─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jet never should have indulged.

Not in a shopping spree, or alcohol, or the psychedelics the couple from downstairs occasionally like to offer her. No, she had sought company in her dreams.

After her break up with Lucas, she'd begun dreaming of a man. It had been frivolous and harmless at first, vague images of mismatched socks, a purple scarf. Slowly, it had morphed into a man. Having just been betrayed by one in real life, Jet should have put a stop to it then and there. But after the initial anger, Lucas' betrayal brought upon her a sense of loneliness. With that loneliness came vulnerability, and thus she had let herself succumb to her dreams.

They are harmless, after all, so long as she isn't sleep talking, and she made sure to take the concoction every night just to be certain. Worst comes to worst, it's a skilled lucid dreamer who's also feeling incredibly lonely in real life.

He would not have any way of contacting her, since her inherited protection keeps her safe from being found without her knowledge or consent, so Jet had let her defenses down.

Thus, she dreamed. Often, she could hear him calling out for her, but his voice was distant, the words indecipherable. But Jet knew he was calling for her. And with every night, with every dream, he grew clearer, sharper; the timbre of his voice echoed even while she's awake and trying to work.

One night, she dreamt she's at a park, and he was there, waiting by a bench. There, sitting, his long legs stretched out before him, his socks mismatched and suddenly he was no longer a vague entity. He took the form of a tall man with tousled brown hair. Handsome and statuesque, Jet had expected him to glide, as ghosts and apparitions do, drifting in and out of one's vision, elegant in his amorphous mystery.

But he moved with awkwardness, like he felt his limbs were too long, or he's unsure of how to conduct himself in this hazy landscape. He walked slouching forward, and when he smiled, Jet could make out dimples on each cheek, a surprising softness against the sharp angles of his face. He had held her hand that night, and his touch seemed so solid, so warm, that Jet let him.

That should have been her first warning. His movements are too weighted, too real, to have simply been a figment in her dream.

But escapism was a hell of a drug, his touch was intoxicating, and her bed felt so damn cold after the abrupt break up with Lucas. Jet had been growing used to the feeling of being loved only for it to be violently ripped from under her, betrayed by someone she had trusted.

So sue her for indulging in what she had thought was a silly little dream.

The problem was, once they'd made physical contact, it seemed as though a gateway had opened, allowing room for other things. More touches. Words, conversations. He likes to fidget with his hands, and gesticulate when he speaks. His voice is soft, a little high pitched, but with a lilting quality to it, dipping up and down whenever their conversations venture to a topic he enjoys.

He liked to read, he said, and enjoyed Tolstoy. He quoted several passages of War and Peace from memory, spoke with so much confidence that Jet was inclined to believe him even though she had no idea if what he's even reciting is correct. But the fact that he'd recited such a long text seemed so outrageous, so fantastical, that Jet chalked it up to dream magic. Of course he quotes classic Russian literature, it's a dream. Anything can happen in a dream.

They talked, and while Jet can't remember much of what they were talking about, she remembers the feeling of knowing him, of peering into his soul as he bares himself in front of her, this phantom of a man who seems all too real, yet only appears in her dreams.

That was her second warning. The conversations were too specific, the dreams too vivid, too consistent - nearly every night, if she's asleep by eleven in the evening.

And because she is a witch, she knew better than to let it get to a third.

Thus her spells began. Regular salt is usually enough, but it isn't working with this man, so she crushed up some charcoal, blessed it with moon water, and mixed it with salt. This she put in a jar, filled with basil, and sage, then sealed it with her favorite candle. Kept it on the windowsill to guard her. She stopped sleeping at eleven, staying awake until past midnight. She wasn't sure if the time played a part in it, but she wasn't about to take any chances.

Somehow, she still dreams of him. But the dreams are softer after that, and when he speaks, he sounds as if he's far away.

"Maeve?" he had asked one night.

Jet knew she shouldn't have answered, but she laughed and told him, "No, who is that?"

The look on his face had been so distressed she almost wished she could take it back.

"I'm -" she almost gave her name, but she caught herself just in time, stopping just as her lips form the syllable of her name, "I'm not Maeve." she says instead.

She squeezed his hand, and he didn't return the action. Oddly, it sent a pang in her chest.

The next morning, she made even more black salt and made a circle of it around her bed. Enough, Jet thinks as she carefully tipped more black salt over her window sill, this is getting too far. Get out of my head.

