I don’t think past that. I don’t look back out at the battlefield to see if the ‘corpses’ are starting to rise. I don’t need to, and I don’t have time. All I have time for are a few hasty steps back, as I angle the grenade launcher down, aiming at the ground in the middle of them. That, and firing, and hoping the guardian watching my body has my back, and can pull me out of here.

  Thought moves like light, or faster, because, no sooner than I’ve thought of it, than I’m back in the Ops Centre, lying on the bed, grenade launcher in hand, flamethrower nozzle sticking up beside my head, from where I’ve left it resting against the wall—except that’s not right.

  I raise the grenade-launcher’s muzzle and fire it at the ceiling in the centre of the room, ignoring the fact that a dozen protectors and their guardians are in here with me, because it’s just not true, not any of it. It can’t be.

  I’ve screwed my eyes tight closed against the flare of phoz going off over my head, but I’m not afraid; I know it won’t burn. I wait, but the expected flash of light doesn’t come, so I open my eyes again, and, this time, I’m alone. I wonder where my defender is, my guardian, the one who should be keeping me safe while I sleep, and I scramble into a sitting position, remembering my fight with Deloigt.

  “The guardians can’t be trusted,” he’d said, and I’d been furious.

  “Your guardian in particular,” he’d added, going on before I could shut him up. “They’ve been compromised.”

  “Compromised?” I’d managed, because that was all I’d been able to get out without shouting.

  “In their dreams,” he said. “They protect us while we fight, but no-one watches over them while they sleep. It’s stupid when you think about it. Everyone knows we can’t be gotten to when we sleep, but no-one’s thought to check the guardians are built the same way.”

  Built. That word echoes with significance for me. Deloigt has built a castle for his guardian, somewhere he can take him, once he falls asleep. Deloigt meets his guardian at the edge of sleep, and guides him to safety. I haven’t been doing the same for mine.

  “Mina,” I whisper, but she does not reply, and that’s when I realize I haven’t heard from her for a while. “Mina?”

  The voice that greets me from the dark is totally unexpected.

  “She’s here,” it says. “We’ve been having tea.”

  Tea. It sounds so civilised, except the voice is familiar, and not in a good way. I struggle to remember the vampire’s name, am horrified to find I can’t.

  “You can come and join us if you wish.”

  But Mina had been standing beside me when I’d gone into the dream realm. How could she be here? Why would she be having tea with…with… I struggle to find the memory, but only find its shadow.

  “Give it back!” I command, and the vampire laughs across the dark.

  “You know I can’t do that,” it says. “Besides, it was delicious.”

  The reply makes me feel sick to the stomach.

  “How many have you taken?” I ask.

  I’d like to sound strong, but I sound like I’m in shock, which is about right. The vampire ignores how I feel, but answers from the dark.

  “Not as many as I’m going to,” and that’s when I realize I am alone, that the vampire has only been able to eat one memory, or very few, that somehow my mind isn’t being devoured, even if he’d like to.

  “Won’t you join us for tea?” he asks, sounding mildly plaintive.

  I’m surprised when Mina’s voice joins in.

  “Please, Cindy. It’s ever so lonely without you.”

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Ah, yeah, I just bet it is.

  “Where are you?” I ask, looking properly around, for the first time.

  I’m not in a forest glade. That’s a bit of a shock, since I should be.

  Actually, I’m not sure where I am, given there’s no light. I can feel grass beneath me, and tree bark at my back—and the puzzling scent of roses and lavender in the air. I look up, but the tree’s shadow is deep, deeper than the night-dark I can see at its edges. I wonder why the vampire can’t find me in here.

  “Cindy.” Mina, again. “Cindy. Where are you?”

  She sounds impatient, and I wonder why.

  “Yes, Cindy,” the vampire echoes. “Where?”

  “I don’t know.” I answer, before I can stop myself, and I see the wisdom of whoever put me here.

  Usually vampire compulsion cannot touch me, but that thing has fed off my memories, left its hooks inside my head. I decide that maybe I’ll wait for dawn; it can’t be far away, even if time flows differently in the dreaming realm.

