The Dream-Maker's Magic (21 page)

We all stared at him a moment. “What?” Leona said faintly.

Raymond waved a hand. I caught a glimpse of a lace cuff beneath his jacket sleeve. “Your
actions
, Leona, have been to work diligently in the tavern since your father's death, demonstrating your intent to make it a profitable and prosperous business. Phillip's
actions
have been to show no care or interest in the business at all, demonstrating his intent to live a life unburdened by responsibility. Going by this measure, Leona has proved her claim to the property and Phillip has not. The tavern is yours, free and clear.”

All of us exclaimed in pleasure—except Phillip, who slammed an open hand down on the table. “I don't believe you!” Phillip shouted. “I want my day in court!”

Raymond nodded. “And you shall have it, if you like. I will argue your sister's claim. You—or perhaps one of your estimable friends—can argue yours.” He adjusted a cuff link, then glanced up to give Phillip a piercing look. “I suppose you know I have not lost a case in the past year. And I have argued dozens.”

Phillip pounded a fist down, then jumped to his feet and took three rough strides around the room. I saw Chase watching him, ready to take him on in a fight if the young man turned ugly. But most of my attention was on Phillip, whose headlong motion came to a sputtering stop as he halted in the middle of the room and stared back at all of us. His face had changed so rapidly from anger to despair that, for the first time, I actually felt sorry for him.

“It's not fair,” he said, his voice low and a little shaky. I remembered again that he was really only a boy—my own age, or thereabouts. “I'm to get nothing? He was my father, too.”

Leona came to her feet, though Chase caught at her arm as if to keep her from going to her brother. “You have a home here anytime you want,” she said steadily. “And a job, if you want to work. I would never turn you out of the tavern. But I won't give it up for you. I won't let you take it from me. I'll share it, if you like.”

“No!” he shouted, and he balled up his hands at his sides. “I want—what I want—I don't want
this.
I want to take my inheritance and turn it into something else.”

“Not a bad idea, but you don't have an inheritance,” Raymond said. “Your sister's offer is a good one. If you work beside her for three years, putting in the same kind of hours she does, the ‘intent by action' statute will apply to you as well. At that point the court might have to reconsider—”

“But I don't want to work here! I want—you don't understand what I want!” he cried, and his voice was so pitiful that I continued to feel sorry for him, even though he was behaving so abominably. “To be stuck here—trapped in Wodenderry—I have other places to go, things
I
want to do! I can't—it would be death to me, staying at this place all the time.”

“Well, then,” Raymond said, “this place will never be yours.”

Phillip stared at him for a moment, stared at Leona, then flung himself out the front door without another word. A smattering of applause came from the other patrons of the tavern, as well as a few calls of, “That's the way, Leona!” and “Good job! Congratulations!” The rest of us sat there a few more moments, a little stunned.

“Well,” Leona said finally. “That was certainly dramatic. I'm so relieved that I'm a little numb! Raymond, how can I ever thank you?” She laughed. “Besides paying your bill, I mean.”

Raymond adjusted the set of his suit jacket. “I think, one of Kellen's admirable dinners will be all the additional thanks I require,” he said. “And perhaps, now and then, if you have a friend who needs legal advice, you might mention my name.”

“That I will certainly do,” Leona replied.

I hurried into the kitchen to make Raymond's meal—and, indeed, begin preparations for all the other dinners I would be serving that night. I was completely delighted for Leona, of course, and yet I found myself feeling a great deal of sympathy for the thwarted and disappointed Phillip. He was rather a wretched boy, but then, I had never seen him engaged in any enterprise that interested him. Tavern-keeping certainly did not, and why should it? He had his own dreams to pursue; he did not need to be tied to his father's. I found myself wishing that Gryffin had been present during one of the moments Phillip had dropped by the tavern to make another of his threats. Maybe the alchemy of the Dream-Maker's magic would have turned his ill-natured demands into impossibly delicate dreams. Maybe Gryffin would have known how to make even Phillip's desires come true.

T
he day before Wintermoon, a package arrived from my mother. I had sent her an inexpensive Wintermoon gift—and one for Georgie, as well—and I expected the rather small box to contain something as slight and frivolous as the lace collar I had mailed to her. Indeed, there was nothing very special about the gloves she had enclosed, though she had knitted them herself, but the letter that accompanied them almost made me faint to the kitchen floor.

I was reading the letter through for the third time when I felt someone touch my arm. “Kellen?” It was Leona. “Kellen? Are you sick? You've turned so pale. Should I go fetch Chase? He's in the other room.”

