Worlds Collide (The Land of Stories #6)(59)
“Attaboy,” Goldilocks whispered.
After the ovens were filled to capacity with baking gingerbread soldiers, the witches gave the Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts of America a new task. All the cauldrons and trays were moved to the side of the Great Lawn and replaced with piles of candy. The witches gave the Scouts welding tools and ordered them to make weapons out of the sweets. The children made candy cane swords, lollipop axes, licorice whips, candy apple ball and chains, and gummy bear nunchakus. The Scouts piled their finished creations in the center of the lawn, and the arsenal grew a foot taller with every passing hour.
To say that the Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts were exhausted was an understatement—it was a miracle they were still conscious. The children had been working non-stop since before Conner and his friends had even arrived at the witches’ base. Many of the Scouts started nodding off as they made the candy weapons, but they would quickly sit up before one of the witches could punish them. Although Conner’s adrenaline kept him alert, watching the tired Scouts put him in touch with his own fatigue. He leaned his head against the bars of the candy cane cage and, against his will, fell into a deep, deep sleep.
Conner dreamed he was standing in his old neighborhood in front of his old house. It wasn’t the boxy rental house the twins had moved to after their father died, but the house their family lived in while he was still alive. It was painted blue with white trim and had so many windows, the house looked like it was wearing a pleasant smile. The front yard was groomed to perfection, and there was a large oak tree the twins loved climbing when they were little.
Oblivious to the horrors in his waking life, Conner smiled at the lovely sight of his former home.
“I must be stressed about something,” he said to himself. “I only dream about this house when I’m upset.”
Conner walked up the winding path through his mother’s rose garden and entered the house through the front door. He expected to step into a cozy living room with tufted sofas, a small white piano, and all the other furniture they’d had to sell when they moved. But the front of their old house was barely recognizable because the entire room was covered in papers. Handwritten notes were taped to the walls, pinned to the sofas, and spread across the floor and all the surfaces. Not an inch of the living room was visible.
“Well, that’s odd,” Conner said. “I must have eaten something funky right before bed to be dreaming this. I wonder what it’s supposed to symbolize.”
The handwriting was the same on all the notes and looked very familiar, but it wasn’t his own. Conner pulled one off the wall to read it:
Conner,
I’ve been trying to contact you for days but we’re never asleep at the same time. If things escalate to what I’m afraid of, then I know you’ll be dreaming about our old house eventually—you always do when you’re troubled. Please forgive the mess I made in your subconscious, but it’s very important I get this message to you.
This won’t be easy to read, but please hear me out. As you know by now, I’ve been cursed—probably with the most powerful curse that’s ever been created. It’s turned me into an angry, vengeful, and miserable person. It’s as if the witches have transformed me into Ezmia, and it makes me wonder if they were the ones behind her undoing all along.
Unlike the Enchantress, the witches have found a way to keep me entirely in their control—and that’s what worries me the most. They’ve forced me to do so many terrible things already, but I’ll never be able to forgive myself if I harm someone I love. So I’m begging you, don’t give the witches the chance. You can’t stop the curse, but you can prevent me from doing the unthinkable, by stopping me.
I understand that what I’m asking is a burden no brother should ever be asked to bear, but you’re the only person I can trust to get it done. You’ve seen the magic I’m capable of when I’m upset; if the witches unleash it, the Otherworld could be destroyed. That’s why you and you alone must make sure it doesn’t happen. By taking my life, you’ll be saving the lives of millions, and we both know it’s a worthy sacrifice.
I’ve had a wonderful life, Conner. The adventures we’ve shared over the years are what dreams are made of. I can’t imagine having a better family, better friends, or better memories. That’s why I can willingly “return to magic” without any reservations. I look forward to watching over you and Mom with Dad and Grandma at my side.
I love you with all my heart and am forever proud to be your sister,
Alex
Conner knew he was experiencing much more than a dream. He ripped up the note as if it would make the request disappear, but every note in the sitting room was scribbled with the same message. Conner whirled through the house and tore every paper he could get his hands on, but the message rang out loud and clear: Alex was asking Conner to kill her.
Even in his sleep, the thought of harming his sister made Conner’s heart race and beads of sweat run down his face. Soon he felt two pairs of hands on him, shaking him awake.
“Conner, wake up!” Jack said.
“Sorry!” Conner gasped, and quickly sat up. “How long was I out?”
“An hour or two,” Bree said. “Then you started going full Exorcist on us.”
“I was having a nightmare, but it wasn’t just a nightmare,” Conner said. “Alex has been trying to communicate with me in our dreams. She covered our childhood home in letters asking me to kill her! She thinks the only way we can save the Otherworld is by taking her life!”