Sleep of Death

  I pull.

  Pull.

  Pull!

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Sophie and I tumble onto the mirrored floor of my supernatural plane. She rolls over and lies still, breathing raggedly. Is it because her physical body is having such trouble breathing? Will she regain consciousness? I don’t know all the rules of this place, but lately I’m not sure anyone does. In all of history, has an Oracle brought a Sorceress in like this? Would they admit it if they had?

  But only minute or so passes before Sophie groans, pushing up onto her hands and knees, peering around with wide eyes. “Charlotte, where are we?”

  “This is my … my world.” I’ve never really had to describe it to anyone before. Everyone else who knew about it already knew, far better than I did what it was.

  “Yours?”

  I nod. “Are you … okay?”

  Her hands travel over her body, then she holds up an arm and stares at it with wide eyes. She looks more like the pictures her mother has hanging in the hallway than the tired, near-emaciated girl I met at school. She’s still ballerina-thin, but the frail gauntness is gone and her arm has a softening layer between the skin and the bones. Her fingers go to her face and I imagine she’s feeling the fact that her cheekbones aren’t so sharp.

  After feeling her chilly body in the bed a few minutes ago, I want to reach out and touch this new Sophie, simply to make sure she’s warm, but I hang back and let her explore herself first.

  “Been a long time since I felt this good,” she says at last.

  I smile, and it dawns on me that I’m not in any pain, either. The agony has been so constant and overwhelming for the last hour that it almost pushed the memory of not hurting out of my head. Instead it’s a new and amazing sensation to simply feel nothing.

  Maybe I needed this, too—because it’s not over for me. Not yet. When Mrs. Jefferson shakes me awake, the pain will be back. I try not to think about that now—to enjoy what time remains before I have to return to consciousness in my physical body.

  Maybe I’ll be stronger for the respite.

  “Is your mom okay?” Sophie ventures reluctantly.

  I smile. I can’t help myself. My mom is alive! “Yes,” I breathe. “Thanks to you.”

  “There’s so much power here,” Sophie says after a few moments, and though she sounds weak, she’s also clearly happy. “It feels like Scuba diving—deep, where the pressure is just amazing, pushing in on you from every direction at once, and everything is so quiet you can hear your heart beating.” She looks over at me and I’ve never seen such joy shining out of her face. “Do you know what I mean?”

  I shake my head. Sierra has worked hard to keep me safe my entire life, so I’ve never been anywhere as dangerous as the ocean, and right now that fact makes me incredibly sad.

  “Well, trust me, it feels that way.” Sophie lies on her back and stretches her arms and legs out in four different directions and it looks like she’s sunbathing.

  It’s just as I hoped.

  I don’t know how long it’ll take. What I do know is that thing Sierra told me about the energy it takes to see every possible roadblock, down every possible fork, down every possible road. A nearly infinite amount of energy, and it all resides right here in my dome, practically flowing through me. The energy of this place feels normal to me, but if Sophie felt better just being near me when I had a vision, it stands to reason that coming to my supernatural plane while she’s touching me could really charge her up.

  Much the way Smith wanted to, really. Only this time, it’s my choice. Sophie isn’t leeching off of my powers; I’m feeding them to her. She said the refilling of her power was something beyond physical, and I hope bringing her here—a place where only other supernaturals can come, a place that essentially is made of power—will give her what she needs. Enough to make her heart beat on its own. For her lungs to pull in their own air.

  Enough to save her life, the way she saved my mother’s. That’s all I want.

  Sophie looks up at the eternal dome of scenes above our heads. “What do you do here?”

  “Well, until this week, I’ve been fixing it.”

  “What needed to be fixed?” she asks, rolling over and propping her head on one elbow.

  “It’s a long story. And I’ll tell you the whole thing,” I add, looking her in the eye as I make that terrifying promise. “But first, I want to show you something.” I stand and reach out both hands to pull her to her feet.