I looked at her, my eyes so wide I thought I should be able to see the whole world at once. “Leona,” I said. “My father died and left me a lot of money.”

“He did? I didn't even know your father was still alive. I'm sorry, of course—”

“No, he left me
five hundred gold pieces
! I haven't seen him since I was nine years old! I thought he was dead! I can't believe this!”

Now she clapped her hands together. “Kellen, that's wonderful! You can—you can buy a house for that! You can open up a business or travel the country or—I don't even know what anyone would do with so much money! When do you get it?”

“I have to go to Thrush Hollow, my mother says. I have to sign some documents, I suppose.”

Her face was mischievous. “Take Raymond with you if there are documents involved. Or
any
kind of inheritance.”

“I don't think I'll need Raymond. This should be very straightforward. I'll just—I'll just—I think I'll just sit down a moment.”

Leona ran to get Sallie and Chase, to tell them the news, and soon the three of them were crowding around me, full of congratulations and contagious joy.

“You won't have to work for a living anymore, that's for sure,” Sallie said.

“I was just thinking that, and I can't bear it!” Leona exclaimed. “Kellen, you promised me you would never move away. Even if you become as wealthy as the queen, you'll have to stay right here in the city. You'll buy a house down the street. You'll come over every morning to have tea, and you'll be my cook on the days I need an extra hand.”

“Well, I'll work through Wintermoon, at least,” I said, still feeling dazed. “I don't want to travel over the holiday. Then I guess I'll go to Thrush Hollow.”

“You
guess
you'll go? You
guess
?” Sallie derided. “If I had that much gold waiting for me, I'd be on the stagecoach tomorrow.”

We were still babbling in the kitchen, ignoring all our customers, when the door swung open and Gryffin rolled in. “Here you are!” he said. “I was beginning to think you'd all fallen into a snowdrift somewhere.”

“Gryffin!” I exclaimed. “You'll never guess—my mother writes to say I've inherited a fortune from my father.”

“Really? That's wonderful! What will you do with it?”

I laughed. “I have no idea!”

Sallie was beaming. “That's what it means to be best friends with a Dream-Maker,” she said, nodding at me. “Your every wish is granted.”

“I used to wish that my father would do something to prove he loved me, and now I suppose he has,” I said. “But I never thought to wish for
money
!”

“Then maybe your wish got mixed up with mine,” Sallie said, holding her hand out. “So I'll take that gold now, thank you very much.”

We all laughed some more, and probably would have remained there another hour, talking like idiots, if there hadn't been a crash of glass from the other room. Leona started. “Oh! There are twenty people waiting to be served!” she cried, heading for the door. “Sallie, come help! I don't think Kellen's going to be much use to us today.”

“I will be!” I called after them. “Just give me a minute and I'll get dinner started.”

I turned back to Gryffin, to find him shaking hands with Chase Beerin. “You look just as I remember,” Gryffin said. “I have always wished I had a chance to thank you for everything you did for me that day. I had forgotten what it was like to be out of pain.”

Chase squatted down by Gryffin's chair, his face professional and serious. “Yes, but it seems like you have remembered pain now,” he replied. “Kellen says you were injured and never really recovered. Could I take a look at your legs? Perhaps there is something I could do to help you.”

Gryffin looked uncertain, but he covered the expression with a smile. “Oh, I'm sure you didn't come here tonight planning on physicking the customers.”

“I don't mind. I'm rather interested in your case.”

“You can go to my room for some privacy,” I said. I pointed at the door that led to my small chamber and hoped I had remembered to make up the bed that morning.

“Thank you,” Chase said, and motioned Gryffin forward. I saw Gryffin hesitate a moment, giving me an unreadable look, and then he set his wheels in motion. Chase followed him into my room and shut the door.

I began the preparations for dinner, but my mind was far from the bacon and the flour and the parsley. Would Chase really be able to offer Gryffin some relief from his incessant pain? If so, why had Gryffin looked so uneasy at the thought? What was transpiring behind the door of that small room?

I set a pan in the oven to bake and mixed up fresh ingredients for a dinner cake. Then I washed my hands and crossed to my room and gave a soft knock. Gryffin's muffled voice bid me to come in.

The scene was strangely reminiscent of the first night we had met Chase—the three of us gathered in a small room lit by candles, Gryffin stretched out on the bed with his legs uncovered, somber expressions all around. But Chase's face looked hopeful, I thought.

