The Hollow Gods (The Chaos Cycle #1)

Chapter 43

Chapter

Forty-Three

Miya

All the fear had drained from Miya’s body. Her heart was still, her hands steady. Was she tougher now, or had she grown desensitized to things that should’ve unsettled her?

As she looked over at Kai, poking at the bullet wound in his arm, she realized how much easier it was getting through that last ordeal. She had a comrade in him—someone she knew had her back. That alone made the fight worthwhile.

He’d wound up being more than a few firsts for Miya. She’d always been standoffish, and yet here she was, sharing every inch of herself with a wolf in the woods.

But where would that take them? They’d agreed to more than a tryst, but what did that mean for Kai? Was he capable of love? Did he understand romantic partnership? He’d pledged his friendship and loyalty, quelling some of her trepidation, but how deep did those sentiments run? It was true that entangled bodies were nothing earth-shattering, but entangled hearts and lives—that left her pulsing with both excitement and terror.

Miya wished Hannah was still with her. Her best friend had always faired so much better in relationships, but she was out of reach when Miya finally needed her for one.

Yet Kai was hardly flippant the way many humans were. On the contrary, his intensity could bite through steel. And while this was welcome in their more intimate moments, Miya wondered if the wolf could be pacified when necessary. It was impossible to know, but she was struck by a jarring revelation.

She wanted to stay with him, terror be damned.

Miya could have walked into a fistfight blindfolded, and she would have felt safe with Kai by her side. Hell, she might have even taken a swing.

She trusted him.

It was more than she could say for most people, especially the new guy, Mason. She didn’t know him, but she knew she didn’t like him. The judgment was accompanied by a pang of creeping guilt; didn’t he deserve a chance?

Sure, he was a bit pretentious, but he wasn’t mean-spirited or stupid. Maybe it was his obvious naivety or the way he drooled after Kai, treating him like a rare specimen under a microscope. Maybe it was both. Or maybe, Miya thought, it was that he was a coward, just like her. Neither of them seemed favourable to facing reality, and this led her to an uncomfortable conclusion.

You’re projecting , she scolded.

She could tell Mason Evans was everything she loathed to become: preoccupied with appearances, disoriented by a puritanical morality, trapped by a religious commitment to some veil of logic. He was a slave to the insecurities driving him. If all Miya wanted was to be self-aware, becoming Mason Evans would have been her ultimate punishment. Yet she feared they weren’t all that different.

“He was there. Pulling the strings,” said Kai. He sat on the bed with his back against the wall, one knee drawn up as he glared into empty space.

“Abaddon?” Ama’s question was met with a nod.

“Who’s Abaddon?” Mason asked.

“The thing you saw out there, making the villagers rabid,” Miya explained. “Ama—” she walked over to the table and sat down. “I think I’m onto something.”

“What is it?” Ama asked, leaning forward on her elbows.

Miya took a deep breath, glancing at Kai, then at Mason. Hopefully, Sherlock’s brain wouldn’t shatter. “I can’t shake what I saw in the dreamscape. The first time I tried to get back to this side, the Dreamwalker was there, hovering over my body while Abaddon was nipping at my heels. It can’t be a coincidence they were both there.”

Ama smiled like she’d anticipated this. “Go on.”

“Then I find out Abaddon knows exactly what happens to the girls who disappear. He told me so himself. Now the villagers are out looking for me. They think I’ve been kidnapped by the Dreamwalker. It’s always about the Dreamwalker. And yet here’s Abaddon in the middle of it. These two must know each other.”

Before Ama could respond, Mason cut in. “So there’s another spirit involved? I didn’t hear or read anything about an Abaddon in the legend.”

“But you did see him.” Ama glanced up at Mason, refusing to break eye-contact until the light bulb went off.

“The shadow from my dreams,” he realized, his back hitting the wall as he ran a shaky hand through his curls.

Kai swung his legs over the bed and eyed the new member of their cabin, then glared at Ama. “You knew about Abaddon’s consistent appearance because of this guy.”

“Gavran showed me in a dream,” Mason continued. “While she was alive, the Dreamwalker was driven out of the village by this shadow. The shadow was responsible for turning the villagers against her.”

“Seriously, who the fuck is Gavran?” Kai grumbled.

“From what the three of you have seen, I suppose we can string the pieces together,” said Ama. “Obviously, Abaddon and the Dreamwalker are linked somehow. Mason,” she looked at him, “according to you, Abaddon—or one of his incarnations—was responsible for the Dreamwalker’s original exile. Presumably, this exile is what prompted the town’s paranoia and collective guilt.”

