Curses of Lavender, page 7
No lavender.
A frustrated sound blazed from her throat.
Why hadn’t it worked? Why hadn’t she gone back?
She sat up, hissing as light cut into her eyes. Ducking below the offending streak, she shot a scowl at the source: a crack in the purple curtains.
Curiosity was a match inside her. The flame swelled as it caught on memories flitting through her mind. In her dreams, the landscape was whimsical. Beautiful. So far, nothing here lived up to her expectations. She shook her head, letting it fall into her open palms. She should’ve known better than to trust others. No one ever did her any favors.
She eyed the curtain and the world waiting beyond it.
She would just have to get answers for herself.
Sliding from the bed, Thicket yanked the curtains open, imbuing the air with dust. She coughed, waving the particles away. When they cleared, she peered through the small window, breath catching in her throat.
It was sunset. Low golden light settled upon the earth, casting a hazy spell overtop it. Not in a gentle stream, but a barrage of bullets streaking from the heavens, spotting the ground with light.
Her eyes followed the descending beams, letting them lead her gaze to the earth below.
Horror multiplied in her veins, growing more chasmic and fierce with each second she stared.
She couldn’t see the sun or sky, not with the building across the narrow street inching beyond her vantage point. It was a tall, ancient thing looking as though nature had been devouring it for years. Vines crawled up its walls, digging into its sides and smashing through windows. Chunks of the exterior walls were missing, like something had taken a large bite out of it. Railings hung from battered balconies, barely supported by cracked slabs of pale yellow brick. Below, the road was a patchwork of dirt and stone, impaled by a series of vines weaving in and out of the earth like a needle and thread.
What happened to this place?
This was not the bright, happy kingdom she dreamed of, the one with hills alive with purple flowers. This was not the kingdom full of colorful streets, vendors, and intoxicating aromas. This was not the ornate castle that threw balls and housed the most beautiful gardens she had ever seen.
This world…
It was broken. Destroyed.
A world of curses, dust, and ruin.
Thicket sank back onto the bed, still staring through the water-stained window. Vines snaked up from the outside, clinging to the glass like prison bars. Small, purple bulbs dangled from them.
For a brief moment, she wondered what they might be—until she remembered she was still here. In this dreadful, tantalizing, stupid world.
It fit, of course. A broken world for a broken girl.
She needed to find a way out of here.
Thicket crept out of the bedroom. Caspian was in the living room, seated once again in that plush brown chair. The lopsided cushions were slumped in an awkward angle and the fabric was worn to holes. A book perched in his lap, its pages stained not yellow but a dark urine brown. An amused smile sat upon his face. “Welcome back.”
Thicket crossed her arms. “What did you do?”
“What do you mean?”
She scowled. “Remove whatever spell you have on me. Let me go home.”
“Despite obstinately believing this is a dream, you believe in magic?”
Thicket’s cheeks flushed. “No. I just know there’s weird spells and objects here, that’s all.”
More than weird—dangerous. Like ink made of blood. Like the curse Caspian spoke of. Like dreams that trapped girls in their madness.
“Magic is not evil,” Caspian said, reading the disgust on her face. “At least not all of it, which is why we desperately needed you to wake—”
“I don’t care what you need or don’t need. I risked a lot coming here. If I don't get back, I’ll destroy my only chance at happiness.”
“If life is so bad there, why stay?”
The question shifted something inside Thicket.
If she was miserable, why did she want to go back?
Because this place, these dreams, were the reason she was an outcast, she reminded herself. If she could forget about it and move on—be normal—she’d finally have a place in the town.
She just needed to find a way out of here.
“The fact that you cannot return to your world suggests some validity to my claims,” Caspian said.
She hated to admit it, but he was right. Now that she was here, it appeared she couldn’t leave the way she had come—by sleeping. So how did she wake up?
Then it hit her.
Thicket didn’t stop to think twice. She marched for the door.
“Where are you going now?” Caspian asked, voice strained with exasperation. “If I am remembering correctly, your reality is not out there.”
She ignored him, throwing the door open and bolting outside. Electricity tore up and down her body as she slammed into something. She stumbled back, her wide eyes landing on a young man. He spun around. He had a mop of tight black curls and deep, warm brown skin. He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than her, but her eyes caught on the sword sheathed by his thigh—and the way his hand rested upon it, as if instinctually.
A guard…
While he didn’t tower over her, Thicket had to tilt her head to see the guard’s face. Emotions flashed one after the other. Surprise was one of them, made apparent by the slight widening of his dark, almond-shaped eyes. That she expected. What she didn’t expect was the calculating bunch of his thick brows, as if trying to puzzle all the stars into one pure, perfect picture. Or perhaps, he thought she was the mystery—one he had no idea how to begin solving.
Once he regained his voice, the guard narrowed his eyes and said, “That’s the worst case of bedhead I’ve ever seen.”
Thicket’s jaw dropped. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh, thank him for not saying “You’re awake,” or snip at him for his blatant rudeness.
She decided to do none of those things. Lifting her chin, she made to storm past him.
“Marcellus, don’t let her leave!”
