Page 85 of Of Flame and Fury
“Three days.”
“You have to be kidding me,” I step away from him. “I’ve been gone three days? It’s felt like a few hours—long hours, but not days.”
He closes his eyes in that way he does when he’s reaching out to his wolf. “Hmm.” It’s all he says when he looks at me.
I wave my arms dramatically, something I’ve become really great at since this nightmare began. “Care to elaborate? I’m dying here.”
“Your time here appears to match the time inside Genevieve’s quarters.” He scans the area, pausing when he gets a whiff of leftover Misha bits.
“Stay put,” he tells me.
“Nope,” I reply. I almost bump into him when he stops short.
“Do you want to die in here?” he asks.
“No,” I admit. “This is a sucky place to die.”
“Then stay put,” he growls.
I grin. “You’re so cute thinking your growls have any effect on me. Only in the bedroom, big boy. Only in the bedroom.”
He growls again, but I catch the smirk.
“Look,” I begin. “Maybe only a few hours have passed, but it’s already been too long. I’m sticking with you, and that’s just how it’s going to be from now on.”
His smile is soft and there and so what I need. “It sounds like the best idea you’ve shared in a long time.”
I return his smile. “Consider us two rays of sticky sunshine.”
My hand clasps his as we ease forward. When I hesitate to approach Misha any closer than a few feet, Gemini crouches and takes a deep breath. The smell of death and rot to the remains is not pungent, it’s barely there at all. Given my time in the supernatural world, I recognize festering aromas as well as I do my own arm.
Misha’s blond hair is coated with mud and bits of him, and multiple strands appear glued to the ground and debris. I recognize parts of him as the real Misha, the long torso, the muscles that proclaim speed, agility, and wrath, except now that I look closer, he seems slightly off, just as Johnny did.
“It’s supposed to be Misha,” I say.
“I gathered as much by the ridiculous hair.” Gemini quiets, appearing pensive.
“What is it?”
“Not Misha,” he says.
“Well, I figured as much.”
“It’s Johnny,” he says. “At least a part of him.”
“Yes,” I agree. “This whole place is Johnny, as well as everything he’s created. Just like the wards that are still holding our Destiny.”
I tell him what happened. All of it, including my suspicions on how Johnny isn’t really Johnny anymore.
“CGI?” he repeats when I finish.
I cross my arms and edge farther away from the corpse. “It’s the best way I can describe him. You know when we used to watchGame of Thrones? How good the CGI was?” He nods. “But regardless of the advances in technology, the special effects were always just a little off. Like, you knew it wasn’t real, and not just because dragons don’t exist.”
Again, he nods. “Johnny was the same way,” I explain. “His creatures are real, and his mind-screw of the rooms are spot on.”
“The rooms are easy compared to everything else,” Gemini says, appearing to understand where I’m headed. “He only has to manipulate the magic within it, not create it from scratch.”
“Exactly,” I agree. “And while he created the Nytes over time, their deaths are costing him. This realm, or whatever we’re in, is costing him too. He can’t keep it up. There are no sounds. Barely any scents. Hardly anything real. It’s like abandoned artwork, only half done.”