Read Online Ten Thousand Skies Above You by Claudia Gray - Free Book Online Page A

quite simple.”
    Like it would ever be “simple” for me to betray my parents, much less while I’m afraid for both Paul’s and Theo’s lives. “You could have sent anyone to be your saboteur, or gone yourself.”
    â€œThere are dimensions where my reach is . . . limited.” It seems to gall Conley that he has to admit that he’s not omnipotent. “And yes, I could send certain other emissaries, but in order to do the kind of tricky work I’m looking for, they’d have to take Nightthief for a very, very long time. You know what that does to people now, don’t you?”
    I remember Theo thrashing on our deck, body in spasm, skin pale. “Yes, I do.”
    â€œWe didn’t expect this one side effect. See, after a while, exposure to Nightthief takes away your ability to dream—hence the name. Sleep researchers still aren’t sure exactly why the ability to dream is so vitally important, but it is. Once you’ve lost it . . . let’s say mental processes start to break down rapidly, and dramatically.”
    There’s something uniquely cruel about Theo dying because Wyatt Conley will no longer let him dream.
    â€œAs for the physiological damage—well, I don’t have to fill you in on that, do I? You’ve found out for yourself what Nightthief does to the lungs, the muscles, et cetera. But don’t worry about that. The lack of REM sleep will kill Theo before any of the rest progresses much further.” Conleysmiles, though I don’t know what he thinks is so funny. I imagine taking one of the swords from the castle guards outside and stabbing it straight into his gut. He continues, “So, to sum up, do these errands for me, and in return, you get not one but two grand prizes. Once you report in to the home office, I’ll give you the formula for a solution that should ease Theo’s symptoms, maybe even reverse them.”
    â€œThat doesn’t sound like a cure.” If Conley intends to keep Theo sick—use him as a kind of hostage—I swear I’ll go for one of the swords right now.
    Instead, Conley becomes serious and—possibly—sincere. “Marguerite, this is the best we have. If I could cure Nightthief exposure quickly, I wouldn’t need you, would I? But this treatment gives him a chance to heal. Keep treating him, and eventually, his body’s immune system should take care of the rest.”
    Should . Not will. Still, I believe he’s telling the truth, only because he really wouldn’t need me if he had a cure.
    Even more earnestly, Conley says, “And at the home office, I’ll also give you the coordinates for the final splinter of Paul’s soul—for the universe where you can put him together again. No errands to run there; that dimension isn’t one of my problems. You can just go get Paul and bring him home. Sound good?”
    I imagine reawakening Paul, holding him in my arms, and telling him I’ll never let him go. I need that even more than Conley will guess—more than I can ever let him know. “It sounds . . . necessary.”
    There’s that smirk again. “Is that a yes?”
    Someday, I’m going to make Wyatt Conley sorry he ever screwed around with us. For now I have to play along. “Yes. Now give me what I need to get the job done.”
    He holds out his hands to gesture at the stone walls and flaming torches. “I’ll give you the data, but I need a little more sophisticated setup than this. Shall we return to your home turf? I can transmit the first coordinates from there.”
    My dimension, he means. I’m relieved to hear him suggest it. Mom and Dad deserve to know what’s going on. By now they must be frantic. “Okay.”
    Conley takes his own Firebird from the collar of his robe. With its intricate design and dull bronze color, his Firebird looks . . . mysterious. More antique than cutting edge.