no! There it lay by the door. Pushing onto her hands and knees, she lunged for her weapon, but her knee caught on her skirt, and she fell flat on her face, one arm outstretched.
Something slithered up her ankle, bit into the flesh of her calf.
With a scream, Nelle made another lunge for the spell-sword. Her fingertips brushed the hilt, and she stretched her arm so far the joints strained. Perhaps her very will pulled it toward her, for somehow, miraculously, her fingers wrapped around the grip. The blade, which had dulled to a mere shimmering glow, flamed brilliantly to life, the spell revived.
Another cry, harsher than the last, burst from her throat. She rolled around and sliced down hard, cutting into the branch clutching her leg. There was a hiss, a shriek, and the thing that was shaped like Sam fell back against the bed, its many-fingered hands grasping the bedclothes, shredding the old embroidery.
Overhead, roses bloomed in clusters and burst into flame, illuminating the chamber in a hellish red glow. By that strange light, the figure of Sam contorted, the branch limbs pulling and constricting, the petals of the face undulating until it was no longer Sam who stood up to full, towering height.
It was the woman—the beautiful woman who had once lived in this room. The woman whose dress Nelle even now wore.
Nelle pulled her feet under her, pressing her back to the wall and holding the sword out in front of her with one hand. Her other hand scrambled for the doorlatch, but she touched thorns and quickly pulled away. More branches crawled along the floor, reaching for her. She swung the sword and sliced through several limbs, but more poured in to take their place.
The Thorn Maiden approached, hips swaying gently beneath her blossoming gown. The bizarre, beautiful face twisted in a cruel smile as she lifted one hand, her finger pointing. From the tip of that finger a twining vine shot out, stretching toward Nelle. Nelle swung the sword, but the vine twisted away and continued to wind through the air straight for her.
It slid around her neck, pulling a delicate chain out from where it was hidden under the bodice of her gown.
Thief, the Thorn Maiden said, holding the gold locket up at the end of the chain. The clasp dug into the back of Nelle’s neck. Do you truly think you can steal a love like his as easily as you steal these trinkets?
Nelle’s gaze fixed on that little locket, bright as a star in the light of those burning roses. She’d almost forgotten about it in the madness of the last few days. Her secret poison, her deadly weapon nestled close to her heart.
The Thorn Maiden’s vine toyed with the chain, coiling around it. Nelle feared she would yank it free. But could she? Surely this was a nightmare, and if so, the chain was merely an image, not a reality. The physical necklace was somewhere else, somewhere with her unconscious body . . . wherever that was . . .
Eternity is a long time, the Thorn Maiden whispered in a voice of shushing leaves and dry branches. He may be yours for a moment, but he will be mine forever. And there’s nothing you can do to change that, little mortal.
Nelle gasped as thorns climbed out from the wall and wrapped around her waist, tore into the fabric of her gown, dug into her flesh. She pulled away and slashed with the spell-sword, but the Thorn Maiden reached for her from behind.
Come into my arms. Embrace me.
“Bullspit, you hag!” Nelle cried and spun about, swinging the sword hard. The blade sliced through branches and blossoms and flames alike. Sliced through the thin neck holding up that strange rose-petal face.
The head toppled and fell in a mass of writhing vines. The body stood for a moment, swaying, headless.
Then it erupted in a mass of branches shooting out at Nelle like tentacle arms. They wrapped up her limbs, grasped her waist and torso, and tore into her flesh. She lost the spell-sword somewhere in that swarm, but it didn’t matter. In an instant, she was too tightly bound to use it. Blood streamed from every part of her body, and her bones cried out as the thorny branches began to pull, pull, pull, stretching her out into a star shape, ready to rip her apart.
It was only a dream. A nightmare.
But it was too real.
Nelle screamed, her voice cut off as roses