“I think you’re confused. You’ve been unconscious for a long time. Let me give you a little something to help calm your nerves.” The doctor swiftly pulled the syringe from behind his back and stuck it into the IV tube.
The patient clawed at the needle in her arm before the orderlies restrained her. “No, you don’t understand. I have to go back. I don’t belong here. People need me. I have to save him!”
Looking around the room frantically, the patient searched for a pen and paper.
There was a commotion at the door. A nurse was unsuccessfully trying to keep two people from coming into the room. “I’m sorry, but you can’t be in there right now,” she said.
“My daughter is in there. You and what army are going to keep me out?” a woman said in a steely tone.
The patient stopped fighting and stared at the middle-aged man and woman who pushed into the room.
“Mom! Dad!” Tears rolled freely down the girl’s cheeks.
“Hi, princess,” Henry Gayle said and kissed his daughter’s hand. “Long time no see.”
Then the sedatives took effect, and the world of Rexi, Kato, and the Storymakers became a blur in Dorothy Gayle’s mind.
Acknowledgments
I have to bow down and give eternal thanks to Natalie and the Dalleys, Leslie, Kiara, Phil, Dianne, and my parents, who took turns keeping my kiddos safe and out of my hair so I could wage the never-ending fight with deadlines. I also want to thank my creative crew—Jess, Karen, TJ, Chris, Misty, Phaedra, and Joe—for their ideas and support, telling me when I suck occasionally and reminding me to be myself despite that. Things really went off the rails this year in my life, and I am grateful for the support of my agent, Michelle Witte, and my editor, Annette Pollert-Morgan, and everyone at Sourcebooks for yanking me out of the shadows and giving me the support and space I needed to make this story what it needed to be. Jeff Savage, Jen Nielsen, and slews of other word wizards—your encouragement means everything. And as always, for my family, for putting up with all the voices in my head that compete for my time. I love you all.
“Rule #91: Once the villain is vanquished, they are gone and never coming back to get you. So stop looking over your shoulder, and think happy thoughts!”
—Definitive Fairy-Tale Survival Guide, Volume 1
1
“This is going to pinch a little, Dorothy dear.” Lies, I thought as the nurse shoved the needle into my hand. For once, I wanted someone to just tell me the truth. This is going to hurt. The cure sucks and may kill you faster than the cancer. But, hey, if you survive, bald is high fashion, and think of all the money you’ll save on hair products.
Yeah, not a chance. The room was all decorated with upbeat cheer in mind, but I had a snarky thought pop into my brain. Looks like a unicorn had thrown up rainbows everywhere. Yeah that about summed it up. The pretty was all just a screen. A desperate plea to stay positive. Gotta keep your spirits up. Gotta look on the bright side. Too bad the dark side will still stab you from behind, whether you look at it or not.
Outside, the weather affirmed my opinion. I’d heard the emergency alert a half an hour ago, the siren cutting into the kids cartoons they insisted on playing. Tornado watch.
A flash of light flared into the room from the window behind me. One one thousand. Two one thousand. Three one thousand. Four one thousand. Five—
Boom.
My hand tingled and burned—a sure sign that the IV had started pumping. Liquid fire seeped through my veins. Meaning the hallucinations weren’t far behind. My body felt light and my mind drifted, calling me home to the world I’d written about in my journal. A realm of Story with an Emerald palace. Where Kato was. And Rexi. Verte. Oz. A land that should be full of Happy Ever Afters, but I could already hear their screams drowning out the thunder.
It’s not real, I thought. But the wails only got louder in my mind. I could picture where they were coming from. A mountain of bodies thrown into a fire pit to be melted down. My therapist said I have issues. No flippin’ joke.
I focused on changing the mental picture, rewriting the story, like Dr. Baum had instructed me to do. A beach. Maybe pretend the rumbling was crashing waves. Despite my efforts, the image of the charred bodies only got stronger. I shook my head. “No it’s not real. I am in control.”
“You wish,” a voice cackled, high pitched and off key. “Or maybe not since that’s what got you into this mess.”
I jerked my head around, searching the room. The monitors beeped quicker, making music out of my racing pulse. I saw a face and opened my mouth to scream. Then realized it was the mirror. Only for a second the reflection didn’t really look like me.
Nonsense. The room was empty. The only sound was the storm outside—wind howling and whipping the rain to beat against the window.
A flare of light. One one thousand. Two one thousand. Three one thousand. Four—
Crack.
Getting closer. As soon as I thought that, the electricity went out. Within seconds, the back-up generator kicked in, powering up the medical devices and emergency hallway lighting. My room remained dark except the soft glow of my monitors.
“Hello.” I steadied myself on the edge of the bed, leaning out as far as the IV tether would let me. There should be nurses and doctors scrambling in the hallway. But even graveyards had more life in them than this hospital at the moment.
Where had everyone gone?
Underneath my pulse monitor’s irregular percussive beep, there was another sound in the room. Drip. Drip.
It must be raining hard enough outside that the roof was leaking.
Drip. Drip.
I focused on the sound. The splash pitching deeper as the puddle grew.
The storm flashed again, lighting up the room. This time I didn’t count. I’d only had a heartbeat of illumination to see the puddle. It was black.
No. It’s not real. Not real…
I grabbed the monitor and turned the screen toward the drip. The black puddle had spread, moving to the wall. And up it. Like a black figure leaning against it. I closed my eyes, telling myself the truth that it was just a shadow cast off the IV pole.
“You’re being stupid. Shadows can’t get you,” I told myself, breathed deep, and opened my eyes again.
The shadow had moved. And it was coming closer. It oozed and grew taller, separating from the wall to walk toward me.
“Found you,” the shadow gurgled. “Run.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. Ignoring the pain, I ripped the IV from my hand and sprinted out of the room, taking the far side from the oozing black shadows.
“Nurse! Nurse!” I yelled.