  Sophie rises with a grin, but a thought makes her face fall. “Is my mom okay?” she asks.

  “Worried,” I confess. “But she’ll feel better if you feel better, and the longer we stay here … well, it’s only a theory, but I think we might be able to speed your recovery along significantly. But I don’t know how long we have; time is different here. It might feel like days, for all I know. Or it might feel like minutes.”

  So I need to get started.

  “Okay,” she agrees, and though I can tell she’s still concerned, I do my best to distract her.

  “Be careful, you might lose your balance when I do this.” I close my eyes and picture a future in which Sophie’s completely recovered and we’re together in our art class. When I open my eyes, scenes of Sophie laughing are all around us and, because I haven’t lowered the volume with my thoughts, that laughter fills the air, making the space around us feel alive with it.

  Sophie’s eyes dart from screen to screen, her grin matching the dozens that surround us. “How are you doing this?”

  “Just wait,” I say, and I look just above eye level until I find a good one, then focus on it, making the dome roll down, the scene coming closer and growing larger.

  “Whoa!” Sophie says, stumbling and gripping my hand. I grab her arm and help her stay upright until the dome stops moving, remembering how it felt when I first started coming here. It’s fun to see her experience it.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  “Ready for what?” She looks equal parts scared and excited, and I love being able to show this Sorceress something that—for once—I knew and she didn’t.

  “Come with me.” I still have her hand clasped in mine and I step carefully over the edge and into the scene. As we walk forward the view splits, giving me two choices, and I choose the one where Sophie and I are doubling to the prom in fancy dresses, with tuxedo-clad dates who look as happy as we do.

  I bite my lip and try to ignore the fact that my date is Linden.

  My dome shows possible scenarios, not necessarily smart ones.

  I pull Sophie forward until the scene splits again and this time we’re running down the shoreline of an unfamiliar beach, dressed in brightly colored swimsuits, laughing when the waves rush onto the shore and cover our feet.

  Another choice, and another, and I take her through a perfect senior year, ending with us hugging and throwing our dark blue caps into the air.

  But I keep going. I’m looking for something specific, and I know in my heart-of-hearts that it’s got to be here somewhere.

  Two more choices and I see it. I pull Sophie through and she looks up and gasps in wonder. My smile is almost painfully wide as we watch Sophie in a ballet studio, rehearsing with other college students, spinning across the floor en pointe, her head flipping as she spots across the room.

  Another split and we’re standing in a darkened auditorium watching a recital where Sophie dances, long-limbed but healthy with a hot guy on a stage.

  In the spotlight.

  Sophie’s hand is limp in mine and I turn back to see her standing with tears streaming down her face. “It’s never going to happen,” she says, her voice raspy.

  “That’s the thing, Sophie,” I say, taking both of her hands and forcing her to meet my eyes. “That’s the beauty of this place; nothing can come into this dome unless it’s possible.”

  Her eyes dart from me to the figure of herself dancing on the stage, back to me. “Really?” she says in such a small voice that I know there’
s nothing in the world Sophie wants to do more than dance.

  Except saving lives.

  “You can do both,” I say. “With me, you can. I can bring you here, as often as you need, and help you recover. And you,” I shrug, “you can teach me how to not screw up so badly.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Well, I’ll try to learn,” I say dryly. “I might be hopeless.”

  She smacks my shoulder. “You know that’s not what I meant. Is this really helping me recover faster? Being here?”

  “Let’s go see,” I say, pulling her backward.

  I lead the way, toward the hole that opens up to the mirrored floor where we started. I have to yank hard; Sophie’s eyes are still fixed on herself dancing her pas de deux.

  “Someday,” I whisper, still tugging on her hand. “It’ll be real.”

  Once we’re back in the dome I focus on something new and the images around us shift. I peer at the vista of scenarios before choosing one and bringing it close.

  “That,” I say, pointing. “That’s us, in maybe half an hour.”

