting his head to the side. His eyes were gold. Obidias was a Dark Caster.

  Link slid to his knees at the injured man’s side and realized why Boo was barking. Obidias’ hand was lying across his chest, but it wasn’t a hand at all. When Link got close, the heads of five black snakes the length of human fingers hissed and struck the air. The snakes were attached to the old man’s wrist, where his hand should’ve been.

  “Holy crap!” Link jumped back.

  “Don’t worry,” the man said, his voice strained. “They only like to hurt me.”

  Link pulled himself together. He could deal with a few snakes. But this guy was in bad shape. “Mr. Trueblood? What happened?”

  The man coughed. “Abraham Ravenwood sent me a visitor.”

  Link’s skin crawled at the sound of Abraham’s name. “But why? You’re a Dark—I mean, you’re one of them.”

  Obidias coughed, trying to catch his breath. “I am not one of them.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “There’s no time to explain. Macon needs to know what Abraham was trying to confirm…” Obidias could barely breathe. He wasn’t going to make it.