Shimmer (10 page)

I concentrated on merging my energy with his, allowing it to stream and meld until I found myself inside his canine head, where I was amazed to see my dog’s own personal version of a hellish experience:

The moment he was pulled away from his mama and his five other littermates so he could come live with us.

I admit, the second I saw that, I started to feel angry again, but knowing that came with consequences, I quickly moved past it. Still, what was I supposed to make of that? I mean, really—was he serious? Had he really viewed the move to our house as some kind of wretched experience?

But then I
remembered
.

Remembered how he actually spent that first night—or, should I say, how we
all
spent that first night.

All of us forced to take turns getting out of our beds so that we could try to comfort him as he cried and whimpered and refused to relax.

It was awful.

For us—for him—but probably mostly for him.

He had no way of knowing that the way he felt at that moment wouldn’t go on forever.

He had no way of knowing just how good it was about to get.

Though I had no idea how to get that point across to him, had no idea where to even begin.

Thanks to Rebecca and this horrible bubble she’d created, Buttercup was stuck in the one and only truly bad moment he’d ever known, and as far as he was concerned, he’d never known anything else.

So, I did the only thing I could think of—I curled up beside him and continued to scratch that spot between his ears. Trying to fill my mind with vibrant, happy memories of all the fun times we’d shared, hoping they’d somehow find their way into his brain and maybe even carve out a little space for that sweet, quiet
silence
to creep in.

And it wasn’t long before the whimpers died down, the whining ceased, and Buttercup lifted his head, popped his eyes open, and jumped to his feet.

Bodhi heaved a big sigh of relief, as I wrapped my arms around my dog and gave him a giant squeeze. Cradling his muzzle with both hands, I peered deep into his big brown eyes to make sure he truly was back.

Then I looked at Bodhi and said, “We have to go find the prince.”

But Bodhi was already shaking his head.

Already lifting his arm and pointing toward the very spot where Rebecca now stood.

18

Her dog stood right alongside her, looking nothing like the Snarly Yow/Black Shuck/Hell Beast I remembered from before.

This dog was tiny.

And nervous.

The kind with yippy barks and dancing paws.

While I’d done my best to fill Bodhi in on everything that I’d learned about Rebecca, when we were still searching for Buttercup, while I’d tried to make it clear just how dark and evil she was, one look at his face was all it took to see he wasn’t quite sure if he should believe me.

He was conflicted.

Despite all that I’d said, he was so swayed by her sugary-sweet, beribboned exterior he seriously doubted that someone who looked as harmless and fluffy as that was capable of creating a bubble from hell.

Boys.

They are all the same.

All so easily influenced by a bright and shiny saccharine display.

I tensed as she approached, noting the way she made the ground just under her feet transform and bloom into a bouncy, vibrant carpet of green grass and yellow flowering buds that perfectly matched the bow on her dress. Her smile held firm but radiant, her eyes hiding a whole world of secrets I couldn’t even begin to guess at, as she thrust forth her hand and offered a tall, sweaty glass filled with some kind of iced murky liquid.

“Thirsty?” she asked, her voice so high-pitched and syrupy, I felt like I’d overdosed on Halloween candy just by listening to it. Prompting me to grab hold of Buttercup, determined to keep him close to my side. Not wanting him to get anywhere near that runty little pooch of hers who could just as easily turn into the worst kind of Hell Beast.

I glanced at Bodhi, seeing the way he looked at her. Carefully observing as though trying to find some kind of middle ground between all the things I’d said, and all the things his eyes were telling him. His brow lowered, eyes narrowed, while his normally bobbing straw paused against his lips, coming to a complete and total standstill.

“Why not give yourself a break and enjoy a little taste? After all you’ve been through, you
deserve
it.” She pushed the glass toward him and stared deep into his eyes, but Bodhi just continued to stand there, taking her in. His eyes squinted in such a way that I had no way to read them, no way to know what he might’ve been thinking

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, you know. You should trust me when I say I no longer blame you for being so cowardly and caught up in your own fragile image that you made no move to save me.”

