Dream Zoey didn’t appear to know what to say to that, and about then Neferet picked up her pace, so both of us had to hurry to keep up with her as she strode across the lawn, heading straight to the trapdoor in the east wall.
“The east wall. That figures. Horrible stuff always happens there,” I mumbled.
But Dream Zoey couldn’t hear me, so we followed Neferet to the trapdoor, which she tripped by pressing the stone stamped 1926, the year the wall was built. I floated through the opening behind them out to the area just outside the wall. If the sun hadn’t set yet, it sure seemed like it had, because it was so dark under the arms of the giant old oaks framing the wall that we were all cast in shadow.
“John?” Dream Zoey called, looking around the dark, empty area. “It’s me. Zoey. What did you need to tell me?”
Dream me was searching the area, hands on hips, obviously exasperated. But my attention wasn’t on Dream Zoey. It was on Neferet. The High Priestess had stayed close to the wall, where I noticed a wooden fencepost had been stuck into the ground—you know, like something a rancher would use to string barbed-wire on.
But there were no barbed-wire fences in midtown Tulsa. What the hell was going on?
Neferet went to the fencepost and opened a big duffel bag that was lying behind it—and unsheathed a long, dangerous-looking sword.
I understood in a flash. The fencepost was way too much like the one I’d found Professor Nolan staked to, without her head.
“Zoey! Get the hell out of here!” I yelled at my clueless dream-self, but that Z did nothing but peer around looking for her annoying stepfather.
Soundlessly, Neferet approached her from behind, carrying the sword with two hands, looking like a samurai assassin.
“Ohmygoddess, turn around!”
Dream Zoey didn’t hear me, but she did turn as she said, “Neferet, I think he took off. I’m really sorry this was such a waste of your time and you had to—” Her words cut off as she saw Neferet’s sword.
“Oh, my dear, there is absolutely no need to apologize. And things have gone exactly as I planned. When they find you they will believe this was the work of humans—the People of Faith in particular. I will have my war.” Neferet’s smile was feral—a victorious baring of her teeth. “And you will never have to be bothered by your ridiculous stepfather again. I consider it a win for both of us.”
Dream Zoey’s eyes looked glassy with shock, and she kept shaking her head back and forth, back and forth. In a little girl’s voice she repeated over and over, “No, I don’t understand … I don’t understand … I don’t—”
I screamed as Neferet whirled around in an arc that was as graceful as it was deadly, and with one single strike she severed Dream Zoey’s head from her body. Blood sprayed everywhere as the body collapsed, twitching spasmodically.
So much blood! There’s so much blood!
I couldn’t stop screaming. I wanted to close my eyes. I wanted to wake up. But I was frozen in place, hovering over my dream-self as Neferet wiped her sword on the ground and then returned to the duffel bag to pull out rope and a rough, homemade plaque that had scrawled on it: THOU SHALT NOT SUFFER A WITCH TO LIVE! EXODUS 22:18.
I recognized the Bible quote. It had been the same one found on Professor Nolan’s crucified, headless body.
And then I heard her. Heard me. My gaze went from Neferet to the severed head that had rolled to land in a bloody pool beneath me, face up. As I stared in horror at it, the eyes opened suddenly and my own voice blasted inside my head.
You have to help Kevin stop her—nothing else matters!
From behind me someone grabbed my shoulder, and I screamed so loud it felt like my voice was tearing …
“Z! It’s just me! It’s okay!”
Still screaming, I sat up, smacking into Stark and almost breaking his nose. Persephone snorted and laid her ears back, as if looking for something to attack.
“Sssh, all is well, sweet mare.” Lenobia was suddenly there too, soothing Persephone while she sent me worried looks.
“Stark?” I glanced frantically around us, my heart beating so hard and fast I could feel it in my temples. I’m in the stall with Persephone. It was just a dream. It wasn’t real.
“Hey, yeah, of course it’s me. What the hell’s going on? I felt your fear like a branding iron. What happened?”
I opened my mouth to tell him about the dream—and I couldn’t. Because I realized I was wrong. It hadn’t been just a dream. It was a message. A message I had to, for now, keep to myself.
“Stark!” I let him pull me into his strong, safe arms. “I’m so sorry.” I turned my head so I could see Lenobia. Persephone had stood, and she was pressed against the horse mistress, looking frightened and worried. “Oh, no! I scared Persephone too!” Stark helped me to my feet and I went to the mare, petting and kissing her. “I’m so, so sorry, pretty girl. I’m okay. Everything is okay.”
“No. It’s not. I could feel how terrified you were. What. The. Hell. Happened?” Stark asked.
I attempted a laugh, which came out more as a sob. “This is really embarrassing. It was just a dream.”
“But often your dreams are more than just images from your imagination,” said Lenobia, not unkindly. “Last time a dream woke you, it was Kalona.”
“Only it wasn’t really Kalona,” Stark added. “So what was it?”
I wiped sweat from my face. “You guys, I really am sorry. It wasn’t anything like the Kalona/not-Kalona dream. It was spiders.”
“Spiders?” Lenobia said.
I nodded and shivered. “Spiders.”
Stark sighed and pulled me back into his arms. “She’s terrified of spiders,” he explained to Lenobia.
“In my dream I fell into a pool of them. It was awful,” I lied—feeling pool-of-spiders-awful about it.
“Well, that’s a relief,” said Lenobia. “But, Zoey, if spiders frighten you that much, you really should look into hypnotherapy. One of the High Priestesses at the St. Louis House of Night is a specialist in it. I’m sure she could help you.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. I’m usually not bothered by my spider phobia much.”
“But you’ve been stressed and not sleeping,” said Stark. “So, maybe you could use some therapy.”
“Yeah, maybe. If I have another dream like that, definitely.”
Stark kissed my forehead. “Hey, would some psaghetti madness make you feel better? You slept through lunch, so it’s almost dinnertime.”