Wildblood

Chapter 18

18

Miya

The industrial zone from Miya’s dream was like a graveyard for the city’s cast-off neighborhoods, each wall a grim two-story headstone. Some of the buildings were still in use, but the community center remained abandoned, its parking lot overgrown with weeds that’d sprouted from the near-endless cracks in the pavement. As Miya anticipated, it was made of the same gray cinder blocks she’d seen in Caelan’s nightmare. The fencing was rusted and bent, the interior dark as midnight waters. Several of the windows were broken—likely the result of a wayward baseball or a rowdy group of teens—giving Miya no illusions about the building’s priority to land prospectors.

“I hope you’ve got an updated Tetanus shot,” Ama said wryly as they approached.

“Had my last one eight years ago after I cut my hand on a broken pipe,” she replied, tugging at her sleeves. She’d nabbed Kai’s oversized black hoodie, which he’d left at the King of Spades several weeks ago—a good disguise should they run into any trouble.

Ama, on the other hand, clearly didn’t give a shit about hiding her identity. “Good enough.”

“Please don’t make me crawl through a window,” Miya mumbled as she glimpsed the jagged shards of tinted glass in the window frames.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Come on.” Ama led them around to the front. “I doubt the kids who come here scrape over the glass to get in.”

There were no doors—no chains or caution tape or anything to keep people out. “Oh, thank God.”

The white wolf chuckled. “I think it’ll be a bit easier this time around, no?”

Nodding, Miya made for the doorless entryway. Ama kept stride with her, and they paused only a fraction of a second before crossing into the building. Miya was quick to wield her phone’s flashlight, illuminating cobwebbed corners and walls stripped of posters, plaques, and photographs. A half-torn advertisement for a weekly basketball league was still pinned to a cork board, the edges curled from time and moisture. She was certain there was mold lurking along the ceiling—a suspicion Ama confirmed with a displeased wrinkle of her nose.

“We shouldn’t stay here too long,” she warned. “It’s not healthy.”

On that they agreed. “Let’s find the gym,” Miya suggested, and they hurried down the corridor until they came across double doors like those from Caelan’s nightmare.

“God, it really is the same.” Miya halted, unnerved by the parallel vision. Swallowing her disquiet, she forged ahead, a grimy smear powdering the sleeve of Kai’s hoodie.

“This is where the dream took place?” Ama asked as she ambled into the gym behind Miya.

“Yeah…” Miya trailed off as she took stock of the space. “It was…bigger when I saw it. I can’t imagine why anyone would be hiding here.” The logo was still scrubbed off the floor, and above her, she noted the dark shapes of metal beams bridging the ceiling.

“I don’t smell anyone,” Ama confirmed grimly. “In fact, I don’t think anyone’s been here for a while.”

Miya did a lap around the perimeter, searching for signs of disturbance, but there was nothing. Only her and Ama’s footprints marked the dirty floor. The dust remained settled on every surface. No one had been here in months.

From the corner of her eye, Miya caught the tattered hem of a billowing taupe coat. The heavy thud of fishing boots echoed between her ears, and she spun in search of the stranger. She still didn’t know his name, but she knew his presence—the increasing familiarity weighing on her mind. She glimpsed his gangly form slip past another set of doors identical to the ones leading into the gym. These had an emergency exit sign above them, and Miya realized they led to the back of the building.

She’d gone through those doors in the nightmare, chasing after the teen swarmed by shadows.

“This way,” she called to Ama, who quickly crossed the floor, her heels clipping the lacerated wood. “I think we’re in the wrong building.”

As Miya burst through the doors, her eyes landed on an old brick wall that’d browned with age, then drifted to the navy street sign with faded white print.

Morton Street.

It was an old factory building.

The army of faceless mannequins invaded Miya’s thoughts—the assembly line, the grisly juddering of artificial limbs.

“Shit, Ama, this is it. I think she’s in this building.” Miya pointed to the street sign as she looked over her shoulder, but before she could meet the white wolf’s amber gaze, something cold and rough closed around her wrist.

She whirled around with a staggering gasp, but the world looked different than it had a moment ago. A milky haze steamed across the brick wall, muting the darkness to a dull, cloudy hue. Deep violet ivy crept along the base of the building, reaching for Miya as a figure filled out the fog. It approached at a languid pace until the mist parted, and the stranger’s tall, lanky figure came into view.

“You.” His sudden appearance pushed her back a step. She instinctively reached for the pendant around her neck, its feverish warmth radiating against her hand. The labradorite shimmered through the cracks between her fingers, emitting its lavender light—something that only happened in one very specific reality.

The dreamscape.

With a single touch, the stranger had foisted her right out of her body and into the ethereal realm.

“My apologies,” he said slowly, woodenly. “I needed to speak with you, and it appears I am rather feeble tonight.”

Feeble was not a word Miya would’ve used to describe what he’d just done to her.

When she made no move to respond, he went on, his words leaving his thin lips more smoothly now, as though he’d finessed the mechanics of human speech. “Normally, I can communicate with the denizens of the physical world, but it is fleeting—a single message, a momentary vision—and it saps my strength.” He let out a low warbling sound that dragged into a mournful song. “I need more time.”

