Kelly Creagh

“Words...have always held the dangerous power to conjure things into being.”

“But, Isobel thought with a bleak and sad smile, what better place to bury what was dead than in a cemetery?”

“Is — is any of this real?" she asked. "Are you real?"He lifted a hand to her cheek, his fingers brushing her jaw."Even if this is a dream," he whispered, "I'm not."Isobel's eyes widened, recognizing those words as her own, the same ones she had once uttered to him. She reached for him, her arms twining around his neck, drawing him closer so his scent poured over her, that combination of incense, citrus, and dried leaves overriding the funeral funeral smell of the crowding flowers."Don't leave," she breathed."I'm here," he whispered. "Right here. Waiting.”

“His voice ripped through her, low, soft, and a little husky- like the hushed crackling of an old fashioned record player just before the music starts”

“Awkward dot com.”

“The pain in her body came first, an intense surge of fire that raged like lava through her veins.But it could not compare with what followed after.A wail rose up from her depths. It left her as an inhuman cry.Finally, she remembered everything.”

“So, you let me get through that whole spiel, my entire tirade, but weren't going to let me have the dramatic walkaway, were you?”

“Besides," Gwen added, fluffing the dress folds, "this thing took forever, so you're wearing it.""Wait you made this?" Isobel asked, distracted."Altered it," she admitted. She shrugged. "Half off at the Nearly New Shop. By the way, you owe me twenty-five dollars.”

“In the shadows of the dreamland, he waits. He watches the gaping windows to the world he had so longed to open. Now flown wide, bleak and empty, ravaged-like him-it grants his wish. He belongs. It cannot compare to the memory of her eyes. Blue azure, warm as a summer sky. If he could but fall into their world. Would that he had. Now he write the end to the story that past its Midnight Dreary-that too late and hour-has its own without him. It was always, he knows now, meant to end this way. Like that circle that "ever returneth into the selfsame spot." My beautiful, my Isobel. My Love. You ask me to wait. And so I wait. For all of this, I know, is but a dream. And when, in sleep, at last we wake, I will see you again.”

“Isobel, this was the only way I knew how to reach you. After tonight it will all go away. I never meant for you to be pulled into any of this-ever. Please believe that. Somehow I've lost control of everything. I only wish I could see you again. I wish I could tell you everything that I couldn't before. Most of all, I wish there was a way we could start over. Whatever happens now, please believe that I didn't mean for it to end this way. Yours always. - V”

“That a single kiss from a boy who knew how to walk through dreams, who himself now seemed to be a dream, hadn't irrevocably altered her.”

“She felt him pull her to him. His voice, acidic and sharp, buzzed in her ear. "Soon...I'll be all that's left.”

“I can't help it that I'm susceptible to you," he whispered. "You know that. It's just that you're so...unreal...and so I have to touch you. If only to be certain that I'm not the one who's dreaming. You see, I hear that sort of thing is going around.”

“Dreaming aside," he went on, "how can you be so sure your world is the real one?”

“Even if this is a dream,” he whispered, “I'm not.”

“She looked up from the tag. "Uh, news flash. Your friends hate me.""They don't know you," he said. Opening his door, he climbed out. He turned back, though, and leaned in on the door frame, peering at her. "Besides," he said, "you'd be with me.”

“Isobel’s face burned. Her skin tingled where he’d touched her, with an almost imperceptible electricity that she couldn’t be sure if she was imagining. Like the tips of her fingers had somehow fallen asleep.”

“I'll keep it," she said. "Then, when you get back, after you and the dark one are done making out and planning a future filled with blond-haired, green-eyed, pigment-challeneged rug rats, I'll bring it over and you can add it to your scrapbook, right before you start cooking me dinner. I like vegetarian lasagna with cottage cheese instead of ricotta.""Gwen?""And don't forget the mushrooms. Garlic bread, too, please. That is, as long as your vampire lover doesn't object.""I want to say thank you," Isobel said. "For... everything.""No," Gwen said. "Thank you for the delicious dinner. I can almost taste the baklava you and Darth Vader will be making for dessert. Something tells me you're gonna have to look that one up, though.”

