Waking Nightmares Read Free Page B

answer. Conjecture would not help Viviane or her brother at this point. Instead, he worked Michael’s mouth open, massaging the muscles of the lower jaw to get it wider. A dark mass was visible just inside, and at first Octavian thought the man’s tongue had swollen. The smell that wafted out of Michael’s throat was much worse than the rest of the room—moist and filled with rot.
    He glanced around, grabbed the slim flashlight from the nightstand, clicked it on, and shone its beam into Michael Chenot’s throat. The mass had seemed more solid in the dark, but now Octavian could make out the tiny leaves and green and brown strands that made up the mossy clump growing there.
    “Have you ever seen anything like this before?” the professor asked.
    “Not exactly like it, no,” Octavian admitted, stepping away from the bed.
    “What is it?” Viviane asked. “How does something like this happen?”
    Octavian narrowed his eyes, studying the man in the bed. “Things like this don’t just happen. It could be a curse. It could be that Michael was attacked by something or someone . . . an earthwitch, maybe.”
    “What the hell is an earthwitch?” the professor asked.
    “Usually benevolent, actually,” Octavian replied.
    “But can you help him? Can you get it out of him?” Viviane pleaded.
    “I can try,” Octavian said. Somehow that did not assuage Viviane’s fear for her brother, but he had not come to take away her fear. He’d come to help, if he could. “Do you know what kind of plant this is?”
    The professor glanced away. Obviously he had some ideas. Viviane only frowned and shook her head.
    “It’s cannabis,” Octavian said. “Marijuana.”
    Viviane stared at him and gave a soft chuckle of horrified disbelief. “Pot? Michael’s got pot growing inside him?”
    “Does he smoke regularly?” Octavian asked.
    Her eyes began to glaze over with confusion, as though she were looking inward for an answer.
    “Yeah,” she said. “Plenty.”
    “Where does he get it?”
    At that, Viviane gave a sickly laugh. “Get it? They grow it. Michael and his housemates. They’ve got a whole crop in the basement of their place. Heat lamps and everything.”
    “Have you heard from any of the housemates since Michael came over here the other day?”
    Viviane shook her head.
    Octavian glanced at the professor, then back to his girlfriend.
    “Give me the address,” he told her.
    “Okay. But . . . can you get this stuff out of him? Derek said you . . . that you knew magic.”
    She said the last word as though it embarrassed her. Octavian figured it probably did. Not the word itself, but the suggestion that she might believe it to be more than a word. A lot of people felt that way about magic, right up until they needed it.
    “I’m going to check out the house,” Octavian said. “Try to get to the bottom of this. If I can, that might cure him. But if it doesn’t, I know an earthwitch who probably can.”
    “But you said you thought an earthwitch might have done this!” Viviane said.
    Octavian took a last glance at her brother.
    “Time to find out.”

     
    MICHAEL Chenot lived in a three-story brownstone with a faded blue awning over the door and a peaked roof with a little walk-out balcony. According to his sister, there were three apartments in the building, all occupied by McGill students. Michael and three friends lived on the first floor, which gave them the best access to the basement, but the students in the other apartments didn’t complain about their little pot farm as long as they were able to share in the spoils once in a while.
    Octavian had learned all of this from Viviane before leaving her place. Now he and the professor stood outside Michael Chenot’s brownstone, studying the dark windows and quiet façade. The place seemed almost abandoned. One of the first-floor windows had a crack in it. A strange moss grew from beneath the window frames on the ground level.
    “You’ve been here before?”