Mason nodded. “They’re afraid of her retribution. That’s why they keep inventing these stories about her coming back to kidnap girls. It’s some kind of sick repetition of the same event. They drove her out, so now they imagine her returning every now and again. And whenever she supposedly comes back, the village turns on their own girls.”

“Are they being driven mad?” Miya suggested. “Sure, they’re paranoid that she’s coming back for revenge, but every time they think someone’s been kidnapped—”

“They end up killing the girl they were trying to protect,” Mason finished her thought. “Just like Elle Robinson.”

“That doesn’t sound good for you, Lambchop.” Miya met Kai’s gaze, his expression forlorn.

“If the town is manipulated into hurting its own girls over and over again, the Dreamwalker’s revenge is always complete,” Miya offered, her eyes still on Kai. He was on his feet now, pacing like a nervous animal. “The villagers always think her revenge is on the horizon—but it’s already happened. And it keeps happening because they keep repressing the memory of their own history.”

“What if it isn’t her?” Kai stopped in his tracks, drawing all eyes to him. “What if all of this is Abaddon, and he just wants people to blame her?”

“It’s possible this is his doing,” Ama agreed. “You saw him out there influencing the villagers. It’s very likely he’s contributing to this mess.”

“But he and the Dreamwalker are enemies according to Golden Boy, here.” Miya pointed her thumb at Mason, the nickname catching on. “It’s like they’re still at war, and the village’s sanity is a casualty. What happens in this world is just collateral damage.”

“And what if it’s none of that?” Mason cut in. “What if the legend is just a legend? What if it doesn’t matter whether it really happened or not? What if people’s belief in the story is powerful enough, and all of this is just the result of a tragic case of mass hysteria? Nothing spiritual, nothing ghostly. What if the haunting is purely metaphorical?”

It was the smartest thing he’d said all night. Miya dropped her gaze to the floor. She knew her life was in danger, and over what? “I don’t believe there’s nothing spiritual in this. I’ve seen too much to think it’s all in our heads. But I also think you’re right that it doesn’t really matter whether it’s a real haunting or a metaphorical one. It’s still a haunting. It’s been going on for centuries.” She remembered what Kai went through—what she went through. “And I think you’re right too, Kai. Abaddon is definitely involved. If he and the Dreamwalker are enemies, then he’s also to blame.”

Miya pushed the chair back and stood up, flattening her hands on the table and hanging her head. She was drained of everything she had, and yet she felt more alive than ever before. She was teetering on the edge of a cliff with nothing to catch her at the bottom. “I feel like the Dreamwalker is trying to communicate with me. Whether it’s by kidnapping me or haunting me—she’s obviously trying to say something. I just don’t know what, and I don’t know how to find out, either.”

Ama’s fingernails drummed against the wooden table, then abruptly stopped. “Maybe she wants you to do what she does.”

“What do you mean?” Miya looked up. “Do what?”

The white wolf’s lips pulled back. “Walk dreams.”

Miya recalled the feeling of descending into another world—gravity disappearing beneath her feet, her body weightless and free. “We need to go back there,” she gasped. “We need to go back into the dreamscape and find out what happened.”

“The dream-what? But we already know what happened,” Mason protested. “We’ve been talking about it this whole time, haven’t we?”

“That’s just historical information,” Miya argued. “We need to know what really happened, and why—what motivated them, what the events meant on a personal level. Ghosts won’t be put to rest by a history lesson.”

This was it. This was the kind of investigation that called to her, made her feel whole—not some half-baked fluff piece on the new poutinerie on Main Street. Her encounters with Abaddon were taxing, painful even, and yet she felt more like herself than ever before, unencumbered by anxiety and guilt.

Ama gave Mason a come-hither gesture with her finger. He obliged, unable to break her spell until he was standing in front of her.

“In your pocket,” she said and, on command, he reached into his jeans. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and placed it on the table. After smoothing it out, recognition and wonder crept into his eyes. It was a drawing of some kind; there was a grotesque black wolf with crimson eyes and blood dripping from its teeth, the background of the picture decorated with screaming women strapped to burning crucifixes.

“You’ve been touched by the other side,” Ama told him. “The dream stone made sure of that.”

Mason fumbled around his pocket again, fishing for the stone in question. “Where is it?” he asked frantically.

“In the room,” Ama said in a sing-song voice, then looked at Miya. “We’re sending you back.”