  Sophie lets go of my hand and walks forward on her own, right up to the edge of the scene. It’s her room, her bed, and we’re both lying there, just like before I pulled us into my supernatural plane.

  It’s the same, and yet, entirely different. The oxygen mask is gone and I can see color in Sophie’s cheeks. As we watch, Sophie’s mom strokes a hand down her face.

  She’s smiling.

  I lean forward and peer closer. My makeshift denim bandages have been removed, replaced with neat rows of stitches. I blink back tears as I think about how angry Sophie’s mom was to see me—but she patched me up anyway. I could probably have guessed—given her dedication to Sophie’s supernatural life—that she would have medical training beyond simply her role as a nurse. I could not have guessed though, that even in the midst of her anger and grief for Sophie, she would take care of me, too.

  “Half an hour?” Sophie asks, reaching out her hand and then pulling it back before her fingers actually enter the scene; still a little spooked at this new “magic,” I assume. I don’t blame her. I wonder just how long it’s been since she was confronted by something supernatural that she wasn’t familiar with. “I look healthier than when I moved here. Is this for real?”

  I nod.

  Just seeing this scene makes me feel confident. Already, relief is loosening the knots in my shoulders. It worked, and together Sophie and I can be so much stronger, better, than either of us could be alone. It’s something I never thought could happen for me. For any Oracle.

  I wanted to believe it while Jason Smith was leading me around by the nose. But it was never true with him—it was always an illusion. With Sophie, it’s real.

  “What happened to you?” she asks, noticing my bloodied clothes and shredded jacket.

  “Well,” I say, dropping down to sit cross-legged and patting the spot beside me, just like she did with her bed the first time I came to visit her at her house. “Tonight is simply the latest episode in a very, very long story.”

  “Is this the one that includes Linden?” she asks, and she obviously noticed the identity of my date a few minutes ago.

  “He’s part of it,” I say, though I can’t fully embrace her levity. This a secret I never dreamed I’d tell anyone; three months later, I still sometimes wake in a cold sweat. I fiddle with my hands. “I hardly know where to start. It’s a such a big story.”

  “Once upon a time,” Sophie suggests, and though she smiles encouragingly, she seems to understand what a big deal this is.

  “Okay,” I respond. “Once upon a time, I was sent a vision; a vision I couldn’t fight. A vision of a girl who had been murdered.” I smile tightly. “She was wearing these gorgeous maroon ballet flats.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “I’m so sorry I ever teased you about him.” Sophie scrubs at her face, and laughs awkwardly. “I never would have, if I’d known.”

  It feels like we’ve been here for about two hours—though obviously it can’t have actually been that long—and I’ve told her everything.

  Everything.

  She kept her emotions under control the whole time—asking logical questions and clarifying when I was unclear—until I told her about that awful day in the hospital with Linden. Then she just stared at me, wide-eyed, tears staining her cheeks. Her hands found mine, and she squeezed tightly and I about lost it too.

  Somehow it was different telling Sophie than telling Sierra. Not that Sierra was unsympathetic—she totally was—but she was worried about so many other things: secrecy, safety, the Sisters, and, of course, her own history with Jason Smith coming to the surface.

  I look up as a telltale ripple moves through the dome. “It won’t be long now,” I say. “Maybe two more minutes.”

  Her eyes are frightened. “Can I come back someday?”

  I’m so pleased to be able to smile and tell her, “Any time.” Then I grin and add, “Mi casa es su casa.”

  She peers up at the dome. “This place is incredible. It feels—I’m not sure you can ever understand just how amazing it feels, because you’ve never run out of supernatural energy. It’s … it’s like being starved for a week and then someone pours hot soup directly into your belly.”

  “Any time you need it,” I promise.

  Another ripple flows through the dome, followed by another right on its heels.

  That’s odd.

  Before I can voice my thoughts, yet another ripple comes, and then another. “I need to check something,” I say, trying not to let my alarm show. I’m so new at this whole dome thing that anything that deviates from my very limited experience makes me nervous. I stand and roll the dome toward me, focusing on a future just thirty seconds ahead.

