Page 51 of Bewitching Her Monsters
I suppose we will have to see.
Comforted in his embrace, inexplicably feeling safe, my mind drifts into sleep…
I’m embodying the mystery guy again, the jerk from the nights before.
This recurring situation is so odd. I rarely dream I’m the same person twice.
And never have my dreams been so visceral. It’s as if I’m actually living these moments, not just the vague, ethereal quality of most dreams.
Maxum and Arran are beside my avatar. We are storming through a dense forest at night, searching for something… orsomeone?
My eyes catch a gleam of light-colored stone in the distance.
“There!” we all say in unison.
Our steps quicken, but my head swivels back and forth, constantly looking for a threat or a surprise attack.
When we get closer, I realize it’s Arran’s friend that was at the bar that first night. He’s the giant, quiet man with sand-colored hair and light gray eyes.
Lying twisted on the ground, he’s mostly on his side. He appears to be nearly undressed, but wearing pants and a strange-looking robe glued stiffly to his back. His eyes are closed, but he doesn’t look to be sleeping. No, this is far too consuming to be sleeping. He appears frozen solid. But it doesn’t feel cold out here.
My avatar’s heart races, and even Maxum looks concerned when I glance up at his face.
The crimson-skinned, demon-like version of Maxum crouches down and sniffs his friend.
“This is a witch or warlock’s magic. He’s stuck in his stone form,” Maxum informs us.
I curse and spin around, scanning our surroundings for our enemy.
“We should get him out of this realm,” Arran says, pacing back and forth and pulling on his short, dark hair.
Both my avatar and I want to reach out and soothe him. My male voice says, “We can’t move him like this. He weighs too much, even with all of us helping.”
“Someone needs to stay behind and guard his body while he’s under the spell,” Maxum suggests.
“What if he doesn’t come out of this curse? What if it’s fucking permanent?” Arran growls.
“I haven’t seen a witch or warlock powerful enough that they could cast a spell that could make a stone form permanent in several generations,” Maxum says, shaking his head but still looking worried no matter his assessment. “I doubt this will last more than a day.”
“But that’s long enough for them to distract us while they murder our entire crew. Or what’s left of it now,” I say. “Maxum, can you sense Calder at all now that you are in this realm?”
“No. He’s not on this plane.” Maxum stands up and gazes into the distance. “I will search for him in the Underworld.”
“No. That’s too risky to do alone,” I argue.
“And who would I take?” Maxum challenges. “They’ve already killed anyone who would survive on that plane.”
“Fine. Just go.” I wave him off. “You’re right. But be safe.”
“Nowhere is safe… or haven’t you been paying attention,” Maxum grumbles and then waves his hand, chanting a few words under his breath.
A portal opens, and, unafraid, he steps through to an even darker place.
The doorway snaps shut, and I turn back to Arran. “Are you going to be okay?”
“If you are asking about my beast? No. I don’t think we’re okay.” Arran palms his face with both hands and then rubs his eyes. “I’m on the verge of losing it. He wants to go on a wild, indiscriminate rampage. You may have to kill me.”
What the fucking hell? Please don’t make me watch Arran get hurt…