The guard blocked her path. Thicket jerked to a stop to avoid hitting him a second time. She glowered and moved to the other side. He mirrored her, crossing his arms.
Fire—not electricity—crackled in her blood, awakened after years of slumber. She shot a glare at Caspian, standing feet before the doorway. “I refuse to be a prisoner.”
“You are not a prisoner.” Caspian’s voice was thin—tired—as though the statement drained him to his bones.
“Then why can’t I leave? I thought I was a princess, or something.”
The guard’s head snapped to her. Then to Caspian. Thicket seized the moment of distraction and shoved past the guard and into the descending darkness.
Stumbling over vines, Thicket ran, taking random turns to try and lose anyone who might follow. The street snaked between building sides, all smushed and stacked together in rows of pale brick, the colors diluted by both time and soupy darkness.
Only when she had lost herself in the maze of this strange town did she slow. Claws shredded her throat and her tired, trembling legs begged for a break. Figuring she had done her best to throw off any pursuers, she submitted to her exhaustion and dragged her feet to a stop.
Past towering levels of terraced houses and their crumbling balconies, an endless abyss of black devoured the sky. No stars or moon watched from above. They hid somewhere, as if afraid—or ashamed—of what the world had become.
Thicket understood the feeling.
As she roved the narrow pathways, cool spring air caressed her skin. It was far from pleasant. The further she roamed, the emptier and colder the streets felt, as though she were wading through the middle of a ghost town.
The sun had set at some point and lampposts flickered alive, illuminating the vine-covered walls. They were lit not by lightbulbs or candles but shining orbs that hovered inside the glass. Though intrigue skimmed through her, Thicket forced herself to keep moving.
Don’t get sidetracked. Don’t lose focus. Don’t get attached.
Focus on getting home.
Her eyes strained through the dark, searching for a place to enact her escape plan. Nothing was good enough. The buildings were tall but not tall enough, and those that came close were too difficult to scale with the bricks looking as though they were one tap away from crumbling.
She was contemplating whether she regretted leaving the familiarity of the house or was glad to put distance between herself and Caspian’s bizarre explanations when her eyes caught on a structure ahead.
A clock tower arced over the narrow path, either end latched onto opposing roofs. It stood tall and grand, yet the ruined, vine-covered stone made it look haunted, like the essence of something that had once been great but was now as abandoned as the rest of the town.
This… This was where she would make her departure. She would leave this world of vines, rubble, and dust and forever turn her back to it. After this, she would never be tempted by her dreams again—especially knowing everyone had been right all along. This place wasn’t a blissful escape or a beautiful dream. It was a devious nightmare, the root of everything wrong in her life.
Despite everything—including the risk—she didn’t regret going through the door. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have this firm grasp on reality. Sometimes, one had to sample the bad to finally stray from it.
Thicket’s eyes raked up the tower, searching for a decent route up. Beyond the clock tower, the path she’d been following ended, opening into a large clearing. Not much was visible through the hazy light, but a faint sign swaying in the distance indicated the presence of shops.
Maybe a lifetime ago, this town had once been like the great kingdom she dreamed of.
In the back of her mind, that nagging question came again:
What happened here?
She shook her head to clear her thoughts. It didn’t matter. She was going home.
Her eyes roamed up and down the clock tower, attention snagging on the vines woven through the bricks. Assuming they wouldn’t crumble under her weight, the missing and protruding chunks of stone would make for excellent hand and foot holds.
Path planned and mind steeled, Thicket strode towards the tower. After shedding her boots, she curled her fingers around the bricks and began to climb.
Chapter Nine
Barely five minutes passed before Thicket’s arms began to burn. Her fingers and toes throbbed from gripping the vines and bricks, and doubt crept inside her twisting belly. Was this a bad idea? Probably. But it was her only idea. Shaking away her fears, she continued climbing. She climbed and climbed until she could no longer feel her fingers and her forearms felt like cement. Ignoring the dip in her stomach, she looped her arm through one of the vines and dared a glance below. Lampposts winked at her, a mere twinkle from this high up. The path she had come from looked less like a maze now that she could see its entirety.
The clearing beyond the archway was illuminated by lampposts. The layout reminded her of a web. The streets scattered around the town converged into the clearing, filled with shops, booths, and benches.
She’d surpassed the archway, marking the halfway point. Halfway left felt like an eternity, but she was too far up to stop—unless she wanted to break every bone in her body. Her plan relied on more than that, though.
She’d heard that in ordinary dreams, people often faced deadly experiences. They would stare death in the eye, sure they would meet their end. But before the knife sunk into flesh, before the body landed broken on cold pavement, before anything—they always woke up. Fear kicked them out of the dream when they themselves couldn’t escape. Thicket would force that same reaction upon herself. She would kill herself, but she wouldn’t die. She would wake up and escape this nightmare. All she needed to do was reach the top.
“It seems to me like you’ve got a death wish.”
Thicket froze, neck craning to see who was there. The vine creaked and she stilled, stomach bunching in terror. “Who are you?”
“Your guard.” The one who stood outside the door—Marcellus.
“How did you find me?”