“He leaned down, far enough that the dark ends of his hair brushed feather-light against her face, caught in her lashes, She had just enough time to take in a breath, to blink, to part her lips before he took them with his own. Time froze. Her heart ceased to beat. Her eyes fluttered shut.The cool slip of the small metal loop pressed into her skin as he kissed her. Urgent.Gentle.So slow.Sweet, soft demolition.He tasted of cloves and coffee. And of something else. A farawat essence, familiar and yet somehow foreign, too. Something sere and arid. A little like some. A little like decayAsh.”

“She wanted to touch him, to throw her arms around him — but something held her back. Maybe it was the fear that her arms would pass right through him, that she would have come all this way only to find a ghost after all.As though he’d been able to read her thoughts, he slowly angled toward her. He raised his hands and held his palms out to her. Isobel lifted her own hands to mirror his. He pressed their palms together, his fingers folding down to lace through hers. She felt a rush of warmth course through her, a relief as pure and sweet as spring rain.He was real. This was real. She had found him. She could touch him. She could feel him. Finally they were together. Finally, finally, they could forget this wasted world and go home."I knew it wasn’t true," she whispered. "I knew you wouldn’t stop believing." He drew her close.Leaning into him, she felt him press his lips to her forehead in a kiss. As he spoke, the cool metal of his lip ring grazed her skin, causing a shudder to ripple through her."You..." His voice, low and breathy, reverberated through her, down to the thin soles of her slippers. "You think you’re different," he said. She felt his hands tighten around hers, gripping hard, too hard.A streak of violet lightning split the sky, striking close behind them.The house, Isobel thought. It had been struck. She could hear it cracking apart. She looked for only a brief moment, long enough to watch it split open."But you’re not," Varen said, calling her attention back to him. Isobel winced, her own hands surrendering under the suddenly crushing pressure of his hold. A face she did not recognize stared down at her, one twisted with anger — with hate."You," he scarcely more than breathed, "are just like every. Body. Else."He moved so fast. Before she could register his words or the fact that she had once spoken them to him herself, he jerked her to one side. Isobel felt her feet part from the rocks. Weightlessness took hold of her as she swung out and over the ledge of the cliff.As he let her go.The wind whistled its high and lonely song in her ears. She fell away into the oblivion of the storm until she could no longer see the cliff — could no longer see him.Only the slip of the pink ribbon as it unraveled from her wrist, floating up and away from her and out of sight forever.”

“I told you you’d come," said a nearby voice, one Isobel knew well. "You said you would."(…)"You shouldn’t have, though," he said, and looked up, his face twisted with anger. "Even if we knew you would, you shouldn’t have." He got up and began moving toward her."Why," he growled, "when we will only show you we are not worth it? Why, when we have no other choice but to prove to you we’re not worth it?”

“He brushed his thumb across her lips. “I guess you're not as easy to forget as we'd hoped.”

“As though sensing her heightening alarm, Pinfeathers halted his advance."I can’t help it that I’m susceptible to you," he whispered. "You know that. It’s just that you’re so...unreal...and so I have to touch you. If only to be certain that I’m not the one who’s dreaming. You see, I hear that sort of thing is going around.”

“Can I tell you something?" He tilted his head, moving in closer still, so close that she could feel his breath against her cheek. "Do you want to know what my grandma used to say about kisses on the forehead?"He pressed his lips to her brow, holding the silk soft kiss for a long moment while Isobel stood in place, unable to bring herself to shove him away."She told me it’s the kind of kiss we save for the dead.”

“He opened his palm and saw that the watch remained. Still there. Still real.Varen looked up at the figure that stood atop the fountain.With a howl of rage, he made it burst apart.He fell to his knees amid the wreckage and floating dust.Crumpling into himself, he released a choking sob, knowing that he, too, belonged to the ruin.”

“To Madeline, This subtle second selfSheaf of meCan do more than you ever could.Like you, it can leaveAnd goSomewhere else.The night splits me in two.I disconnect —To sink, to fall, to flyAnd rageForeverAnd alwaysWithout you”

“I keep telling myselfThat you’rejust a girl.Another leaf blown across my pathDestined to pass onAnd shrivel into yourselfLike all the others.Yet despite my venomYou refuse to witherOr fade.You remain golden throughout,And in your gaze I am left to wonder if it is me aloneWho feels the fall.”

