Page 146 of Curse of Darkness
“This way,” says the Dream Thief, seizing my hand and hauling me forward.
We flash through walls and doors, one chamber after the other in a dizzying rush.
“He saw me.” My heart’s still racing out of control somewhere in the distance.
The Dream Thief cuts me a sharp look. “Dream smoke sometimes gives one that ability.”
“We have to go back.” I haul against him. “He’ll go to Maren. She’ll know what we’re up to….”
“There’s no time,” the Dream Thief snaps. “The prophecy will wake tonight, and you must be there to hear it.”
Fuck. “Fine. Then it had best hurry up and wake.”
We flash forward, the world of dreams dashing past us until we stare up at the Tower of Dreams.
Carved of obsidian, it stretches into the sky hungrily. Jagged, lightning-shaped runes glow against its dark walls—a warning on the etheric plane to stay away. There’s an observation platform at the top with an enormous astrolabe, but it’s the heart of the tower we’re searching for.
One more leap, and we stand inside.
The heart of the tower is a storage facility for important dreams. Breathed into globes that are not quite glass, they writhe and twist like little smoke tendrils. Sitting in their velvet-padded nooks, they line the walls. I slowly lift my head, peering up and up and up.
The possibilities are endless.
The prophecy dream could be anywhere.
Iron ladders circle the room like some sort of library, except the globes are the books. There’s another level above us—possibly several—and as I lean over the rail and peer down, I stare into a pit of gloom.
“How are we going to find it?”
“Prophecies are curious things,” the Dream Thief says. “They’re linked to the person the prophecy is about, and while they often catch the unguarded mind—the prophet who speaks them—they are only ever arrowing for one person. Long ago, this prophecy caught the mind of a dreamer. His companion took down his words, but they were lost to the test of time. Only the remnants of this one remain… the dream in which the prophet caught the prophecy.”
“If Maren has it, then does that mean she knows what it says?”
The Dream Thief nods. “She knows what it says. Though whether she knows what it means is a different story.”
A growl echoes through the tower.
“What was that?” I demand quietly.
The Dream Thief’s head turns. Then his shoulders relax. “Your friends await. Come.”
He takes my hand, and we blur again, reforming on one of the platforms high above us.
An enormous shaggy wolf-like creature prowls through the shadows, faelight gleaming off its silvery ruff. It pauses as if it hears our breathing.
Every hair along its back stands on edge, and a low warning growl vibrates in his throat.
“Baylor?” Lucere whispers harshly. “What’s wrong? Is someone coming?”
I run my fingers through his fur, offering myself for him to sniff. Baylor can’t see me, but I know he senses me, for his hackles slowly lower.
He stalks forward, butting his head against Lucere’s thigh. She nearly topples over, but even as she grasps his fur for balance, she stares into the darkness as if she wonders what he sensed.
“You are going to give me a heart seizure,” Lucere breathes.
But this time, when they move on, her fingers remain clenched in his fur.
“Prophecy, prophecy, prophecy,” Lucere whispers to herself as she circles the room. “Where do you think it will be held? ‘P’ for prophecy?”
