The first thing I became aware of was the howl of fury. Was I still asleep, fleeing Ikelos as he fought to take me over? No, the sound lacked the resonant, penetrating quality of Ikelos’s voice in my dream. It was human.
And it was getting closer.
My eyes snapped open to regard an unfamiliar ceiling. I tried to sit, but a wave of dizziness swamped me, shoving me back to the bare mattress on which I lay. Taking a slow, shuddering breath, I gingerly turned my head. White, seashell-patterned curtains were drawn across a window, bright sunlight spilling around their edges. They billowed slightly, stirred by a breeze that carried the briny tang of the distant, sighing ocean. The seashells blurred and shimmied as my vision wavered.
Daytime. It’s daytime. Ikelos had possessed me at night. How long had it been?
A snarl and the sound of shattering glass from down the hall were all the incentive I needed to try moving again. More slowly this time, I eased myself up onto my elbows. I felt lightheaded, my muscles were stiff with disuse and my mouth tasted dreadful, but I was able to slide to the edge of the bed and place my feet on the carpet. My bare feet. Again.
Ugh. Maybe this is still a dream? I tried willing my boots onto my feet. A twinge of discomfort between my eyes and a lack of boots told me I was either awake or out of juice. At least I wasn’t wearing that stupid dress anymore; in fact, I was in the same clothes I’d been wearing when I broke into Ewan’s house with Brad: dark jeans and a band T-shirt, all rumpled from sleep. Another mark in the “I’m really awake” column, then. There was no sign of my knitted jumper or pink and white sneakers.
Wavering on my feet, I crept to the door and peeked out. A scuffed timber-floored corridor stretched in either direction. The crashing, which sounded a lot like a toddler having a tantrum, came from the right. Nope. Turning left, I kept one hand on the wall to steady myself and placed each foot as carefully as if I were treading through a Lego minefield. Beach-themed pictures in cheap frames hung on one side of me; on the other side, another bedroom door stood open. The room was empty, but showed signs of habitation; the bottom bunk held an open suitcase, its contents spilling across the mattress. A sleeping bag lay open on the top bunk, a chrysalis after disgorging its butterfly.
The thought of butterflies made me shudder. But my fear turned to relief when I glimpsed the top of a bannister at the end of the corridor. A set of stairs, going down. I was going to make it. I was—
“Melaina.” The snarled word froze my blood in my veins. I spun, and the world tilted. My hands thumped against the wall as I braced myself.
Ewan stood at the other end of the corridor. He wore beach shorts, a T-shirt and a murderous look. His hands clenched into fists and his eyes narrowed as he regarded me with pure hate.
“Hi, Ewan,” I croaked, easing backwards towards the stairs. My voice was rusty with disuse. “No need to show me out.”
“Ewan isn’t here,” he said, taking a step that matched my own. “I shoved him in a cellar, way down deep.” He reached a hand up and tapped his temple. “I can barely hear him screaming.”
“Ikelos?” I whispered, reaching blindly behind me for the handrail. I wasn’t sure I could manage the stairs without it—but my fingers grasped at air. Not close enough.
“Who else? You drove me out with your swarm of gnats. I moved to this body and now they won’t leave me alone!” He swatted at the air as if shooing away a cloud of biting, whining things. One of his hands smashed into the plasterboard, leaving a crescent-shaped dent. When he withdrew his hand, blood smeared his knuckles. He didn’t seem to notice.
Taking advantage of his distraction, I scooted backwards, grabbing the cool railing with a trembling grip. Get it together, Melaina.
Ikelos turned his hate-filled glare back on me. I froze. “I tried to move again,” he said. “There’s a baby napping not too far from here. Milk dreams and hazy colours to hide in. But they’ve hemmed me in. Trapped me. How dare they? Who do they think they are?”
My mind flashed back to the memory of the twelve Oneiroi forming a pattern around Ikelos, spinning a net closed. Had they managed to complete their snare once he’d jumped into Ewan?
“Well, you were pretty keen to have a human body,” I said, not taking my eyes off Ewan … well, Ewan’s body. I eased my way down onto the top stair by feel. “Maybe you’ll like it.”
“Not this body. Not a weak human body, cut off from Erebus.” Ikelos’s gaze skittered along the walls as he took in the photos of beach chairs and surfers. His top lip curled with contempt.
“Go,” a voice urged, as faint as a whisper.
My heart leapt. Leander? I wanted to look around for him, hunt for his face in a reflection, but I didn’t want to give Ikelos the opportunity to jump me. How I’d ever confused Ikelos for Ewan in the nursing home was beyond me now. Even as distracted and confused as Ikelos was at that moment, his presence was clear in the raised chin, the rolled back shoulders. Ewan had been a skink. Ikelos was a crocodile.
“Go now.”
Ikelos didn’t react to the other voice. After several tense heartbeats, I turned, starting down the stairs as fast as my dizziness would allow.
“Stop!” The roar echoed off the glass window at the middle landing, making me flinch. Heavy footsteps followed, thundering like my pulse in my ears.
A cheap ceramic vase filled with dry grasses sat on the window sill. I grabbed it in both hands, turning and thrusting it out just as Ikelos reached me. White shards and brittle seed heads flew around us as the thin ceramic shattered against his chest. My fingers stung with cuts as he staggered backwards, the breath oofing out of him. I fled, my lungs heaving for air.
