MirrorWorld

I never saw it, but remember the tree branch cracking against the top of my head. “Allenby stitched it?”


“But there’s no wound,” he says. “There’s just a line of stitches. Lift your shirt.”

I comply and am surprised when Cobb flinches away from me. “Holy shit.”

I don’t look. I can’t. “I’m still changing, right? Becoming like them?”

He shakes his head. “You look … normal. Better than normal.” He motions for me to look, and I do. My body is healed. No cuts. No scrapes. No scabs. And the vast amount of bruising covering my torso is gone. I might not look like a Dread, but this kind of healing must come from them. And now that I’m thinking about it, I feel stronger and more energized than I can remember feeling ever before.

“So, I guess that’s good news,” he says, then changes topics, perhaps sensing my discomfort. “What did you see?”

“You don’t want to know.” I head for the back of the SUV, pop the back door, and open my gear bag.

Before I can dig inside, Blair steps up next to me, holding out a smartphone. “Still nothing on the local tracking app, but—”

The phone chimes. We all flinch.

“It’s got a signal,” Blair says, as I take the device.

A map of New Orleans centered on my location is displayed on the phone. A blue dot reveals my position just before the bridge. Using my thumb to move the map, I scroll upward. A red dot appears, dead center in the park, on the north end of Scout Island, surrounded by Couturie Forest, the only swath of forested bayou to be found in the city. On the plus side, she’s not far. Not so much on the plus side, it’s going to be a slog reaching her, in either dimension. Despite the good news of locating Maya, something confuses me. “This is more than a half mile away.”

Blair looks at the screen without taking it from me. “It’s a GPS signal. She’s in our frequency again.”

Why? I think. What’s the point in bringing her back and forth between frequencies? The answer is obvious. “They’re luring us in.”

“Us?” Cobb says, sounding as worried as I feel. None of us wants to walk into a trap.

“Lyons,” I say, hoping I’m right. “They don’t just know he’s coming; they want him, too.”

A sudden chill runs over my arms. The hair stands on end.

“Do you feel that?” Cobb asks.

I don’t answer.

I can’t.

The Dread are near, and some unlocked primal part of my mind says that if I acknowledge their presence, they’ll acknowledge mine in a horrible way. It turns out, that is their intention, regardless of my actions.

“Ah!” Blair shouts. He’s by the driver’s-side door, looking about for something that isn’t there, or at least can’t be seen. I haven’t shifted my vision yet, but I know we’re not alone.

Suddenly, Blair starts scratching at his face, like someone’s just dumped a bucket of spiders over him. He shouts and hops, his cries warbling. For a moment, I’m paralyzed as fear spilling over from Blair takes hold. He screams, and it feels like a lightning bolt has struck my chest.

I hate fear. Even more than the Dread, it is my enemy.

“What do we do to our enemies?” The voice belongs to a drill sergeant, his words returning as a fresh memory.

“Kill them,” I respond, both in memory and in the present. “Fucking kill them.”

I step around the side of the SUV, weapons forgotten, fists clenched, but am stopped by Blair. He levels a shaking handgun toward my chest. I nearly retreat but manage to stand my ground. A subtle shift in the frequency of my vision reveals Blair’s company. A Medusa-hands has its tendrils buried deep in his head while a mothman hovers above, whispering waves of fear into the man, the little limbs lining its abdomen shaking frantically. It’s a lethal combination, and for a moment, I think it’s directed toward me. But it’s not.

“Don’t let … them … win.” They’re Blair’s last words before he turns the gun on himself and pulls the trigger.

The sharp report of the handgun and sight of this brave man’s brains bursting out of his skull both increase my fear and galvanize my course of action. With a scream, I charge, lunging at the Medusa-hands as it retracts its tendrils from Blair’s head.

Halfway to the creature, I realize I probably should have taken a weapon. But it’s too late now. I’m committed. And I’m not exactly defenseless.