Page 3 of Wake the Dream

Illaria dragged her cell out of her pocket and hoped she hadn’t missed any calls. The screen remained blank. Nothing yet.

Her heart urged her to hurry.

She hated being late for her nights with Yelena. The two had only each other, trapped outside the bounds of their world when the Royals decided to close the gates between the two realms for good.

No going back.

Once she had enough room for takeoff, Illaria closed her eyes and summoned her wings. Those beautiful gossamer wings that looked lighter than air yet had the power to carry her wherever she pleased. Another thing she might never understand. How she and the rest of her flying comrades who made the town their home were able to traverse the skies above without any of the tourists, the lifeblood of Hedgehill Marsh, noticing their presence.

Oh well. She didn’t want to knowhowthe logistics worked. Leave it to the elders and the mayor, who made sure the town magic stayed strong and the rest of the citizens remained protected.

She tensed her knees, pushing away from the ground. Trusting the wind to carry her home.

It sure beat hailing a taxi.

The wind lashed at her, a little cold, a little unforgiving. Her wings beat and pushed her higher still, working a different set of muscles.

She relished her time in the air. Her kind had an affinity for the element. It made her family special among the rest of their Fae brethren, the only ones of their line to have wings. Illaria wouldn’t have it any other way.

She landed outside the house she and Yelena shared, an old red brick colonial with towering oaks shielding the front windows from prying neighborhood eyes. The crescent moon overhead sent shadows to paint the sides of the building in shades of buttery yellow and deep gray. The night atmosphere brought goose bumps to the surface of her skin.

Light gleamed in the front living room, seen through sheer curtains. Yelena was waiting for her.

The wings sank into her back, disappearing from view, ready and waiting for the next time she called on them. Her first steps forward shook when her legs needed to readjust to holding her weight, but she pushed through the unlocked front door with a smile.

“Honey, I’m home, and I’m so sorry,” Illaria began by way of a greeting.

Closing and locking the door behind her, she shrugged out of her light jacket and kicked her boots aside after unzipping them. She dropped down to the floor, the sudden decrease in altitude making her dizzy.

Pushing her hair over her shoulder, she called her sister’s name again.

“I got caught up at work.” The excuse was birthed on the spot. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to be out this late. The damn boss didn’t want to let me go. You know how Sharron gets when patrons come into the gallery late. She wants to let them stay in hopes of milking every penny out of their pockets.”

Illaria moved into the living room with a self-deprecating grin on her face, expecting Yelena to answer with her habitual “it’s fine” followed by a slew of passive–aggressive guilt-tripping.

An empty room greeted her.

Lips pursed, she moved into the kitchen. “I’msorry, okay? Stop giving me the silent treatment. If you’re still hungry, we can go out and catch a bite to eat. There has to be something open nearby.”

No answer. “Yelena?” Still no answer.

Illaria searched the entire house, thinking this had to be a game. Was her sister seriously that pissed? But every corner she turned, she saw nothing other than the usual ordered chaos. The wobbly kitchen table they’d been griping about fixing for the last five years. The cluttered second-story den they used as a reading nook on snowy or rainy days.

No sign of her sister.

“Yelena?” This time, anger colored her tone. “This isn’t funny anymore. I’m sorry for being late. Okay? There’s no need for games.”

Yelena went into hiding when she felt her needs were not being met. Or when she felt she hadn’t received enough attention. Once when Illaria came home late on one of their pre-planned meeting nights, Yelena disappeared for an entire day afterward, camping out at a sylph’s house down the street until enough time passed to make Illaria pay.

Younger by a century and dark where Illaria was fair, Yelena was still prone to a bit of childishness, and this sort of thing happened frequently enough that it took Illaria a good thirty minutes to finally panic.

Something about tonight was different, stonier. Illaria had searched the house from top to bottom but then searched it again to make sure she hadn’t missed something, calling her sister’s name the entire time. When she found no trace of her younger sibling, she pushed out the door and set off down the street, leaving the house open and unlocked.

“Yelena!” she screamed, turning in a circle.

They lived on a quiet street away from the hustle of the town’s center. Large older homes lined both sides of the road.

Noting nothing out of order, Illaria hustled down the sidewalk in her socks, uncaring when she stumbled over cracks and rises in the cement.

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