She never should have indulged in the first place. But here she is, desperately trying to block out whoever this man is because it's completely ridiculous to be getting cozy with someone in a goddamn dream. She should know better than that. It's weird and cliche and she's not going to use some apparition of her dreams as a rebound for her failed relationship.

Jet groans. That's it. She's sad over her relationship ending, and now her dreams are growing weirder, more vivid, a reflection of her baser desires.

Unfortunately for her, the protection can only go so far, especially since the man from her dreamland rendezvous holds no ill intentions.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When the scent of honey began to permeate her apartment, Jet had smiled. Honey meant Leni. Again, it was something that just was, this instant association between her sister and the citric, sweet scent. She called Leni that night, with the intention of telling her about what happened with Lucas.

"The bastard made me the other woman. I can't believe I was fooled for six fucking months," Jet grumbled, a little tipsy off the mulled wine she made. She hadn't meant to make this conversation all about her, not really, but once she heard Leni's familiar voice, it felt like a dam had broken, and the words all came spilling out.

Leni laughed. "Please tell me you kept a lock of his hair. We can do some really fun things to him."

"I already did," Jet said, "I made sure his socks will always be mismatched when he most needs them to match. He was always so particular about those fucking socks, god, I can't believe I didn't catch that he was living a double life."

"You were always a bit of a fool when it came to love."

"Bitch. You're supposed to be on my side."

Another laugh from Leni, tinkling through the phone, and Jet's apartment is flooded by the scent of honey. So warm and sweet, it was almost sickening. If she had been in better spirits, she would have noticed right there that the smell was beginning to cloy. That Leni's answers, despite being characteristically witty, were short and quick.

"I'm always on your side Jet, but that doesn't mean I can't call you out. Listen, I have to go, okay? It's getting late and I have an early morning tomorrow."

"You have the opening shift again?"

A pause, and then a hasty, "Right, yeah. I do."

"Mm, thought you hated being the one to open the cafe." Jet mumbled, downing the rest of her wine. The fragrance of her room was almost heady, saccharine honey mixed with tart wine and the bag of potpourri.

"Just some things I have to take care of," Leni replies quickly, "Take care of yourself Jet. I love you."

"Love you too."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The smell of honey doesn't let up. Even the man in her dreams noticed it.

"Did you know that an average hive has about 50 000 to 60 000 worker bees populating it?" He told her that night, his voice hazy and distant, "And each bee has 5 eyes. So that's roughly 250 000 eyes in one hive!"

He's barely corporeal now. Jet imagined she appears just as ghostlike in his dreams as well, which means her spells are working. Despite the muffled quality, Jet could still hear his excitement when he shared the fact. It made her laugh, but she's too distracted to continue the conversation.

Did she miss home so much that it has begun to seep into her dreams? Is this some sort of cry for help? Spiraling after being scorned?

Maybe she needed a break. Maybe she should see Leni.

"I have to go home." she announced, and before the man could respond, she woke up to the nauseating smell of spoiled honey. Stuffy from contamination. It filled her lungs so deeply she shot out of bed with a coughing fit. She opened her phone.

3:12 in the morning.

And then, a message from Melissa, the co-owner of the cafe that Leni manages. For some reason, dread fills her chest and stomach, coiling like a snake about to rest after a meal. Jet opens the message. It's a link to some news article, with the words "We're safe, but I thought you should know."

Biting her lower lip, Jet clicked on the link.

Oh shit, she thought. She bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood. It comes out overwhelmingly sweet - honey.

Fuck. Lenore, why didn't you tell me?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The bus ride back to Massachusetts is relatively stress free. Jet had taken a quick leave from her job, which earned her some side eyed looks as she took the rest of the week off on such short notice. But she didn't care.

She needed to get back home. Needed to see her sister. She read through the news article again, gnawing on her lower lip. A series of murders, all connected to the cafe.

Melissa had assured her that Leni was safe, but it didn't stop Jet from worrying. Murders. Plural. And her sister hadn't told her, even during their phone call.

Pettiness had won out, and as soon as her leave was arranged, Jet had hopped on a bus back to her home state without telling her sister. Let her be surprised, Jet thought, her nose flooded with the scent of honey. It followed her everywhere now.

She stared at the news article on the phone, committing every word to her memory. Pretty soon, the smooth pace of the bus pulled her to sleep, her head resting against the window in a position that was bound to leave her with a crick in her neck when she woke up.

She had been in such a hurry that she forgot all her protective salts and crystals in her apartment. As sleep takes her, she's seized by a vision of the man she's been meeting in her dreams.

In sharp, crystal clear focus.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───