I squeezed my lids tighter, squeezed till my eyes turned to slits, and though I still couldn’t see exactly what he was seeing, I saw enough to know something had changed.

It was the way the air moved and shimmered all around her, making her appear fuzzy and obscured from my view. And I knew at that instant that, to Bodhi anyway, she looked just like Nicole again.

I grasped for his hand, afraid of losing him to that brand of anguish, but he stepped out of my reach in favor of her. His fingers outstretched, gaze unwavering, reaching for the drink I couldn’t allow him to consume.

I thrust my hand between them, determined to keep Bodhi away, the sudden movement alerting her dog and causing it to lower its head, raise its back, and direct a deep, menacing growl right at me.

But before I could intervene, Bodhi had already grabbed it.

Already gripped his fingers around the glass as he stared at Rebecca and said, “You’re wasting your time.” Knocking the drink so hard it shot clear out of her hand and into the trees. “Your glamour doesn’t work on me anymore. You’re
not
Nicole. In fact, you’re not even close. And just so you know, I’ve let it all go. I’ve forgiven myself. Which means you’ve got no hold over me now that I’m no longer angry.”

She tried her best to hide it. I’ll give her that. But still, it was clear by the way she tilted her head and lifted her chin, by the way she fluttered her eyes as she gazed over him, that she wasn’t quite expecting that.

“Suit yourself.” She lifted her small, slim shoulders, allowing the shimmer to fade until she was fully back to being her overdressed self once again. Her eyes flitting toward mine when she added, “How about you, Riley? Would you like a sip?” Her brow rising as her gaze grew dark and deep, she manifested a whole new glass of tea in her hand. “I promise, it’s nothing at all like that
false
memory tea the prince served you.” She rolled her eyes and shook her dainty head. “You do realize he’s crazy,
right
? I mean, you don’t actually believe he’s a prince,
do you
?” Her lips curled and smirked as her brow arced in a superior, haughty way.

“He was one of my father’s workers—and not a very good one, I might add. And he was also a
murderer
.” She paused with meaning, allowing enough time for her words to fully penetrate. “But
never
a prince, I assure you of that. You know he’s responsible for what happened to me,
right
? He’s a member of the same group of rebels who planned the revolt.
It’s true!
” she urged, reading my gaze and correctly assuming I didn’t believe a single word that she’d said. “And you’re a fool for both believing him and feeling sorry for him. Not to mention that you’re a hypocrite too.”

I quirked my brow, curious as to what she could possibly be getting at, and she was all too eager to inform me.

“Murderers get sent to prison all the time, so why is this any different?”

“Because it
is
different.” Bodhi jumped to my defense, even though I wasn’t really in need of it. “It’s not the same at all. You have no right to interfere with any soul’s journey—no right at all! And deep down inside, I have a feeling you know that, or you wouldn’t be near as defensive as you are.”

She bristled. Her eyes practically glowing like her Hell Beast’s just had. “You think you know so much—you think you can barge into my turf and push me around just because you both have some kind of weird glow around you?” She gripped the glass so tightly I was sure it would shatter in her hand. Staring us down in a way that made it clear just how truly outraged she was, as though all the ugliness inside her was finding its way to the surface. Her hair lifting, becoming crazy, wiry, as her hate shone so bright it took everything I had not to look away.

And I couldn’t help but wonder if she truly did believe what she’d said about the prince and her reasons for keeping him and all the other slaves she’d imprisoned, or if that’s just the story she told herself so she’d have an excuse to do what she did.

There was only one way to find out.

“You don’t know anything!” she screamed, her whole face transforming. “You know nothing—
nothing at all
!”