Spirits usually had no foothold in the physical plane—not without an anchor. Miya speculated that this one attached itself to people only briefly before vanishing. In the dreamscape, however, he had no such limitations. She had no idea how he’d dragged her here against her will, but she doubted asking would prompt a sincere answer. Spirits on a mission rarely understood their own behavior. Besides, finding Caelan was more urgent. The logistics of the stranger’s abilities could wait.

Miya continued clutching the labradorite around her neck. “What did you want to tell me?”

“They will come for her,” he hissed, and the ivy at his back crawled forward, winding around his ankles. “They will hurt her—all to keep her from herself, to keep her docile, following their rules when they follow none.”

“You really care about her,” Miya observed, his earnest plea thawing her icy guard. “You’re her friend in the dreamscape, aren’t you?”

The stranger nodded. “We met when she was traveling through. She became lost. I helped her find her way. Now, I fear, she has become lost again.”

A sad smile tugged at Miya’s lips. She knew this story too well. It was the tale that defined her and Kai throughout lifetimes. An ostracized girl lost in the woods. A black wolf who led her home. In the end, the fable of the Dreamwalker and her wolf remained woven into the fabric of their identities, their experiences, and it haunted them even now. There was no freedom from the past—only a tenuous peace with its ghosts.

“I can’t reach her,” the stranger broke Miya from her reverie. “All I can do is touch the living for a moment. To give a message. The closer that person is to the dreamscape, the easier.”

Miya’s eyes narrowed, his words sparking confusion. “You can’t reach Caelan, but you were able to find me without any issues. How is that possible?”

“I cannot find whatever I want,” the stranger explained. “Like any being of the dreamscape, I am drawn to specific qualities, and in turn, I draw them out of others. For some, it is fear, rage, pride, or utter yearning. For me, it is the primordial. The nature in all things. The origin. The stronger one is connected to their roots, the clearer the path to them. And you, Dreamwalker, are your own past made flesh.”

Miya swallowed thickly. He knew more about her than she realized. “Are you saying that Caelan isn’t connected to her nature?”

The stranger nodded stiffly. “It’s made it impossible for me to locate her. But you…and your wolf…” he trailed off, his gaze shifting to something far away. “Your wolf…I tried connecting with him. But the wolf is too wild. The animal in him revolted, nearly conquered him where he stood.”

A fire station’s worth of alarm bells sounded off in Miya’s head. Kai had never mentioned an encounter with the spirit after they’d crossed paths at the King of Spades, let alone a forced transition. She schooled her expression, but she couldn’t keep the rising tide of disquiet from lapping at her tone. “Why did you need Kai? Wasn’t I enough?”

“I’ll do anything for Caelan,” he replied without scruples. “The more allies I rally, the faster she will be brought to safety.”

Miya balled her fists and squeezed like she could wring the apprehension from her skin. “You shouldn’t meddle with the physical world so much. We have boundaries for a reason; crossing them for personal gain is how spirits go awry.”

The stranger’s head clicked several notches to the side. “But you can?”

“As you said,” she replied stonily, “it’s my nature.”

He hummed in contemplation. “Yes. Your very existence violates the boundary between worlds. Yet you exist, nonetheless. Surely, someone like you can understand. Rest assured, I do all this for love.”

“Love means different things to different people.”

For Miya’s parents, it meant cultivating the perfect daughter to mirror their values. For Ama, it meant protecting those she loved at any cost. For Kai, love was foreign word— a Rubik’s Cube he fumbled with every day. Love wasn’t some infallible wall protecting human hearts from evil. It was like water, bending to the shape of those who brandished it. Love could easily be twisted into something thorny—something that could harm.

“You are more jaded than I anticipated.” A raspy chuckle. “But there is nothing more to be said.”

The rim of his hat tipped up, and Miya glimpsed those earthy brown eyes. They were tunnels into a face streaked with deep-set grooves, giving his skin the appearance of tree bark. The ivy wound further up his limbs, the rich purple foliage stark against the muted colors of the stranger’s clothes and the fog enveloping him. “I will do anything to protect her.”

It sounded like a warning.

Miya braved a step forward only to be jolted back by Ama’s voice hewing through the dreamscape.

Miya! Wake up!

“Shit.” The stranger watched as she wrestled with herself, curious which path she’d choose. “What’s your name?” she asked, realizing he’d never shared it.

“I have no name,” he told her. “But your folk have one for me.”

So, he was known to humans.

Miya!

She couldn’t linger any longer. With a frustrated huff, Miya squeezed her eyes shut and focused on the dream stone around her neck, willing herself to block out the stranger. She reached for Ama’s warmth—amber eyes, snowy hair, a tongue as sharp as a freshly whetted blade. Her fingers twitched, and where she expected to find empty space, she instead felt skin—the solid shape of a hand.

“Miya!” Ama yelled right in her ear.

Her eyes snapped open after a harsh intake of breath, her limbs turned to jelly, and she stumbled to the side. Without missing a beat, Ama caught and steadied her despite her shorter stature.