“How?” Miya asked. “I can’t get there at will. It’s not like Kai—”

“We will need Kai, too,” Ama interrupted as she spun her chair around to face the wolf in question. He narrowed his eyes as she smiled mischievously. “You will need him as an anchor to Abaddon’s memories.”

“Do you think I’ll find the Dreamwalker there?” Miya asked.

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “Maybe not.”

Ama pulled out a shimmering, fang-shaped stone about the size of her palm—the one Mason had asked about, no doubt.

“How did you—” Mason began.

“Don’t worry about it.” She winked at him playfully. “The three of you—come lie down on the floor.”

To Miya’s shock, Kai was the first to listen. “Fuck it,” he mumbled. “I’ll do whatever it takes to purge this flaming asshole from existence.” He walked over and plunked down in front of Ama, lifting his hand and gesturing for Miya to take it. It was enough to convince her, so she slipped her hand in his and sank down next to him.

“I-I don’t understand,” Mason stuttered. “What are we doing?”

Ama stood from the table and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s hard to explain. Just know you’re needed.”

“Why the hell do we need him?” Kai groused as he and Miya lay on their backs, still holding hands.

Ama chuckled and shook her head. “Miya is the one who will travel to the dreamscape.” She lightly tapped Kai on the shoulder with her foot. “You are the anchor to that world.” She then tapped Mason on the chest with her fingertips. “And you are the anchor to this world.”

“We didn’t have so many anchors last time,” Miya pointed out.

“You didn’t go as deep last time,” Ama replied sternly. “I was your anchor. But this time, you’ll need a stronger one—someone who is more rooted in the physical plane. And even then, you might still become lost.”

Kai’s grip on Miya’s hand tightened. “Why does she have to do this? Why not me?”

He was frightened, and yet he was still willing to take her place.

“You don’t have the ability.” Ama gave him a cutting look. “Only some have an affinity with the other realms.”

“Wait,” Mason interjected. “Are we going to die?”

Ama’s lips tugged downward. “To think that traversing realms is the same as death,” she sighed. “You’d make a poor detective.”

Mason balked at the suggestion. “That’s not true.”

“You believe that only what you see while you’re awake is living,” said Ama. “I guarantee it’s not so.”

Kai huffed and glared at Mason. “Just get over here. We’re losing time.”

Miya thumped her head against the floor and looked up at a frowning, upside down Mason. He shuffled over and eased himself down next to her. “I’m sorry I was mean to you,” she apologized.

Mason sighed, shaking his head and smiling. “It’s all right.” He lay down and extended his hand to her. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

Perhaps he wasn’t so bad.

“Truce?” he asked, and she nodded, reaching out and taking his hand.

“Truce.”

Miya turned back to Kai and squeezed his hand. “It’ll be okay.”

He inhaled and flexed his fingers. “I don’t know what you’re going to see over there, or if any of us will make it back, but...”

She held her breath, waiting for him to finish. “But what?”

Something wet trickled on her forehead, and she craned her neck to see what was dribbling on her face. “Ama, did you just cut your hand?”

“I did,” Ama said without elaboration, then smeared the blood above Miya’s brow with her finger.

Kai grumbled as she did the same to him. “You sure this isn’t some satanic ritual?”

“I don’t believe in Satan,” Ama advised. “Consider my blood a kind of unifier. To keep the three of you spiritually connected.” She snickered. “The hand-holding helps too.”

Kai tugged at Miya’s hand, drawing her attention back to him. “If you don’t come back, I won’t either. I’ll find you, and I’ll stay. That’s a promise.”

For a brief moment, everything fell away—all the uncertainty about her future and finances, all the problems she thought spelled the end of the world. Kai meant what he said, and Miya believed him wholeheartedly. His tone was sincere, his eyes gentler than she remembered them ever being. “Don’t worry,” she whispered back. “I’ll be the one finding you, pup.”

Ama sat behind them and breathed deeply. Just as last time, her hands rested against Miya’s temples, coaxing her to close her eyes in preparation for what she knew was coming. Heat emanated from Ama’s fingertips, sending currents of warmth through Miya’s body. Each pulse thrummed deeper until her eyes grew heavy, and the blood on her forehead sizzled from otherworldly energy. The veil between worlds was so close she could feel the breeze from the other side, but she fought it, wanting to stay with Kai a moment longer.

The pull was magnetic, the air fragrant, and Miya found herself unable to resist any longer. Kai’s face was the last thing she saw as Ama repeated the same words from before.

“Let yourself descend, as only you can.”