Once Upon a Nightmare

to the eye of the world mountains

I look past her where Donovan is already rallying the gathered Dreams to anger against the Nightmares. This will be seen as the first attack, no matter what we do to deny our involvement. Donovan needed it for his war.  Of course the Nightmares struck first—that’s what they’ll say—like ticking time bombs now that the human pill is beginning to take its toll.

But the Nightmares here only came to protest the complete segregation of the Woodland wares. Enna went to add her testimony. I’m shaking as I recall a young Nightmare boy, holding his brain-crusted truffles. “If they’d just try our candy, they’d have to like it.”

Prone to violence? Unlikely. Dead? Probably.

Did Donovan care about the Dreams caught in his attack? Did he know Enna would be there? He sees me and his face darkens. “The fear of hell,” he says, as if I’m a displayed object on a pedestal—evidence.

He’s going to blame this on me?

So be it.

Zizzy says, behind me, “Alexander—no—”

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulcher . . .

of my beautiful . . . Ennabelle Lee.

I concentrate my pain, so it becomes something I can grab and control. What surges out of my arm is more than fire—it’s black, molten, sparking like a demon. It hits Donovan and he falls back, clutching at his face. His screams are otherworldly. The sound soothes me.

Someone is shaking my shoulder; I jerk awake, gasping. Donovan’s eyes are so close to mine. I cry out and turn my head. My face is wet with tears and I scrub my arms uselessly over my cheeks. Now I know why Alexander never, never let me bring up Edgar Allan Poe in my dreams.

“Get up,” Donovan says gruffly, but it’s clear my reaction disturbs him. He pulls me to my feet, avoiding eye contact.

Our trip into the Eye of the World Mountains has evidently not been delayed, despite what happened last night. Moe sticks his head in the tent. “’ey boss—did you order a new recruit?”

Donovan’s brows lower in a frown. “No.”

“Eh—well, you ‘ave one.”

I follow Donovan outside and if it’s morning, I can’t tell. The atmosphere hangs perpetually on about-to-storm, the black clouds low and suffocating above us.

Todd Florence Scrubb lingers, tall and gangly, among the Dream renegades. He’s dressed again like an old-time adventurer. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so glad to see anyone in my life. “I want to join the cause,” Gloom says, sticking out his chest. When he sees me standing next to Donovan, he loses a bit of his pretended pomp, but only a little. He recovers and meets Donovan’s stare. “I want to find the Dream Queen,” he adds.

Find the Dream Queen?

I give Donovan a careful look out of the corner of my eye. Is that why he wants to find the Stitch in Time—to find her? Maybe that’s why Alexander was trying to warn me about her in his memories.

“You look like a Nightmare,” Donovan says, giving Gloom an up and down inspection that gives me the shivers, and I’m only on the perimeter of his gaze.

“I know.” Gloom laughs tiredly. “I am the love of gothic literature.” He gives a small bow.

“Fine,” Donovan says. “If you’re so eager—we’re going into the mountains now.”