The Children of Hypnos

***SaNdMaN***

The Sandman is inordinately calm, considering what he's about to do. For once, his thoughts have slowed, and the world has slowed with them; the Crossing atrium floats in purple silk and shining water, gold glimmering against the black night outside. He feels as if he has no heart anymore, no lungs or bones. He is possessed by the spirit of his old self. The one named Klaus Warwick.

Marcia sees him before he reaches the edge of the dance floor where she stands with her father. Her eyes widen in warning, but the Sandman ignores it. There is nothing Ares Montgomery can do to him here, and nothing he could do by himself that is worse than having an active doppelgänger.

The Sandman is buoyant, almost happy, as he stops before Marcia and holds a hand out. Ares Montgomery looks at him as if he's dangerous, which, of course, he is.

"Dance?" he asks. A flush darkens Marcia's face. Her eyes flash.

"You were invited here as a security measure, Sandman," Ares says. His silver-gold axe tattoos are hidden beneath the sleeves of his suit coat, but the Sandman can almost hear the slide of metal on metal as Ares tightens his crossed arms. "Go back to your guard."

The Sandman smiles at him. "We both know Marcia could handle me better than any guard you assign."

Ares's nostrils flare. He lowers his arms and takes a step in front of Marcia, but Marcia huffs and shoves him back.

"Enough," she says, her voice strangled, and she grabs the Sandman's hand to drag him away from her father. As soon as she touches him, Klaus Warwick flickers and he becomes his new self again, paralyzed and unsure, his thoughts kicking up in a high wind. She cannot touch him. He has poisoned her before, and he could do it again. It was an accident. Just an accident. He would never hurt her. He couldn't hurt her, she wouldn't let him, unless she let her guard down. She never lets her guard down, though, but she did that time, and he knows it was his fault. He must have tricked her. He must have done something to make her think—he must have lost control somehow—it was his fault—

Instead of taking him out on the dance floor, Marcia pulls him around the tables and the curve of the room, back out the atrium doors. She doesn't even stop to get her coat before she exits the building into the snowy night. The Sandman's guard follows at a distance. The cold air lets him breathe again and helps his thoughts settle. He is not hurting her. There is no poison. A pair of students wanders the far side of the quad, bundled against the weather.

"What's wrong with you today?" Marcia takes a wide-footed stance against him, staring him right in the eye. She doesn't let go of him, and when he tries to slip his hand from hers, she holds on. "The snowball fight. The gala. Asking me to dance? In front of my dad?"

Her breath frosts the air. He imagines her in a furred coat, face painted, a Viking princess. Screaming god-threats at her enemies and flaying unworthy suitors, sitting on a throne of bones. She will die fighting one day with her axe in her hand and blood in her smile. He never dreamed he could love someone so much.

Her expression shifts. Her voice lowers. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything."

"Bullshit. You're being nice to me."

"I'm always nice to you."

"No—you're doing nice things for me. Why? You're planning something."

"I'm not." He should have known she'd figure him out.

"I swear on every child having a nightmare, if you lie to me one more time—"

He can only smile weakly. "I'm trying not to ruin things, Mar."

She rolls her eyes. He's shivering, and she doesn't even flinch against the snow piling up around her sandaled feet. "Listen," she says, "If you're planning on doing something stupid—which I know you are—you shouldn't be acting like you're going to do it without me. Are you still my partner or not?"