  Sophie’s mom is shaking me.

  I’m not waking up.

  Shit.

  The ripples make sense now: every hard shake comes close enough to send the reaction to my dome, but not enough to pull me fully back to consciousness. What if I can’t regain consciousness? What if I made a mistake letting myself sleep and now I’m in a coma?

  I’m starting to panic when I see Ms. Jefferson begin to smack my cheeks. I count: five, six, seven. On the eighth she gives me a really hard slap and in the scene I draw in a huge gasp of air and my eyes fly open.

  “Okay, here we go,” I say, turning my attention back to Sophie. The ripples start to rumble the floor beneath my feet and I can only assume the smacking has started. I run the last couple of steps back to Sophie and kneel beside her, my arms around her shoulders to chase away the fear in her eyes. “Almost there,” I whisper.

  And then pain.

  My cheeks sting and my lungs burn like I’m under water and can’t breathe. I’m not sure I know how to breathe. I’ve forgotten. How …

  How …?

  And then my body remembers and I’m sucking in air as fast as I can, vision cloudy, but feeling returning to my body.

  Damn! I’ve forgotten how bad everything hurts until agony smashes down over me and my arm is on fire with pain.

  “There you are,” I hear Sophie’s mom say in a calm, soft voice, her fingers now light and comforting on my stinging cheeks. I still can’t see, but after blinking for a few seconds I feel strong hands pull me up and against a warm chest, arms around me, holding me close. “Bless you, Charlotte Westing,” she whispers in my ear. “You saved her.”

  Finally I can see Ms. Jefferson’s face when she pulls back. Her cheeks are wet with tears, but they’re good ones.

  “She saved me first,” I reply. “And thanks for stitching me up.”

  I look down at Sophie and her eyes flutter open. She releases a long sigh and I imagine she woke to much more pleasant sensations than I did. She smiles when she sees us and I feel a tiny bit better—she’s still wan and too thin, but now all she’ll have to do is worry about her physical recovery. I sense a lot of donuts and milkshakes in her future.

  A wave of nausea
rolls through me and I know I’m out of time to linger. “I’ve got to go,” I say. “I’m sure the cops are looking for me.”

  “I’ll drive you,” Sophie’s mom says, rising to her feet.

  “No,” I protest, louder than I intended, but I’m having trouble controlling any part of my body right now. “Stay with Sophie.”

  “Then I’ll call an ambulance,” she says, phone already out of her pocket. “I’m a first responder, I’ll tell them I stitched you up when you got here. They won’t question me.”

  “You can’t,” I protest, extending a hand toward her. “I don’t want you two associated with this at all.” They both look at me skeptically and I screw my eyes shut to get a better grip on myself then say, “I’m sure my aunt will clear issues up quickly, but the last thing Sophie needs right now is to be part of a murder investigation. And there’s no sense bringing our friendship to the cops’ attention before we’ve had a chance to really screw something up. The hospital’s only two blocks away. I can make it.”

  I hope.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, child,” Sophie’s mom says, shaking her head. “And stow the dramatic, paranoid, self-sacrificing heroine bit for a spell. I can dress a wound and stitch you up but I can’t find blood clots in your brain, much less take ‘em out, in case you do need someone to do that. So learn to accept when you’ve done enough and march your butt to the car so I can get you to the hospital.”

  I’m so stunned by the lecture that I obey without another word.

  She was right. I don’t stay conscious long enough to even reach the end of the driveway.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Waking all the way up isn’t particularly high on my priority list, and I swim in a haze of semi-consciousness for a while, keeping my eyes closed and enjoying the fuzzy warmth of whatever they gave me for the pain. It feels so good to just not hurt. I register a low throb on my hand, shoulder, and arm, but it’s dull. I kind of want to go back to sleep but there’s so much waiting for me out here and I know I can’t avoid it forever.