“You aren’t as clever as you believe yourself to be, Princess.” Thicket scowled at the title. “But I never imagined I'd find you climbing a clock tower.” There was a question in his words.
Thicket looped her other arm through the vine to give the first one reprieve. “I’m leaving.”
“And how do you plan to do that from up there? Sprout wings?”
Annoyance pricked the back of Thicket’s damp neck. “You had it right earlier.” Hoping that was the end of the conversation, she grabbed another brick. Pressing her body against the wall for stability, she gave it a good yank. It held.
“You’re jumping?” The words found a way to be both surprised and accusatory at the same time.
“I need to wake up.”
“To where? The afterlife?”
Again, that sardonic tone. The one everyone used when talking to her, or about her. She was tired of hearing it, tired of defending herself. She latched onto another stone and searched for a place to put her foot. In the feeble light, she had no way of seeing footholds and had to go by feeling. Her toes traced the bricks, searching for a crack to slide her foot into, but after a few seconds of searching, she found nothing. Her heart beat, beat, beat inside her. She couldn’t find purchase. She was stuck.
Below, Marcellus mumbled something. A moment later, light flickered beside her. She saw a crack a few inches to her left and slid her foot in.
Relief settled inside her, shooing away the last bit of nerves.
The feeling didn’t last long.
Thicket yelped, nearly losing her grip as she reared back in terror. A piranha floated beside her, made of iridescent light. It flashed its teeth in a heinous grin.
“It won’t bite,” Marcellus called from the base of the clock tower.
“You sure?” Thicket’s heart thudded, eyeing the razor sharp incisors.
“It answers to me.”
“Like that makes me feel better.”
“It’s made of light. Even if I wanted it to attack you, it’d just pass through you. No harm done.”
Thicket frowned at the piranha, not sure it—or its owner—was entirely trustworthy. But she was tired and the light helped, no matter how odd. “Is that magic?”
“Yes.”
“Why a piranha?”
“Because.”
Thicket scowled. “Very helpful.”
“I’m answering your questions, aren’t I?”
Not very well, she wanted to snap, but refrained. She inched her fingers up to another ledge, waited for her fingertips to latch on, then lifted a foot up. “I don’t,” she grunted between pulls, “want to be dragged back and locked away again.”
“I didn’t come to lock you away.”
“Then why follow me?”
“I’m your guard. I’m supposed to protect you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re the princess and future ruler of my kingdom.” Thicket snorted. “And apparently you need a lot of protection—mostly from yourself since you’ve got the brilliant idea to climb a clock tower to die.”
“Well, if I die, why doesn’t my sister just take my place?”
“You remember?” He didn’t sound relieved. He sounded angry. It startled Thicket so much she didn’t check to see if the brick she’d placed her foot on was stable.
It wasn’t.
Her stomach jumped as the brick crumbled beneath her. She gasped, squeezing the holds until her fingers splintered with pain. Her toenails scraped against the bricks as she fumbled for another crevice.
Her pinkie finger slipped. Then her ring, middle, index—until her entire hand slipped away. She careened away from the clock tower. She cried out, right hand burning as she struggled to hold herself up.
“Princess!” He murmured another spell and the light beside her vanished. A moment later, a breeze swirled by her feet, lifting her up a few inches. Whatever it was, it wasn’t strong, already spluttering out.
Thicket clenched her teeth, forcing her limp muscles to work through the pain and rotate her body back towards the clock tower. Her toes caught on a crevice and she shoved her foot as deep as it would go. Pain sprouted along the tips of her toes and her nails cracked. She didn’t care, not as she grabbed a vine with her left hand, gasping for breath. Electricity was a waltz inside her—a rather clumsy, half-drunken one. But she was secure—safe.
Light bloomed above her head. The piranha had returned, though she swore it wasn’t as bright as it had been before.
Once her body stopped trembling, she made her way up the rest of the clock tower. It was a slow, agonizing effort, as her entire body resisted each inch she climbed. With one… final… shaky pull, Thicket walked her feet up the side, helping her weak arms drive her to the top. She collapsed on a ledge, her legs dangling precariously over the side.
She’d made it.
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Marcellus said. Though he tried to sound nonchalant, he couldn’t quite hide the fear slumbering within his words.
“You didn’t have to come.”
“I did. It’s not safe out here.”
Thicket scoffed. “This town is abandoned. There’s no one here to hurt me.”
“Oh, they’re here. They just choose not to come out at night.”
“Why not?”
“Some say that’s when monsters come out, preying on those foolish enough to venture out of their homes.”
“And you believe that?” Magic and curses and kingdoms, Thicket could handle. Could understand. But monsters? They’d never shown themselves in her dreams. “Or are you just trying to scare me into coming back with you? Because I won’t.” She massaged her fingers, trying to dispel her jumbled fear as she remembered what came next. “I’m already up here.”
“I’m well aware,” he deadpanned. “Why are you so convinced this is a dream?”
“Because. I fell asleep and had a dream. In that dream, I went through a door and it led me here. If I was dreaming when I went through the door, then I must still be dreaming now.” Her belly flipped, mimicking the piranha next to her. “But I can’t wake up.”