She continued to carry on like that, raging and shrieking with no end in sight. And feeling more than a little fed up with all the threats and dramatics, and more than a little eager to get to the bottom of it, I looked at her and said, “Fine. I’ll see for myself then. Hand it over already.” Totally convinced she was little more than an evil, spoiled-rotten brat, but also knowing that there were two sides to every story, and in order to get hers, I had to see it from her point of view.

She stopped, her eyes widening, clearly wondering if it was some kind of trick.

But it was no trick. I was entirely serious. And though Bodhi wasted no time in gripping my arm in warning, well, it was too late.

I was already reaching for the glass.

Already plucking a sparkle from her dress and tossing it in.

Already bringing the brew to my lips.

Already committing to the journey no matter what sort of scene I’d find myself in.

Bodhi’s voice a mere trace of an echo as he begged me to stop, begged me not to go through with it.

But it made no difference.

I’d already entered her world.

19

It wasn’t at all like I thought.

I mean, not that I can really explain just exactly what I was expecting since it happened so fast I hadn’t really allowed myself all that much time to think about it. But still, if I hadn’t downed that tea so quickly, if I’d stopped long enough to actually ponder a few things, I don’t think I would’ve envisioned anything even close to the scene in which I found myself.

I was a baby.

No, scratch that. Because actually, Rebecca was the baby, and I was just along for the ride. Observing the events from her point of view, immersed in an event so vivid, so detailed, so real, it was as though I was her.

I could
see
the morning sun eke its way around the scalloped edges of the curtains as her mother’s soft arms circled me, cradling gently, as she gazed down in the most loving, deeply profound way.

I could
feel
the depths of Rebecca’s sorrow, the full range of her confusion, from that very first morning when her mother failed to appear—and all of the mornings that followed—to the moment when it came as no surprise that her first word spoken was
“Mama!”
soon followed by
“Dead”
and then
“Buried.”
The two most often used words to explain the absence of the first.

I grew along with her, transitioning from a crawling baby to a walking child, feeling her body stretch and grow as the soft rolls of baby fat melted away, allowing her to slim down for a time, before she began to blossom into a pretty young girl whose thirteenth year found her with a closet full of sparkly dresses and drawers stuffed with colorful ribbons and bows. Longing for her father to take notice of her, to appreciate the way she looked in them. But he had neither the time nor the interest, viewing his daughter as a nuisance that was best left to the servants to deal with.

And so they did.

So fearful of her father’s legacy of anger, they indulged her every whim in hopes she’d never bad-mouth them. Giving her sweets and treats and presents of every kind: a vast array of delicacies she only vaguely desired; a vast array of delicacies they’d long been denied.

It was the recipe for making a monster.

And there was no end in sight.

If there was resentment in their eyes, Rebecca remained unaware of it. She barely paid them any real notice. To her, they had no other purpose than to fulfill her demands—she was sure that was the sole reason for their existence. Her indulgent life had turned her into the kind of brat I’d only seen on reality TV but never once in the reality of real life.

She was a brat of mammoth proportions.

A spoiled-rotten, clueless, friendless girl, who was so firmly entrenched in her fantasy world—one where everything revolved solely around her—she had no idea how awful she’d become.

No idea that the people who served her had not actually asked to be employed by her father.

No idea of the sadistic game of “bowling” he played with those he’d deemed unworthy of a job they didn’t even want in the first place.

And yet, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.

Couldn’t help but pity her.

Even though there was no getting around the fact that she was just as beastly as that dog of hers, there was also no denying that she just didn’t get it.

Like the prince would say—she was resisting the truth.

And the next thing I knew, she was on the move.

Running so fast I could actually
hear
the huff of her panting breath in my ears, could actually
feel
the moment of confusion when she lost her footing and sprawled across the dirt. Her body hitting so hard, I was jolted even deeper inside her.

So deep, I’d
become
her.

I lifted my face from the ground, snorting out a pile of dirt I’d inhaled while clearing a bunch of small rocks from my mouth.