Sing Sweet Nightingale

S
ING
S
WEET
N
IGHTINGALE

T
HE
D
REAM
W
AR
S
AGA

Erica Cameron

S
PENCER
H
ILL
P
RESS

Copyright © 2014 by Erica Cameron

Sale of the paperback edition of this book without its cover is unauthorized.

Spencer Hill Press

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Contact: Spencer Hill Press, PO Box 247, Contoocook, NH 03229, USA

Please visit our website at
www.spencerhillpress.com

First Edition: March 2014
Erica Cameron
Sing Sweet Nightingale / by Erica Cameron – 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Demons invade the dreams of children and create fantasy worlds in their heads and the only boy to ever escape has to show a girl that her dream is nightmare before she’s trapped forever.

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this fiction: Ace Bandage, Camaro, Camry, Formica, Hershey’s Kisses, iPod, Lysol, Mario Kart,
Mission: Impossible
,
Playboy
, Ping-Pong, Post-it, Scrabble, Smurfs, U-Haul, Wolverine

Cover design by Jeremy West
Interior layout by Jenny Perinovic

ISBN 978-1937053963 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1937053970 (e-book)

Printed in the United States of America

For my mom, Corey, who is always proud of my success but would love me even if I failed
.

Also, for Lani. This story wouldn’t have been born or found such a loving home without you
.

…and hereafter she may suffer—both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams.
Bram Stoker, Dracula

They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.
Edgar Allan Poe

One

Hudson

Friday, May 23 – 12:34 PM

I hate this park. Wouldn’t ever come here again if J.R. didn’t like it so much.

My little brother is running circles around himself on the path a few feet ahead, his arms out like an airplane. My gaze jumps from him to the red oaks on either side. There are too many shadowy hiding places between those trees. I know. I’ve used them before.

Lifting my hand to the olive-branch wreath pendant I got from Calease, I take a deep breath, calming myself like she taught me. In four, hold four, out four. Repeat. Under my calloused thumb, I can feel the bumps and ridges of the glass leaves. I focus on the soft, white, otherworldly glow surrounding it and turn toward my brother.

I drop my pendant as soon as I look up. J.R. is nowhere in sight.

Heart pounding, I scan the path. There’s no one here.

“J.R.?”

He doesn’t respond. My hands clench. Despite the warm spring air, I’m chilled.

“C’mon, kid. Where’d you go?”

I’m straining for any sound. Someone running with a struggling four-year-old, or the whimper of a kid who tripped and skinned his knees. Anything. Something to lead me in the right direction. Only because I’m concentrating so hard do I hear his soft, muffled giggle.

When I zero in on a low shrub to my left, the tension drains from my body in a single flood. I catch him just as he shifts behind the plant, his shock of white-blond hair poking out from behind the evergreen leaves.

I run my hand over my own buzzed-short hair and grin. It’s rare when the kid can find a good hiding spot. He’s too much like me—too tall for his age and cursed with hair that practically glows in the dark.

“J.R.?” I keep looking around like I don’t know where he went. Walking backward toward the bush, I check everywhere except his hiding spot.

The bush comes up to my knees. As soon as the branches poke the back of my legs, I strike. Spinning around, I reach over the bush and grab him around the waist.

“No fair! No fair!” His skin is flushed bright red. He pouts and crosses his arms when I hold him against my chest. “No fair, Hu’son. I’m too tall!” He rubs his hands over his hair, pushing down on his head like he can make himself shrink by force.

I laugh and pull his hands away. “It doesn’t work, kid. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

At four, he’s as tall as some six-year-olds. I was the same way, and nothing I did kept me from topping out at six-five. From what I can tell, my kid brother’s gonna end up following in my footsteps. Hopefully, he’s not
too
much like me. Looks are one thing, but if he gives Mom and Dad the same problems I did, constantly getting in fights and bringing trouble home, they’ll probably boot him out of the house faster than they did me. At least he won’t be alone. I’ll be eighteen next week. If it comes to that, he won’t have to live on the streets like I did. I’ll be there to take care of him.

“Ready to go home?” It’s not really a question; I’m already heading in that direction.

Nose wrinkling, J.R. shakes his head and grabs my pendant, rubbing his fingers over the etched glass. He thinks it’s cool because it’s mine, but he can’t see the glow. No one can but me.

“Aren’t you hungry?” I ask.

A hesitation, but he shakes his head again. “No.”

“Really? Are you
sure
? I think Mom was making pizza for lunch.”

His face lights up, his pale blue eyes shining as he bounces in my arms. “Pizza! Pizza! Hu’son, can I put on the roni?”

“
Peppe
roni,” I say.

“P’roni. Peh’roni.” His nose scrunches up, and he sticks out his tongue. He tries a few more times until the frustration gets to him. “Roni!” he finally shouts, giving up on trying to get it right.

I laugh. “Good enough.”

J.R. chatters for a few seconds about the bird he saw chasing a squirrel away from its nest this morning until, out of nowhere, he says, “Who’s that?”

“Who?” I look around, but I don’t see anyone worth questioning. We’ve gone beyond the playground area, and this section is almost deserted. On a bench ahead of us, there’s a guy asleep with oversized headphones on, and behind a row of trees a jogger is on the path, but that’s it.

“No, there.” J.R. puts his tiny hand on my cheek and pushes my face the other direction.

