Page 14 of Xantera
Or maybe I’m the one sleeping,he croons, and you’re the thing that hauntsmydreams.
I can’t even wrap my head around the concept of that, and for some reason, I’m desperate to prove him wrong. To prove that I’m real. I’m not nearly as scary as you are.
How can you be so sure? Considering I don’t know what you look like, you very well could be.He laughs a deep sound that rolls down my arms.Find a mirror, and we’ll see who’s scarier.
What? No!Guardians, this is crazy. Maybe Diggory was infectious. None of this is possible or even reasonable, and my mind turns to a more haunting possibility that plunges my heart into fear.Diggory, is this you? A spirit? A ghost?
Ah, right. Diggory, he says in recognition.How do you suppose he fared?
The sentries weren’t gentle,I say quickly, so used to giving reports that the response is programmed.From the dislocated shoulder alone, it would take a skilled healer to make sure it was placed back properly. But citizens dragged to the Blood Moon Palace, they…I don’t want to dwell on what happens to them right now.
His tone turns slightly… empathetic?He knew what he was doing. If anything successful comes from this, his name won’t be forgotten a second time. I’ll make sure of it.
The sudden earnestness surprises me, and I swallow down a lump in my throat. But underneath that, something in his voice still gives off an air of superiority. A troubling possibility gnaws at me before I let it simmer to the top of my thoughts.You’re not a… Guardian, are you? Is this a test?
If anyone could make it possible to talk to someone mind-to-mind by means of a chained vial, it would be one of the Twelve. Is this why they didn’t pick me at the last Choosing? I failed whatever task they bestowed upon me, and they’re testing me again?I’m worthy!I want to scream.I’m worthy enough to join those you’ve Chosen in the past.
Worthiness. His scoff scratches at my brain.I’d rather rip out my own vocal cords than be so worried about the worthiness of others. But that brain of yours… I think I can guess a thing or two about you—other than your name and your appearance.
Thank you. I like to think I’m predictable, I almost say. That’s what makes a productive citizen, one who contributes and does what is expected of them. But the tone of his next words makes me doubt myself, like it’s somehow despicable.
I bet you do.
And even if it is a Guardian, I can’t stop my thoughts from turning admonishing.Quit it. It’s rude to read my thoughts. What’s wrong with giving people what they expect of you?I try to reason with him.No surprises.
Your Guardians wouldn’t take kindly to being surprised, would they?
MyGuardians? His tone sure doesn’t make it sound like he’s one of them. But even if he’s another citizen, shouldn’t he be talking about the Guardians with respect?
You always do as you’re told, he continues. I bite my tongue, just in case he really is the Third, testing my response to such blasphemy.
I’d assume you don’t have children yet, since there are no remnants of them in your thoughts, so you’re probably in your early twenties.
Twenty-three, I answer almost involuntarily.
Twenty-three,he repeats smugly, a hint of interest buried beneath the tone.And you’re surprisingly talkative, but you don’t ask the important questions—that makes me think you’re a teacher or nurse.
I ask lots of important questions, I defend myself.It’s part of my job, figuring out what is wrong with people. Frustration picks at the darkest parts of my mind. Even if he is a Guardian, this voice acts like he knows me beneath the surface. And if there’s one thing I’ve determined from my relationship with Malcolm, it’s that the Guardians don’t—could never—know the deepest parts of me.
The voice laughs with a mixture of victory and an emotion I can’t quite pin down, but I know it makes my stomach spark, the embers swirling in my ribcage. I pull my covers over myself to smother it.
Ahhh, and now we’re back to Malcolm,he practically purrs, taunting.Your boyfriend? Husband? Is he everything you dreamed of?
I keep my mouth shut, but his smirk slides across my thoughts as he reads them anyway.
Monotonous, isn’t it?he tsks.All that lost passion.
We’re chosen for each other, perfect. It will come with time, I say, clinging to what I told Malcolm—that no one could possibly know what we decided outside of our four walls.
Time, he says, his voice turning to gravel,is not a luxury we have. Something frightening and vicious alights within me… or him.Find a mirror, little nightmare. I need to know what you look like.
My heartbeat speeds up, or perhaps it’s his own. Two rhythms blending into one, woven together for a string of time, a quick but steadythump, thump, thumpshared between us.
That is, until the tempo of mine picks up faster in my chest at the realization that all of my secret thoughts are laid out bare here in my mind, ripe for his taking.
Whoeverheis.
Whether this is the doing of a fever, a ghost, or a Guardian, I can’t keep indulging.