“What the hell happened to you?” Her calm shattered like mishandled glass. “You just…fell into a trance!”

“I—I’m sorry,” Miya stammered, clapping a hand onto Ama’s arm. “He—the stranger—he pulled me in.”

Ama turned to stone next to her, her irises a pair of thin gold bands around dilated pupils, tension bracketing her mouth as she clenched her jaw. “He must be strong if he can drag you into the dreamscape so easily.”

Miya scoffed. “And he told me he was weak .”

Now on solid ground, she relayed the rest of the encounter as they meandered slowly toward the factory. Ama halted at the mention of Kai—the revelation that the animal in him had revolted against the spirit’s influence, forcing him to transition against his will.

“It’s some kind of nature spirit. If it draws out the primordial core in whomever it contacts…” Ama glanced at Miya. “For you, it’s your dreamwalking abilities. For Kai, it’s the wolf.”

“He said something similar,” said Miya. “And he can’t reach Caelan because she’s repressed her nature—isn’t connected to it.”

Ama grabbed her by the shoulder. “You need to be careful. This spirit…it’s dangerous. I doubt it’s acting in malice, but it will only follow its nature, as it expects others to.”

“Do you think it’s a leshy—a forest spirit?”

“It could be.” Ama’s hand fell away. “Human terms don’t matter much. They only describe archetypes—patterns—but there is more diversity than mortal knowledge can encompass.”

Miya frowned. “It must’ve traveled far with Caelan. We’re in the middle of a damn city.”

Ama turned back toward the factory. “It doesn’t matter. It’s here now, and I doubt it’ll stop until it’s satisfied with Caelan’s outcomes.”

“You’re right,” said Miya, her eyes downcast. “The best way to put the leshy to rest will be to find Caelan and make sure she’s safe.”

Ama squeezed Miya’s hand, then canted her head toward the old building. “Let’s go, then.”

Unlike the community center lined with windows, the factory was akin to a prison—a sprawling expanse of nothing but brick. Perhaps there were windows on the other side, but the wall they faced was bare. Just as they rounded the corner, Ama dropped Miya’s hand and held out her arm in warning.

“Look.” Ama tilted her chin forward. She was guarded but calm, assuaging Miya’s anxiety.

Up ahead, Miya spotted a human-shaped mass lying motionless on the ground. He was next to a dumpster, several feet from what appeared to be a back door. The bulb overhead was out, which wouldn’t have been unusual if not for the glints of glass reflecting off the gravel when Miya swept her flashlight over the area. The bulb was shattered.

“Someone’s been here recently,” said Ama.

“The leshy said Caelan was in danger,” Miya recalled.

“Perhaps that danger was more imminent than we realized.”

They exchanged a weighty glance before Ama shook out her arms and made for the door. “Whatever happens, be ready to run.”

Miya pouted. “Hey, I can throw a punch.”

The white wolf raised a sleek eyebrow. “Kai?”

“Yes.”

Ama shook her head. “Strike only as a last resort. Don’t try to?—”

“Yeah, yeah, hit to disorient, then make a run for it.” Miya rolled her eyes. “I know the drill.”

“Well,” Ama simpered, “at least he taught you that much.”

Miya grumbled under her breath. Careful to keep the volume at a minimum, Ama inched her way inside, wary of the whining hinges. As soon as her shoes touched the floor, Miya knew they wouldn’t have to worry about being spotted. There, sprawled across the tiles, was another unconscious figure. This one was huge—all trapezoids and lats—but he was knocked out cold, his jaw slack.

“Is he…”

“No,” Ama answered her unspoken question. “He’s breathing. Probably has a bad concussion judging by the blood leaking out of his ears.” Her nose wrinkled, a thoughtful huh slipping past her lips as though she recognized something.

“What is it?” Miya probed as she shone her flashlight over the man’s stubbled jaw and greasy brown hair. Dark red crusted his earlobes and neck, the trail disappearing into his T-shirt.

“Nothing. Let’s move. We don’t know how long these men will stay asleep,” Ama advised. She scanned the area, a frustrated growl reverberating in her throat. “There aren’t many escape routes here.”

Nothing my ass , Miya thought, but she wouldn’t press the issue while they were in unknown territory. A long corridor with several doors awaited up ahead, and to their right, another hall led into a large open space—a plant floor of some kind? It was too dark to see, and she didn’t want to flail her flashlight around. “Is there only one way out?”

“There’s a large window at the end of the hall. It’s barred, but that won’t be a problem.”

“How are metal bars not a problem?” Miya asked.

Ama shrugged, stepping over the big man on the floor. “I’ll just kick them out of the frame.”

Kick them out of the frame , Miya mouthed, balking at the smaller woman. She knew Ama was as capable as Kai, but their sheer physical power never ceased to amaze her. She’d gotten accustomed to Kai’s brute strength; he had no qualms throwing his weight around and treated bar brawls as a pastime. Ama, however, preferred the finer things in life. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t rearrange a man’s insides with a well-placed fist.

With a shaky breath, Miya skirted around the man’s limp form. She fixed her eyes on the barred window, moonlight filtering through the space between the iron rods. She hoped the dark corridor promised more than a dead end.