The Nightmare Dilemma

16 Trust Issues

I didn’t panic. I didn’t scream or respond with an attack. Instead my whole body went numb. My heart gave one horrendous thump against my chest and then seemed to cease beating altogether.

“Dusty,” Paul said again.

I turned slowly toward him, and he released my arm. My eyes met his, and we stared at each other for several long seconds. I could see his pulse beating in his throat. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he held his teeth clenched tight together.

“I need that back,” Paul said, finally breaking the silence. His voice did strange things to me, oddly welcoming and repulsive at the same time.

I clutched the book tighter to my chest. “No.”

“Please.”

I frowned, stunned by his sincere tone. It wasn’t what I’d expected. This wasn’t the Paul I’d faced that day with Marrow, the boy desperate for power and as ruthless and cunning as Marrow himself. Still, I didn’t trust him. If it came to magic, I would have the edge, but he was easily big enough and strong enough to take the book by physical force. He could’ve done it already when I had my back turned.

“Why?” I said. “What’s so important about it? I know you don’t need it for class.”

He took a step toward me, and I fought off the urge to retreat. I’d forgotten how tall he was. Not quite as tall as Eli, but enough that I had to lean my head back. I could almost taste the memories as his familiar scent filled my nose.

Paul fixed his unwavering gaze on my face. “I want to tell you, but I don’t know yet if it’s the right thing to do.”

I glowered back at him. “What do you know about right?”

“I know you’ve been asked to spy on me.”

My mouth fell open. “How did you—” I cleared my throat. “That’s absurd.”

Paul grinned. “I don’t think so. If I were in their position, I would do the exact same thing. You’re more than capable.” The smile vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving his eyes cold, distant. The difference it made in his face was so startling for a second I wondered if he’d developed some kind of split personality.

“But I know it’s true, Dusty,” he went on, that sincerity back in his voice. “You don’t have to lie to me. I understand why you’re doing it.”

I glanced away, shaken up by his unexpected directness. I stared at the floor for a moment, regaining my composure, and then faced him once more. “Okay, if we’re going for the honest approach, why don’t you tell me what you’re really up to? How did you get them to let you off, who are you working for now, and what’s your endgame?”

Paul didn’t react to the accusation behind each question as I spouted them off, except for the tiniest flinch of his eyes. I couldn’t tell if he was hurt by my questions or offended. Maybe both. For a second I pictured Lady Elaine’s and Sheriff Brackenberry’s reactions when they found out how badly I’d blown project Paul Recon. Not good.

He took a long time to respond, as if weighing his answer carefully. He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “I want to tell you, Dusty. I really do. But I can’t.”

I tightened my grip on the book. “Same old Paul. Full of secrets and schemes.”

This time his flinch wasn’t little at all. He looked like I’d slapped him. I expected him to come back with an angry retort, but when he spoke his voice was softer than ever. “That’s why.”

I tapped my toe. “Why what?”

“Why I can’t tell you.” He pinned me with his gaze, the green in his eyes visible despite the dim light. “Because you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

Paul tilted his head to the side, a humorless smile curving his lips. “Here I thought we were going for the honest approach.”

I scowled at him, infuriated by his words. I wanted to slap him for real. I wanted to …

My anger eased off as I realized he was right. I wouldn’t believe him. No matter what he said. That trust had been broken.

I exhaled, annoyed to be seeing things from his perspective. “I guess you’ve got a point.”

Paul nodded, a forlorn look in his eyes. He folded his arms over his chest. “So here we are.”

“Yep. Here we are.”

He took another step toward me, and I tensed. It was almost painful to be this close to him again. His voice came out a husky whisper. “Is there anything I can do that will allow you to believe me?”

I closed my eyes, my head fuzzy with emotions and memories rising to the surface. I found myself remembering all the kisses we’d shared and the way his body had felt pressed to mine.

I swallowed and forced my eyes open. It occurred to me that he might be using his siren powers on me, but I dismissed the idea at once. I knew he wasn’t. Not yet, anyway. Or if he was it was so slight that he might not be doing it on purpose. I remembered all too clearly what it felt like when he was doing it on purpose.

“Take it all back,” I said, my voice tight with emotion. “Take back all the things you did.”

Paul looked down. “You know I can’t do that, Dusty. Nobody can change the past. Not even magickind.”

Would you even want to? I wanted to ask him. Would you change all of it or just the part where you got caught?

I kept the question to myself. I could guess the answer he would give, but he was right—I wouldn’t believe him.

Paul took one last step toward me, this one putting him close enough we were almost touching. Then he did touch me, laying his hands on top of mine where they still clutched the book.

“Read it,” he said, pushing The Atlantean Chronicle toward me. “Search it for clues and secrets and all the worst things you think of me. And when you don’t find anything, give it back. Deal?”

“Deal,” I said, my voice catching.

He stepped away from me, his hands sliding off mine. He turned and started to leave, but paused after a few steps. He looked over his shoulder at me and said, “I’m sorry.” Then he turned back and disappeared into the shadows at the end of the hallway.

I felt better once I stepped inside my dorm, safer. Physically at least. I locked the door, including the dead bolt. Too bad I couldn’t turn a lock in my brain and block out all the thoughts. There were so many things to think about—the Senate Hall dream, Paul, the stone plinth and what the new letter might be, Paul, The Atlantean Chronicle, and Paul.

Yet more pressing was the sudden realization that I was alone in the dorm room. Selene was gone. Again. I walked into the bedroom and switched on the light to be sure. Her bed wasn’t just empty, it was still made.

But when I came back into the living room I spotted a handwritten note propped against my eTab.

Hey Dusty, went out for a walk. Don’t wait up for me.—Selene

Glad we had progressed to the note-leaving stage of whatever secret she was keeping, I sat down and pulled my eTab out of its cradle. I didn’t want to write a dream journal, but I didn’t dare skip it. Submitting them late—or not at all—was one of Lady Elaine’s biggest pet peeves. Even if what I wrote was garbage, just getting it in would save me a lot of trouble. Mostly I didn’t want to write it because I wasn’t ready to face the implications of that dream and what all those dead people meant—myself included. I shivered.

At least I could leave out the part about the stone plinth. I would do as I promised Eli and get Mr. Deverell’s help, but there was no reason to divulge my secrets to Lady Elaine and whoever else in the magickind government read my journals. I had a right to some privacy, same as anyone else.

I switched the eTab on and as I moved to open the dream journal app, I saw an instant message waiting for me. It had arrived more than an hour before from OracleGirl, Lady Elaine’s online handle. I clicked on it, read the brief message, and then started to grin. I might be overwhelmed with questions right now, but at least one of them would be answered very soon.

Britney Shell was awake.