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Sing Sweet Nightingale

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Erica Cameron

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“Near my feet is a glowing archway. The light is white and shimmery, like iridescent glitter, and it’s so tall the top nearly brushes the ceiling. Inside, instead of seeing the cement wall of the basement, I’m looking at evenly spaced wooden pillars and a reed-mat floor. Standing on that mat is a woman with curves that would make a Playboy model jealous. She’s wearing a long, butter yellow dress, and her white hair hangs down to her waist. She looks like an angel when she smiles at me, holding out her hands. “Hudson, come with me.” Her voice reminds me of the breeze rustling through the trees near the lake. Soft and subtle and calming. “Let me help you.” Did I die? Maybe the scratch on my side got infected. Maybe I’ve been slowly bleeding to death from internal injuries for the past week. Who knows? If this is death, if she’s what’s waiting for me on the other side, then fuck it. I’m letting go.”

DreamsSing Sweet NightingaleThe Dream War SagaHudson VincentThe DreamworldCalease
Book:Sing Sweet Nightingale
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“What in the seven levels of hell did my son see in this place?” Horace asks. We’re standing on the street on Thursday morning, staring up at the house, after taking inventory of the place. From here, I can see five different spots where the brick needs to be repaired and pick out where shingles are missing on the sloped roof. The porch sags, and the windows are dingy. But if I let my eyes go out of focus and ignore all that, I can kinda picture what the place might look like after a little—never mind—a lot of TLC. “It has good bones?” I suggest. “It’s got old bones,” he mutters. I smirk. “Yeah? So do you. Doesn’t mean they’re all bad.” He smacks my arm, but he’s grinning. “Just wait till you get to be my age, and then tell me how good old bones are.”

HumorSing Sweet NightingaleThe Dream War SagaHudson VincentHorace LawsonVictorian HousesHome Repair
Book:Sing Sweet Nightingale
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“In the last three months, I’ve started having creepy dreams that give me a glimpse of the future. Or sometimes a portal will open up in the middle of the night and something will try to kill me. There’s no way to know which one I’m gonna get hit with each day. It’s kinda like playing Russian roulette every night with a drunk who hates you.”

DreamsSing Sweet NightingaleThe Dream War SagaHudson VincentThe Dreamworld
Book:Sing Sweet Nightingale
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“When I look at Mari now, it’s like I see her in layers—the burning blonde with the ribbon over her mouth, the princess tearing apart a screwed-up tea party, the goddess wrapped in burning chains, and the girl who is somehow all those things yet isn’t aware of it. Who doesn’t even see the cliff she’s running toward at full speed.”

VisionsSing Sweet NightingaleThe Dream War SagaHudson VincentMariella Teagan
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“They call it the Dementor’s Kiss,” said Lupin, with a slightly twisted smile. “It’s what dementors do to those they wish to destroy utterly. I suppose there must be some kind of mouth under there, because they clamp their jaws upon the mouth of the victim and — and suck out his soul.” Harry accidentally spat out a bit of butterbeer. “What — they kill — ?” “Oh no,” said Lupin. “Much worse than that. You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you’ll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no… anything. There’s no chance at all of recovery. You’ll just — exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever… lost.”

Harry PotterRemus LupinDementors
Book:Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
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