Page 109 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
Chapter Forty-Eight
Iris
I dream a crazy dream, something so psychedelic I can’t forget it. The sky’s a deep electric-purple dome, the field mossy and soft. I run barefoot, my arms spread out under a golden sun, silver moon and glinting stars. Somewhere in the distance, somebody’s playing Schubert’s Fantasie—secondo only. My fingers itch, and I start to run toward the music, but the field is endless. The moss starts to grow softer and wetter, and my feet sink deeper with every step.
Suddenly, water reaches my ankle. It isn’t cold, but it makes me shiver anyway. I look up at the sky. The sun and the moon are gone. Only pinprick lights from the stars remain.
The music’s growing fainter. I resume my run, trying to reach the piano.
The stars grow brighter and bigger. Then they fall, their tails silver needles across the amaranthine sky, and pierce my body from all directions. I gasp, try to evade the bombardment, but now my feet are rooted…
“Wake up. It’s just a dream.”
Not a dream. I’m submerged in the water, and I can’t breathe. I can’t swim.
I struggle to rise to the surface, but something tugs me downward. A girl in a blue dress is holding my ankle. Her hair unfurls in the water like reddish-gold ink. Smiling up at me, she waves with her free hand, turning my blood to ice.
“No!”
“Ivy!”
I jerk awake, panting, my skin sweat-sticky and uncomfortable. Tony is holding me, stroking my back and offering comfort.
I shiver, unable to forget the mermaid girl. She was terrifying. Her grip felt so real…
“It’s okay. It was just a dream,” he whispers into my hair.
“Right… Just a dream.” Except I’ve never had a dream like this before. And I almost never remember my dreams, although I have been starting to remember them since returning to the States. I wipe at my cheeks, and my hands come away wet.
Tony pulls out a handkerchief and dabs at my cheeks and hairline. I let him take care of me, trying not to tremble. I’ve never had a nightmare during a nap. God, it was so vivid, so horrifying. I could have sworn I was dying.
He presses a kiss to my temple. “It’s okay. You’re safe,” he whispers. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Gradually, my nerves settle. Then something occurs to me. “Who’s Ivy?”
“What?”
I lift my head. “You said Ivy.”
“You must’ve misheard.”
“No, I didn’t. I know what I heard—”
His stomach growls then, cutting me off. “Let’s have lunch,” he says, too smoothly.
“Let’s wait until you answer my question. I want to know why you said Ivy.”
His lips compress until they’re white. His whole body coils like he’s ready to bolt.
No, no, don’t do that. Just tell me.I can handle whatever the truth might be…although the tightening in my gut makes me wonder.
Finally, he exhales. “She was someone I knew. I was thinking about her when you started thrashing around, and the name slipped out. Sorry.”
That’s it? All the tension drains, leaving me slightly dazed. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
He gives me a look. “What woman is going to be okay with being called another woman’s name?”
“Well, yeah, okay…nobody. But people can make mistakes. Ivy is sort of close to Iris,” I say, trying to sound casual. But Ivy knots my gut, and it isn’t jealousy. It’s something else, almost like fear. Not the kind that makes you flee screaming, but the kind that makes you pick up a knife and edge toward it, while your heart is pounding and cold sweat is breaking out along your spine.
