trying to shape her dreams. He could find her, track her down, speak face to face. But since she hasn’t been turning up to work since he told her, clearly seeing him is the last thing Goldie wants. Instead, he’ll visit her dreams. She won’t like him much for that either, but what choice does he have?
Goldie can reach Everwhere simply by dreaming, while Leo must wait for an open gate, must walk through at an exact time and date. But he knows that it’s possible for a soldier—if he’s imprinted himself upon a Grimm girl’s spirit—to travel on the coattails of her dreams, just as their mothers can. Many times. Leo shakes his head, unable to think of those moments without a surge of longing and loss leaching all his strength and leaving him weak.
He isn’t well practised at such things, has never needed to be, and doesn’t have much time. So Leo applies himself to that and nothing else. He’s found a forest, has walked for miles to find the right place: a tree stump enveloped by ivy and cushioned with moss. A seat that evokes Everwhere, so he can call on its power, can harness it to his and hope for a fucking miracle.
He sits there now, fingers twitching in the moonlight, trying to shape Goldie’s dreams. It takes enormous effort and a great deal of time for Leo to master even the basics of what he’s trying to do. He sits without shifting for hours. Until, at last, he has pulled the possibility close enough to entwine it around his fingertips. He can reach her, he can join her. But there is one more glitch. For his conjuring to work, she must first fall asleep.
3:33 a.m.—Goldie
I’m here.
I’m back.
I look up at the falling white leaves, at the night sky with its millions of stars—far more and far brighter than any I’ve ever seen—and its sliver of moon. A canopy of dark branches above, gigantic towering trees, moss and stones at my feet—
Then I see him. And I know, somehow, that I’m not simply dreaming; his appearance is no uncontrollable summoning from my unconscious. He has willed it, has conjured himself here. How this is possible, I have no idea—astral projection?—but given everything that’s been happening lately, I no longer have such a limited notion of what’s possible.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I hiss.
I feel so fragile, like a shattered glass tentatively glued, still sticky, still soft. At the sight of him, I might shatter all over again.
He doesn’t step forward. He keeps his distance, as if he thinks I’ll either attack or run if he comes any closer.
“I’m sorry, I had to come.”
“Why?” I shift from foot to foot, desperate to leave, desperate to stay. I won’t scream. I won’t cry. I will maintain a modicum of dignity and composure, as I promised myself I would if I ever saw Leo again.
“Because you’ll be back here in a few nights,” he says, “when you turn eighteen, and I need to tell you—I need to show you—”
“How to defend myself from a soldier sent to kill me,” I say. “From you. Yes, I remember.”
I begin walking. I’ve no idea where I’m going, but I don’t care; suddenly I can’t bear to be standing in front of him. I can’t bear to catch his gaze, to meet his eyes so full of remorse.
“But you know it’s true, don’t you?” Leo hurries after me, stepping over the slick stones as if they weren’t even there. “You can’t deny it anymore”—I turn to see him throwing his arms up to the sky—“Now that we’re here.”
I stop walking so suddenly that we almost collide.
“Yes, we’re here,” I say, trying hard not to cry. “So, what are you going to do now? Kiss me? Kill me?”
I step forward, defiant.
“Go on, I won’t put up a fight.”
Leo doesn’t move.
“Go on,” I say again, pushing him hard now, my hands slapping the centre of his chest. Not expecting it, he stumbles back. “Show me, show me what you did to Ma, what you planned to do to me.”
Leo drops his head. It’s better, now that I can’t see his eyes, with their every shade of green an echo of all the leaves I’ve ever held.
“Did you ever love me,” I whisper, “or was it all a trick?” Tears slip down my cheeks. “Fuck! No, I’ve cried enough. You don’t deserve it, you don’t . . .” But then I can’t speak, can’t