MirrorWorld

I stop struggling. It’s a wasted effort.

One of the ten Medusa-hands, whose appearance in the chamber surprised me, slides closer. It looms above me, taller than the others. Its four wide yellow eyes stare down into my eyes. Its head cocks to the side, no doubt wondering how I have the same split pupils or how I’m here at all. If they’re as intelligent as I think, it will see that I’m part Dread.

It leans closer, just inches from my face.

Whispering fills my thoughts. It feels like questions, but I don’t understand.

“I don’t understand you,” I say, knowing it can understand me.

It pulls back a bit, surprised by my words, or perhaps by the revelation that I can hear the whispers. The Dread turns to the others. A sound like wind fills my head as all the Dread start think-talking at once.

A voice, louder than the others, drowns them out, and the mental storm falls silent.

The tall Medusa-hands leans over me once more.

I decide to reason with it. “Why are you attacking people?”

It leans closer.

“If you just left us alone, I wouldn’t be here,” I say.

My words have no impact.

A hint of a whisper flits through my mind. I’m not sure why, but I fall silent and watch the Medusa-hands above me.

It whispers at me, the cadence familiar, pushing fear.

I feel nothing.

It tries to instill its fear in me again, the whisper louder.

Still nothing.

Moving slowly, it comes in closer. Tendrils from its hands snake toward my head. The tiny tips tickle my skull, looking for entry but finding none. I’m as material here as they are. Getting those tendrils into my brain is going to take physical force.

The Dread pulls back, the tendrils snaking away. With a bow, it slides back.

Now wha—

There’s a sharp crack and pain at the back of my head. I feel movement for a moment, and then confusion. What’s happening?

It’s in my head, I think. The tentacles are beneath me; one of them actually punched through my skull and is probing around in my brain. This should terrify me, I know that, but I feel nothing beyond curiosity and anger for being violated. Killing an enemy is one thing, sticking a tentacle in his brain … It’s just not acceptable. It’s wrong.

The skin on my legs suddenly goes prickly. Then stops.

I taste popcorn.

I feel love.

This thing is screwing with my brain, I think, growing angrier.

I’m cold and then hot and then, for a flash, I remember a face.

And its name.

Simon.

And then it’s gone, the memory lost once more. But the anguish that accompanied that brief flash lingers for a moment. Then it, too, is gone, replaced by a painful spasm of each and every muscle in my body.

My skin chills. Goose bumps pock my body.

“Get out of my head,” I grumble. “Get the fu—argh!”

The scream that replaces my words is primal and physically painful as it tears the very fabric of my throat.

I feel the tentacle retreat.

And scream again.

I suck in a deep breath. It’s not controlling me now, but a third scream tears through the chamber.

And a fourth.

I’ve never felt anything like this before. My body and mind are like strangers, each vying for control, each propelled into senseless action, but by what? I don’t know what this is!

And then I do.

“Oh God,” I shout. “Oh God, no!”

It’s not just fear I’m feeling.

It’s terror.





37.

I wake slowly. Dazed. Half aware of the world around me. Events replay in my mind. I screamed for I don’t know how long. Then passed out. I’ve seen fear do strange things to people, including fainting, but to me? Not a chance.

The memory drags me from sleep a bit. I’m comfortable. In a soft bed. But moving. Undulating.

Carried.

I’m not in a bed at all.

Adrenaline surges. My pulse quickens. My heart feels like it will explode.

I’ve always kind of looked down on people who panic. I’ve never understood it, in the same way the average person can’t understand what floating in zero gravity feels like. Fear was foreign to me.

Was.

Control it, I tell myself. Though I’ve never been good at controlling my impulses, I’m not without discipline. I should be able to wrestle my emotions down enough to act. With building confidence, my pulse slows. A measure of control returns. Now I just need to see where I am.

I open my eyes.

Four bright-yellow split-pupil eyes of a Medusa-hands peer down at me, hovering just a foot above my head. I suck in a tight breath as my whole body seizes. I struggle to move but am still bound. I fight for freedom, fueled by a fresh adrenaline dump in my veins.

I’m scared out of my mind, but I haven’t lost my mind. Yet. I’ve seen the effect the Dread have on others, and this isn’t it. I’m afraid—there’s no doubt. Nearly paralyzed, but I haven’t lost myself to it. This knowledge fuels my defiance, and I return the Dread’s cold stare.