  I open my eyes, my real ones this time, and find myself still sitting at the base of an enormous tree, with grass beneath me, and bark at my back. That, at least, is reassuring. I think about pushing to my feet, and walking out from the tree-shade to take a look at the stars—the stars would tell me where I was—but I decide against it. As long as I don’t know where I am, the vampire can’t know, either. I wonder where Mina is, as their voices come whispering out of the dark.

  “Why don’t you take a look at the stars?”

  “How can I protect you if I don’t know where you are?”

  I want to tell Mina that she hasn’t done such a good job of protecting me, as it is—and why, in the Heavens’ name would she be having tea with a vampire?

  The vampire laughs.

  “Tea, indeed,” it says, and I hear Mina gasp.

  The gasp is quickly followed by a moan, and the vampire laughs, again, as the sounds Mina makes leave little to the imagination.

  “Tea is one word for it.”

  I put my hands over my ears. Deloigt was right about the guardians—a happy shriek pierces the night inside my head—well, my guardian, at least. They are well and truly compromised, and I don’t think Mina’s coming back from this. I wonder if memory vampires create other memory vampires, if they drain a person’s mind completely.

  “Would you like to find out?” the vampire asks.

  “No,” I say. “No, not at all.”

  It’s silent, like it’s thinking about it, and then it sighs.

  “No? Well, perhaps not yet.”

  Mina cries out, less in pleasure and more in pain, but the vampire remains silent.

  “Please, don’t,” I say. “Don’t.”

  And Mina whimpers, before giving a long, satisfied sigh.

  For a long moment, there is silence in the darkness, and I look out at the night beyond the shade. I hope dawn isn’t far away. Inside my head, I feel the vampire’s interest sharpen, and realize that the darkness is turning to grey, that its depth is explained by the walls I can see rising at the far end of a garden.

  I close my eyes, not wanting to see more. I can feel the vampire willing them open, and then Deloigt’s voice intrudes.

  “Let it see,” he says, and my eyes are open before I can stop them.

  “Keep watching,” Deloigt instructs, and, this time, it is the vampire who doesn’t want to see.

  I smile, and I study the garden beyond, extra hard. If the vampire doesn’t want to do it, then it must be done. I stare, focusing on the growing detail beyond the tree’s shadow.

  Inside my head, the vampire tries to turn away, but I can see a fountain, and a white, gravel path leading between the dark pink blooms of well-tended rose bushes.

  A headache blooms behind my eyes, and my skull threatens to crack open, but I keep staring at the fountain, as the vampire starts to scream. Mina screams, too, and, suddenly, they are both there, the vampire standing in front of the fountain, with Mina in his arms. Two of them, in the garden, in front of the fountain, as the sun rises above the castle wall, and bathes the place in light.

  It’s a good thing that memory vampires share that one vulnerability with their blood-drinking cousins, or I might have been in trouble. I watch as the monster explodes into a pillar of rapidly dissipating ash, and Mina starts to fall.

  For a minute, I feel both alarmed and relieved, and then, with one final shriek, Mina’s body vanishes, as well, and my shout of horror mingles with hers.

  “Damn,” Deloigt says, coming out from behind the tree, to wrap an arm around my shoulders and help me to my feet. “I was hoping we’d gotten to you both in time.”

  I sag against him, not sure if I want to faint, throw up, or cry. Mostly, I’m feeling hollow.

  Together, we walk to where ash stains the whiteness of the path, watching as it swirls and disappears on a light morning breeze. When I stop, he stops beside me, but he waits until I find the words for speech.

  “How many more?” I ask.

  “You’re the last,” he replies, and I turn toward him in shock.

  “You and Mina were the strongest,” he says. “I figured you’d hold out the longest.”

  We both glance back at Mina’s disappearing remains.

  “I’m sorry I was wrong.”

  “Not entirely,” I say, and stop, looking at his face.

  It takes me a moment to voice the suddenly emergent fear.

  “Or is it too late for me, as well?”

  He hugs me tight, and I wait, unsure if he’s actually hugging me, or preparing to drive a stake into my chest. It’s a very long moment, before he holds me at arm’s length and looks into my eyes.

  “This time,” he says, “we made it.”

  His eyes cloud, and I think I catch the tell-tale sparkle of tears forming, but he turns away. I barely catch his words as he heads out from under the tree.

  “But it was close. Far too close.”

  For who? I wonder, as I follow him into the light, and then I wonder if he’ll ever let me find out.