As soon as I look, my blood turns to ice. Three guys are approaching fast. The tallest one has tattoos running down his neck and covering one arm, and the shorter guy on his right is built like a linebacker but moves like a track star. I hear a blade click into place, and my eyes lock on the third. He’s moving slower than the others, but the look in his dark eyes scares me more than the other two combined.

Heart pounding, my arms tighten around my brother’s legs. His weight presses my glass pendant into my chest. Calease gave it to me when I made her a promise.
No more fighting
, I swore. Ever. It was part of the deal we made two years ago, after she helped me control the anger and the instincts that kept getting my ass in trouble. The same kind of trouble that’s found me now.

“Hey, buddy. Do you remember the way home from here?” I’m already jogging toward the exit. Gotta get him closer to the street. It’s only a few blocks to home. The last thing I want to do is send him into the city by himself, but I have to. If I run, I’ll lead these guys right to my doorstep. It looks like they came prepared. There’s no guarantee they don’t have backup waiting outside the park. I doubt they’re gonna let me go, but they might overlook J.R. He’s just a kid.

J.R. nods. “I ‘member. It’s right and then left and then left and then—”

That’ll at least get him to our neighborhood.

“Want to race?” I put him down and push him toward the street.

“Ready.” His eyes widen, and he grins.

“Set.” His face settles into that intense concentration only little kids seem capable of.

“Go!”

J.R. is off like a shot. As soon as he rounds the corner onto the main street, I turn toward trouble.

“Shoulda walked right by that night,” the tall one growls at me.

Calease always warned me that my past would come back to bite me. Looks like she was right. I don’t know who they are or what I did to them, but that doesn’t matter now.

The psycho with the knife jumps in, blade plunging toward my chest. I duck and slide away, backing closer to one of the trees. I may not be allowed to fight them, but I’m not gonna stand here and let them stab me either.

I keep them in sight but look around, hoping someone comes up the path. They’ll rush me as soon as I go for my phone. I’m fast, but I can’t dodge them all. If I can catch someone’s eye, I might have a chance of getting out alive.

Shit. Now they
all
have switchblades. The linebacker grins at me and flips his knife, catching it easily by the hilt.

“Shoulda stayed the hell outta our way,” he says.

I have no clue what he’s talking about. I don’t have the chance to ask.

Two of them surge forward. I squeeze between them, letting their swings arc toward each other instead of me. They pull back in time to avoid slashing each other open. I try to dodge around the tall one, but he’s faster than I expected. I barely duck in time. His knife catches my shoulder instead of my throat, slicing through shirt, skin, and muscle like butter.

Flexing my hand makes my eyes water. I almost scream. My arm burns like someone dumped lit propane over my skin, but it moves. Until one of them locks my arms behind me.

I break his hold on one arm. Before I can free the other, a blade slices along my ribs. This time, I can’t keep from screaming.

There might be a couple seconds left before one of them lands a death blow. I could yank myself free and slam their knives into their own chests. I want to. But I catch sight of the pulsing white light surrounding Calease’s pendant.

I can’t do it. I
can’t
do it.

I can’t break my promise, but because of that promise, I’m going to die.

Jesus, I’m glad J.R. got the hell out of here.

A high-pitched shriek splits the air. All three of them cringe, looking around for cops. They think it’s a siren, but I know what’s coming a second before the tiny body throws itself into the mess. I heard it once. When he woke up from a nightmare.

Screaming like a banshee, my little brother flings himself into the fight and bites into the arm of my captor.

“Shit!” The guy drops his knife and shoves J.R. away.

J.R. lands on the concrete with a thud, but only for a second. Before I can worry that the kid’s been knocked out, he’s up and launching himself back into the fray.

“Leave my Hu’son ’lone!” he shrieks.

Tough as they are, willing as they are to fillet me like a fish, all three of them hesitate when faced with a fouryear-old.

I don’t.

Fuck promises. I made that promise to Calease to keep my brother safe from exactly what’s happening now. Not even for her will I stand by and watch him die.

Shoving my last captor away, I raise my arm to knock his head right off his neck—

And I can’t move.

I can’t
move
.

Why the hell can’t I move?!

My head is locked down, and I’m looking straight at the pendant Calease gave me. It’s always glowed with a faint white light, but the light is ten times brighter now. And it’s not white anymore. It’s orange.

Someone punches me in the stomach. The air pushes out of my lungs. I still can’t move. It’s as though I’ve been covered in concrete. I try to shift my weight, balance myself, strike back. There’s nothing I can do to keep myself from tumbling backward.

My head cracks against the pavement. The spots in my vision clear in time for me to watch the knife arc toward my chest. I can’t close my eyes.

So, I have to watch when J.R. tugs on my assailant’s arm, trying to pull the knife away from me, and accidentally guides it straight into his own chest.

For the space of a single heartbeat, the world is so motionless it’s as though time has stopped. All three of my would-be assassins stand over J.R., their faces masks of horror. Shock is the one thing keeping me alive. Keeping me from breaking in half.

And then the bloodstain starts growing on his pale blue shirt.

“NO!”

Something in my chest shatters, the shards shooting through my body like acid-dipped shrapnel. The orange light from my pendant pulses, and the glass is suddenly like an ice cube against my skin, but whatever was holding me paralyzed breaks.

Surging to my feet, I kick the closest body out of the way to get to J.R. I don’t give a shit about them. I need to get him to a hospital.

“What the fuck did you do?” one of them screams above my head.

Sirens fade in from a distance. All three run, shoving their knives into their pockets as they tear out of the park.

“It’s gonna be okay,” I whisper, gently scooping him into my arms and running toward the gate.