Six

I was dreaming of Posh Pulse. Of Stephanie and Jade. Of failing and falling…falling…falling… The fragmented images slip through my mind like sand between my fingers as my eyes flutter open and I’m greeted with swirling darkness.

The world drifts into focus, hazy and unsteady. For a moment, I’m back in Chicago, in my bed, in my predictable life. And then the room around me becomes a bit clearer. The stone walls are lit with the barely there glow of a dying fire. Spiderwebs sway from the wooden rafters, and the earthy scent of smoke fills my nostrils.

It all comes crashing in—sheep hooves on old cobblestones, firelight glowing against angry faces, the mob’s cry of witch , their fear of my phone and belief it was magick, the men’s blood, and my own.

I was bleeding. I was stabbed!

This would be a headline if I were back in my city, back in my state, closer to home.

My heart beats like a gong, and my breath comes in ragged gasps. I try to sit up and whimper as pain sears my stomach and crashes against my consciousness. I try to move again, but the agony only grows. My body won’t obey. There’s something around my stomach—thick, heavy bandages—but there’s no way I can heal from a stab wound without going to a hospital.

Panic twists my lungs, and I draw in a strangled breath. This hurts more than the time I had appendicitis and was convinced I was dying. My palms sweat, my hands shaking with each weak attempt to get up, get away. But I’m helpless. Utterly helpless.

A shadow moves in the dark, drawing closer. Kane is tall and imposing, barely illuminated by the dim glow of the fire. He kneels beside me, and I flinch. A cry of pain batters the back of my gritted teeth. Kane reaches out, surprisingly gentle as he presses a cool, damp cloth to my forehead.

“Drink this,” he says, holding a cup to my lips.

I turn my head, the thought of consuming anything making my stomach churn.

“It’ll help,” he insists, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Not that I’d be able to argue if I wanted to. That part of my brain is in full hibernation mode.

I can’t stop the tears now, and they blur my vision as I let the bitter liquid slide down my throat. It tastes like grass clippings steeped in flat beer.

“How can it hurt more now than it did when it happened?” I choke out between sobs.

“Healing is more difficult than dying.” He sets down the mug and turns the washcloth to the cooler side. “Close your eyes. Go back to sleep. You’re safe here.”

His words are meant to comfort, but the fear doesn’t dissipate. I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want the darkness, the unknown, the fear of never waking up. I close my eyes, try to steady my breathing, but the pain and fear sink their teeth in and refuse to let go.

“I would love a morphine drip right now.”

The sharp taste of herbs lingers in my mouth, its effects slowly spreading through my body. The edges of the pain dull, the sharpest points blunted, but it’s still there. I feel so delicate, so broken, so far from home.

“Talk to me,” I beg. “Distract me.”

“What do you want me to say?”

Groaning, I close my eyes. “I don’t know,” I mumble. “I’m just desperate. Please, help.”

“I am helping,” he says. “I’ve been helping you all this time.”

I crack my eyelids and peer up at him. “Tell me what you were doing in the elevator.”

He tilts his chin, the corners of his eyes creasing as he narrows his gaze.

“I saw you in the elevator,” I explain. “Back in…my world.”

The firelight dances in his eyes, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something softer, something almost tender. It’s enough to keep the darkness at bay for a little while longer. “That wasn’t me. It was a mirror version.”

“A mirror version,” I repeat, gritting my teeth against another wave of pain.

The thought of duplicates—copies of people living their own unique lives in different worlds—is hard to wrap my sluggish thoughts around, much less figure out how it would work. Are the mirror versions identical in every way, or do they have different personalities? Different lives? Different fates?

And if Kane has a mirror version, then that must mean I have one too. The realization hits me with a force that makes me gasp.

“The mirror version of me, is she here?”

Kane shakes his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes. I want to brush it back or trim it or tell him that headbands exist. “The Empress would not have brought you here if you already existed. Besides, if there were a version of you within Towerfall, I’d remember her.”

My eyelids grow heavy, the combination of exhaustion and the herbal tea pulling me toward sleep. I fight against it, the fear of the unknown keeping me alert. “If you know about things like mirror copies, then you know about other worlds. About…portals,” I say, my mouth dry, my voice barely above a whisper. “I went through a portal. I went through a portal. Shit. It sounds unreal.”

“And yet it is real. Although not many know portals exist,” Kane says, his words carrying the weight of something I can’t quite place. “The Tower called you here, and the Empress sought you out for a reason.”

“What reason?” My mind swirls, spinning with portals and palaces and the fact that a tarot card reached from one world into another.

“I do not know for sure, but the Tower is never wrong.”

I would laugh if I didn’t feel like falling apart. “It is. It’s wrong. I want to go home. How do I get home?” I ask, voice splintering under the weight of it all.

“When there’s a way in, there’s a way out.”

“Can’t you answer a single fucking question directly?” I snap.

He holds the mug to my lips, and I take another acrid sip. “Let the magick do its work.”

Magick. The word sends a shiver through me, and an image of the card that seems to have started all this flashes behind my eyes. “Magick isn’t real,” I mumble, more to myself than to him. “Why is this happening? What is this place?”

“You’re no longer in your homeland, Fawn. This is Towerfall, and in this realm, a select few wield its true power.” His crow-black gaze meets mine. “Our worlds—yours and mine—exist together in layers. Most live and die without ever knowing these layers exist. But sometimes, things can pass through from one to the other.”

“I don’t understand,” I admit, my voice thin and faraway as the tea continues to take hold.

Kane’s dark hair falls in front of his shoulders, and he brushes it back. “In time, you will. For now, rest. You must regain your strength.”

“Kane.” I blink up at him, and my vision swims, my body yearning for rest and the oblivion of sleep. “Am I dying?”

“Not while I’m in control.”

Exhaustion finally overwhelms me, and I give in to the weight of my eyelids and the promise of darkness.