The patch of sunlight falling from the stairwell illuminated a section of corridor tiled in white. The rest of the house’s ground floor was only dimly visible, the curtains drawn. I blinked as I entered the gloom, my vision adjusting to the dimness. My head swam as I whipped it from side to side, trying to guess which way the exit lay. If I could get out, I could attract attention. Get help. A floor-to-ceiling curtain caught my eye and I lunged for it, tearing it back. A window. A grassed back yard. Shit!
The sound of Ikelos clambering to his feet sent me scrambling down another corridor. I darted through an open doorway into a cool room; a combined bath and shower took up one corner, while a washing machine and dryer towered to my right.
“Come back here, bitch!” Ikelos appeared in the doorway. I slammed the door in his face, locking it with a savage twist of my wrist.
The doorknob rattled. Then the door trembled as he pounded on it. I eyed the lock, which was smeared red by my bleeding hand. It seemed sturdy, but even as I—thump! —stared, the doorframe showed signs of weakening, the timber giving a little with each—thump!—blow.
The window over the sink was too small for me to squeeze my shoulders through, but I darted to it anyway, tearing it open and pressing my face up against the dusty screen. “Help me!” The words tore at my throat. “Somebody, help!” The sole response was the furious bark of a nearby dog. Was everyone at work? What day was it?
Where was Leander? The mirror only showed me my own reflection.
Thump!
I fumbled for my pocket before remembering Ewan had taken my phone.
Thump!
The doorframe splintered. I heaved an empty laundry hamper into the bathtub and then drew the curtain around it. Desperately trying to slow the frantic gasps of my breathing, I squeezed myself in between the dryer and a tall, freestanding broom cupboard.
The door gave with a crash, flying open and hitting the other side of the dryer. With a roar, Ikelos launched himself at the shadowy, hunched shape behind the curtain. I darted out of my hiding spot, planting a bare-footed kick on his backside. I’d never kicked anyone in my life and there was no strength in it, but his balance was off. He toppled forward with a yelp. I ran out the door.
“This way!” that voice cried from my right. It was female, I realised. Not Leander. Disappointment stung as I dashed towards the sound. The corridor dead-ended in another curtain-covered wall. Please be a door. Please be a door. If it wasn’t, I was screwed.
I yanked the curtain back so hard that one end popped off its hook, the curtain slumping like a drunkard. Behind it was a glass sliding door. I’d hoped to see a concerned neighbour, preferably one holding a cricket bat, but the paved area outside was empty. Overlayed on it, instead of my own, frightened reflection, was an unfamiliar female Oneiroi.
I unlocked the door and yanked, but it didn’t give. Her movements frantic, the Oneiroi gestured up and to my right. I looked at where she was pointing, seeing a bolt set at the top of the door. My fingers slipped on it at first, but I gripped it tight and yanked downwards. It slid open with a click.
Something heavy slammed into my back. My head cracked against the glass, pain blossoming behind my eyes. The world went grey at the edges, swimming with tears of pain. I turned just in time for Ikelos’s second punch to hit me in the stomach. I doubled over, gasping. His next blow would be downwards, to the back of my head, I was sure of it. I couldn’t lift my arms to protect myself. This wasn’t about incapacitating me so he could try to possess me. He couldn’t do that anymore, trapped as he was.
He’s going to kill me…
“Hey, Ikelos,” the Oneiroi shouted, her voice right behind me.
Ikelos snarled, shoving me back into the hall, and launched himself at the glass. I expected him to burst through it like a villain in a movie, but it was safety glass and he bounced off it. The other Oneiroi flinched, grey wings twitching, and then laughed.
Ewan’s face twisted into a visage of such fury that he barely looked human. His eyes narrowed to slits and he bared his teeth in a snarl, spit flying as Ikelos growled something incomprehensible. Balling his fists, he attacked the window.
Swallowing to stop myself from vomiting, I crawled away from the door. The Oneiroi in the reflection kept up a stream of taunts, presumably knowing Ikelos couldn’t get to her, trying to keep his focus on her and away from me. Had Leander sent her? Was he okay, still tucked away in a corner of my subconscious, or was he bleeding to death?
My stomach felt like one huge bruise. So did my forehead. What did internal bleeding feel like? Leander wasn’t the only one who had to worry about bleeding to death.
I had to deal with Ikelos fast.
The bathroom tiles were cold against my hands and hard against my knees. Gasping for breath and with my ears ringing, I scrambled to my feet and staggered to the broom cupboard. It swung open easily and I searched the contents for weapons. The broom and mop wouldn’t do me much good. The laundry detergent might, if I could get it in his eyes. The—
Ah ha.
My trembling fingers wrapped around the white plastic handle of a steam iron. It felt twice as heavy as it should have, and my hands shook as I lifted it from the shelf. Its cable unravelled, tapping against my shin as I shuffled back out into the corridor.
Ikelos saw my reflection in the glass as I came up behind him. He turned.
Screaming, I swung.
The iron caught him in the temple with a dull, wet sound. He teetered, blinking at me, confusion puckering his brow.
Then he fell.