Oblivion (Nevermore #3)

Oblivion (Nevermore #3) Page 23

And when, in sleep, at last we wake,

I will see you agai—

Isobel halted with a gasp, arrested by the two ash-caked boots positioned at the top of the landing.

Her hand tightened around the banister and she looked up, eyes meeting with the black gaze of the dark figure blocking her path.

8

Approaching Darkness

Roses, Isobel thought. Not mildew.

The stairwell smelled of roses—dead and decaying. She hadn’t been able to place the odor, musty and all at once too sweet, until that precise moment. When it was too late.

Ash coated his clothing, smudging his gloves and dusting his slicked-back hair.

Even without his trademark cloak, fedora, and white-scarf mask, Reynolds was instantly recognizable. He glared down at her, his cold, penetrating eyes far more familiar than the sharp and weatherworn planes of the rest of his wax-white face.

Adrenaline flooded Isobel’s veins, urging her to do something, even though there was nothing she could do. Nothing except run.

So why didn’t she?

Perhaps the real question, she thought, was why Reynolds had not yet drawn one or both of the cutlasses he wore at his belt—especially given that he’d tried to slash her to bits during their last encounter, and on Lilith’s orders, no less.

“The dream,” Reynolds said, his low voice reverberating in the confined space. “It was my hand that took you there.”

An image of her ceiling light flashed in her mind, and she had her answer as to who had entered her room the previous night.

“What do you want?” she demanded, because, as always when it came to Reynolds, it wasn’t remotely clear. If he’d come to complete the assignment of killing her, couldn’t the task have been carried out while she slept?

“We can’t speak here,” Reynolds said. “They’re looking for you.”

Before she could determine what he meant by “they,” Reynolds stepped toward her.

Dropping her things, Isobel backpedaled to the landing below, her notepads and binders sliding after her. When her spine met with the wall, her hands formed into automatic fists.

But Reynolds brushed past her. “This way,” he said, descending to the second-floor landing, that moldering floral essence trailing him. “Quickly.” He rounded the corner below, slipping out of sight.

Dazed, still stunned by Reynolds’s sudden appearance, and even more baffled by his breeze-by exit, she could only gape after him.

Did he seriously expect her to follow him? Weren’t they past the whole Simon Says thing? He knew she knew he worked for Lilith—that he’d been under the demon’s command from the very beginning.

And yet, since learning the truth about his allegiance, Isobel had puzzled repeatedly over why he had ignored all the opportune moments he’d had to kill her, and why he’d continually intervened on Isobel’s behalf. Like when he’d pulled her from that collapsed grave in the dreamworld. Or when, in a surprising act of seeming compassion, he’d carried her home after she’d nearly died following his orders to destroy the link between worlds, Varen’s sketchbook.

At the time, of course, she’d believed Reynolds had returned Varen home safely too. Like he’d told her he had. But if he’d truly been against her from the start, why would he have wanted that link severed in the first place?

Pushing off from the wall, Isobel ran a hand through her hair, and her thoughts returned to last night’s dream. If Reynolds had transported her to the other side, stealing her astral self from her sleeping body as he’d done the night he’d first introduced her to the woodlands, then he must have known Varen would find her there.

Had Reynolds been counting on that? Perhaps he’d even staged the whole thing.

Drawn by the possibility of answers, Isobel took a step toward the descending stairway but paused again, unsure whether she was willing—or ready—to hear what he’d come to say.

Reynolds lied like it was his hobby.

And she had promised herself to let go of her part in all this.

I keep having bad dreams, Danny had said last night.

This involves me, too, Gwen had reminded her less than an hour ago.

And then there was the problem of the entire school witnessing the effects of last night’s dreamworld encounter with Varen.

His abilities were expanding, that much had become evident. And if he could shatter lights and bring the other world with him when he came, then what more would he soon be capable of?

The nightmare had to stop. Varen had to be stopped.

Terror bubbled up inside of her as she spurred herself forward, each step taking her closer to her greatest fear. Toward the darkness that continued to prove it would catch up with her no matter what. As she neared the ground floor, though, she slowed at the sound of muffled voices.