Wai-Mae looked baffled. “I’m already at peace. Here. In dreams.”
“Just come inside with me. That’s all I’m asking,” Ling said, taking a step backward toward the tunnel. The skin of her neck prickled into gooseflesh. “Walk through the tunnel with me this one time, and I promise I’ll never mention it ever again.”
Ling took another step backward and Wai-Mae’s mouth parted in horror. “Sister! You mustn’t go in—it isn’t safe!”
“Why? What will she do to me?”
Ling took another step, and Wai-Mae balled her fists at her mouth. Her eyes were huge. “She’ll… she’ll… don’t.”
“In science, we need proof. Prove me wrong. Come after me.”
And with that, Ling stepped inside the tunnel.
“Ling! Please!”
Wai-Mae’s cry echoed around Ling. She kept her eyes on Wai-Mae, standing in the sunshine, but she could feel the darkness at her back. Her skin buzzed with fear.
Wai-Mae came closer. Her breathing was shallow, her voice desperate. “Please, Ling.”
Heart hammering, Ling took another step backward, and another. Behind her, the dark sighed, like a long gust of wind through dry leaves, and it took all of Ling’s will not to run back toward the light.
Wai-Mae hesitated for another moment, and then, carefully, she stepped into the darkness, glancing around fearfully at the earthen tomb. Nothing happened, and Ling wondered if perhaps she’d gotten it wrong after all.
“Sister? Where are you?”
“I’m here,” Ling said, her voice hoarse. “Come to me.”
As Wai-Mae moved through the dark, light crackled along the walls, making her jump.
“Please. Let’s go back, Ling.”
“Just a little closer,” Ling said.
The bricks sputtered to life, glowing with so many dreams. Like a curious child, Wai-Mae drew closer to the wall. She put her hand to first one, then another, then another, staring at the image of the veiled woman as she ran toward Devlin’s.
Wai-Mae sang, soft as a lullaby. “La-la-la-la-la… wake unto me. Starlight… sweet dreams…” Her song became a whisper. “Are waiting. Waiting for… for… me .”
A phosphorescent aura softened the outline of Wai-Mae, like something raised from the deep, and then she fell into the dirt, her face in her hands. The howl torn from her nearly broke Ling’s heart.
“Why?” Wai-Mae sobbed.
“I’m sorry,” Ling said, fighting tears. “So sorry.”
“How could you do this to me?” Wai-Mae said, shaking.
“Let me help you, Wai-Mae.”
Wai-Mae’s eyes flashed. Her teeth lengthened, sharpening to points. “You are dishonorable! Like the man who tricked me here.”
Behind Ling, the dark felt alive. Nails clicked on stone. Scratching. And Ling didn’t know what was more terrifying—the thought of what might lie in the vast dark behind her or the creature transforming before her. Wai-Mae rose from the dirt, walking slowly toward Ling. As she did, her modest tunic shifted into the long white dress. Bloodstains seeped through and stretched across the fabric in flowering wounds. The headpiece dissolved, and Wai-Mae’s neatly coiled dark hair came undone. It fell loose across her shoulders, snarled and broken. Her sharp teeth gleamed. Purple pockmarks painted themselves upon the pale ribbon of Wai-Mae’s throat. Her waspish voice stung the air: “I will show you the terror of your desires. I will show you the folly of dreams. I will show you how the world tears you apart. Here is your dream turned to dust.”
The veil descended. In her hand was the dagger. Wai-Mae lunged, grabbing the back of Ling’s neck. “Dream with me, sister,” she growled, plunging the dagger in. She parted her lips and pressed her dream into Ling’s mouth.
Ling fought back until she no longer could. Her arms hung at her sides, loose and long, as if she’d put down a heavy burden at last.
And then she was tumbling down.
Mabel shut off the alarm, but Henry and Ling slept on.
Jericho’s face was grave. “I can’t wake her.”