“Sleep now a little whileTill within our dreams we wakeUnfolding our ForeverIf only for Never’s sake And take me to your ever afterLet’s hide behind our eyesTogether pour through that doorWhere autumn never diesAnd I’ll sift my sands to your sideBefore we slip awayBefore we’re little more than siltBeneath the rocking waves And side by side we’ll fight the tideThat sweeps in to take us downAnd hand in hand we’ll both withstandEven as we drown.”

“He clutched the watch hard in his fist, determined to destroy it, to prove that it couldn't be real. That she hadn't come here because of him, for him.That he hadn't done what he knew he had.”

“You, strange puzzle of a girl, are very lucky.”

“You never give up, even when you should.”

“Is it also true that you drank to excess?” Isobel asked, flipping to the next index card.Poe scoffed at the question, his response simply “Nyeh.”Varen’s head snapped so quickly toward her father that Isobel was surprised the sunglasses hadn’t flown off.“Well, sometimes,” Poe corrected himself. Shifting, he stooped in his seat.Varen’s stare remained.“Often,” Poe growled, angling away, pulling his already tight jacket around himself even tighter.”

“Isobel watched as Varen’s head turned slowly toward her father. She couldn’t exactly tell with the sunglasses, but she somehow knew that he had to be staring down the false Poe with one of his most penetrating “you are the essence of lameness” expressions.”

“Yesterday,” she began, speaking to his back, hurrying as though there was some element of him that was part hourglass.”

“Isobel's heart crashed against the cage of her chest, beating against his.”

“Isobel looked down at her lap, at her hands. She turned her left one over, remembering where Varen had written his number on her that first time. Those numbers were gone now, but in hindsight, he may as well have tattooed the moment onto her soul.”

“If they failed the project - when they failed the project - the book would give her one last excuse to see him. To tell him everything, she thought, letting her eyes slide closed. Everything she should have said already. She'd spit it all out, regardless of who was around to hear it. She'd tell him how she couldn't stop thinking about him, how she just wanted to be near him. She'd do the unspeakable. She'd let her hands slide inside his jacket and her arms slip around him.”

“As much as he was different from other guys, he still had that stupid male pride thing.”

“Learn to awaken within your dreams, Isobel.”

“Why did he have to be so...so...”

“Words, Isobel, have always held the dangerous power to conjure things into being. Remember that.”

“Isobel moved farther into the kitchen, not knowing whether to be relieved that her mother hadn't had an atomic meltdown, or mortified that she'd taken it upon herself to play head chef with the nearest thing Trenton High had to a Dark Lord.”

“And if you ruin it I own your soul.”

“You think you're different.” Her voice wavered, and she hated sounding so weak. “You think you're all so different,” she went on, louder this time. “You do everything to be different,” she spat. The silence of the table -of the whole cafeteria- was reclaimed in an instant. "But you're not," she said at last. "You are just like every. Body. Else”

“What can I say?" Poe muttered. "Chicks dig the mustache.”

“Oh, sure. Let me just ask my geek brother to stop slaying zombie ninjas for a few hours so I can borrow the PC and catch up on my Victorian horror lit.”

“And keep a watch out at the garage door, because you’ll be back by the stroke of seven thirty and in time for dinner or else you’ll turn back into an alien and be deported to your home planet.”

“I Have Great Faith In Fools; Self-Confidence My Friends Call It.”

“It was here that Isobel first felt the twinge of an inward pull on her mind. Slowly the words started to get out of the way and let images of courtiers revolve, in slow motion, through her mind's eye. It was as though she had somehow adapted to the density of the language. Soon the words smudged away from the page, and in their place, she was left with the sensation of gliding through the scene, like she'd become a movie camera, sweeping through the sets of rooms and over the heads of costumed actors.”

“Isobel's head popped up. "What does 'sagacious' mean?""Sagacious," he said, writing, "adjective describing someone in possession of acute mental faculties. Also describing one who might, in a bookstore, think to get up and locate an actual dictionary instead of asking a billion questions.”