Sandman (Ceasefire #6) - Claire Marta Page 0,22

mythology? Where the dead were assigned to go?”

“Yes.” Morpheus doesn’t provide any more insight, his attention on the window across the room. From the sudden tension in his shoulders, I decide not to pursue it for now.

“How is this place so beautiful? You have plants and trees that shouldn’t be able to exist in the same climate.”

“Just because dreams aren’t made of something solid you can hold in your hands doesn’t mean they aren’t real,” Morpheus replies, voice subdued, his food barely touched. “This whole place is made of them. That’s why.”

“You mean the house? The forest…beach, cliffs, sea….”

“Everything,” he tells me, his hand trembling noticeably around his mug as he draws it into his chest. “When you sleep, you visit whole new worlds. Wonderous places you can be anything, go anywhere. All you need to do is use your imagination and let it fly. Our home is created the same way but by our will. We channel it into things made of substance. There are other kinds of dreams. Ones you wish for, inspire toward. Things you humans keep wrapped up in your hearts to take out in certain moments to examine or treasure. They all fall under my domain.”

I don’t mention his unsteady hold. The first sign of withdrawal. It’s only going to get worse. I’ll be here for him when they come. Care for him through the worst of it.

“Are there other gods?” I question, the air around me now thick with the aroma of coffee.

“Fuck if I know how many of us are left. Prayer and worship sustained us and our powers. When your kind turned your attentions to other deities, most of us faded or went insane.”

Taking my own mug, I take a quick sip chasing my need for a caffeine fix. “But you still have your powers…”

Morpheus’ mysterious brown eyes swirl, gold dusting the edges of his irises. “Dreams are eternal. Unless you all stop sleeping, I won’t cease to exist, but I haven’t used them properly in a very long time or connected with that realm…it’s been too painful. Come on, let’s get some air.”

I don’t argue as we all rise, bellies full and sated. Knowing the dishes can be left for a while, I wander into the hall with the men in tow.

“I’ve just realized something…I haven’t dreamed once since I got here!” I exclaim, looking at them over my shoulder as we reach the front door.

Morpheus frowns. “Nothing at all?”

“No, apart from a waking nightmare when you left me chained up. I still haven’t forgiven you for that by the way. It was a shitty thing to do.” Opening it, my feet still on the porch. Beyond isn’t the scene I’ve grown used to. A wild meadow stretches out around us. Bees buzz lazily among the bright wildflowers. A clamor of colors among the green. Idyllic and peaceful.

“How…”

Morpheus stands beside me, wearing an amused smirk, with my sandals dangling from his fingers. “The house decided it was time to move.”

The fragrant breeze ruffles my hair as I take them from him, slipping them on. “The house?”

“It’s always existed in one form or another and slowly became sentient, aware of its own existence. It has a habit of randomly changing its location anywhere on the island. A pain in the arse when you aren’t inside it when it happens.”

My eyebrow quirks in disbelief. “You mean it does it on purpose?”

“Oh yeah, it has a mind of its own.”

“Come on, Robin,” Illusions calls, taking off down the wooden steps and into the long grass. “I’ll make you some new unicorns to play with. You like them.”

“You scared the crap out of me last time you did that,” I remind him, following him into the meadow. The shy, awkward nature he’d first shown me is slowly melting away.

The sunlight is warm on my face and arms. Bundling the material of my skirts in one hand, I keep them at knee level. I walk the pathway he leaves in his wake, bent and swerving as if he has no real aim at where he wants to go.

Glancing behind me at the house, I find Morpheus seated on a plastic chair, feet up resting on the railing and crossed at the ankles. Mist twirls above his head as he smokes. I swear for a split second, I see the image of a ballerina dancing in the ribbons of white.

Nightmares is seated on the top step of the porch. Forearms resting on his knees, he’s watching us