“What have you discovered?” I demanded, sitting on the bed next to Gryffin, so close our shoulders were almost touching.

“I can't be sure of anything until I do a more thorough examination,” Chase replied. “But I think I could do him some good. It would require a surgical operation to repair some of the damage to the bones. And then it would require that Gryffin learn how to walk again, and practice new exercises every day. I don't think he will ever be entirely out of pain, or ever walk without the use of a cane, but I believe I could restore some mobility and relieve at least the worst of the agony. I don't think I can heal him, but I can make him better.”

I clapped my hands together. “Oh, Gryffin! What wonderful news!”

The smile on Chase's face was a little sad. “Gryffin does not seem convinced of that,” he said.

I felt myself grow tense. “Why? Is he afraid of the surgery? Gryffin, it can hardly be worse than what you live through every day.”

“Well, yes, it can,” Chase said candidly. “It can be quite gloriously painful. But a surgical incision will improve, whereas his current condition will not.”

I pulled back enough so I could view Gryffin's face. He had flung one of my blankets over his legs, but I had seen them when I first came in—still the twisted, thin, bruised-looking sticks they had always been. “I don't understand,” I said quietly. “Why are you afraid?”

Gryffin looked from me to Chase, his face a study in vulnerability. “I want to do it, truly I do,” he said. “For myself? I would love to be so strong I could put aside this wheeled chair and walk across the kingdom. But what if—what if I only have my magic because of my pain? What if I lose the Dream-Maker's power? I have done so much good for so many people. Wouldn't it be selfish to pursue my own happiness and leave everyone else with no hope of achieving theirs?”

“Oh, Gryffin,” I whispered, and put both my arms around him. I could feel my tears start, and I rested my cheek against his shoulder so he wouldn't see. “That wouldn't be selfish at all.”

The small smile was back on Chase's face. “If pain is what anchors the magic to you, I don't know that you would need to worry,” the doctor answered. “As I said, I don't think you'll ever be free of it. Just much improved.”

“Yes, but then, perhaps the magic is diluted as much as the pain is….”

I lifted my head. “Then perhaps it will be someone else's turn to be Dream-Maker,” I said rather fiercely. “As the power passed from Melinda to you, so it will pass from you to someone else.”

“But what if it doesn't?” Gryffin said.

Chase shrugged. “If it doesn't? Then people must work harder to achieve their own desires,” he said. “Besides, I've often wondered. Is there really only one Dream-Maker at a time? I've witnessed things—moments of bravery, acts of mercy—that lead me to think all of us can make dreams come true for someone else, at least once or twice in our lives. I've done it, I know I have. I've seen others do it as well. Why shouldn't that be a charge on all of us? Each of us be Dream-Makers when we can. Why should all that power reside in the hands of one hurt boy?”

I gave a watery chuckle, my face still pressed against Gryffin's bony shoulder. “That sounds like heresy,” I said.

Chase shrugged. “Well, I have always been the kind of man to ask questions,” he said. “No reason to stop asking them now.” He came to his feet, and both of us looked up at him. “Think about it,” he urged as he reached for the door. “Discuss it with Kellen. I am here most nights. You can find me again when you want to talk.”

“Can you check on the oven on your way through the kitchen?” I asked. He laughed, assented, and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Gryffin and I sat in silence for some moments. My arms were still around him, and one of his hands had come up to hook itself over my wrist.

“What are you thinking?” I asked at last.

“I don't know what to think,” he replied. “I am afraid to do it, and I am afraid not to. It is not something I ever let myself hope for before. It is not something I ever wished for. How can a dream come true if it wasn't even your dream?”

“I wished it for you,” I said. “It would be my dream come true if you were whole and out of pain.”

The softest of laughs, almost a sigh. “I told you before not to waste your dreams on other people.”

I lifted my head. “What are you telling me? That you
don't
want to be well? That you
don't
want to be able to walk again?”

“I don't want to lose the power,” he admitted. “Not just because I am afraid to see magic go out of the world. But because—because—who will I be then? What will I be if I am no longer Dream-Maker?”

I dropped my arms, though I wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him. “Who were you
before
you were Dream-Maker?” I demanded. “You were the smartest boy I'd ever met. You worked harder than anyone I knew. You set goals for yourself that would have seemed impossible for anyone else, but I knew you would achieve them. You wanted to come to Wodenderry and study—well, here you are in Wodenderry. If the power leaves you, then follow that old desire. Become a lawyer, like Raymond, or a doctor, like Chase. How many dreams could you make come true then?” I put my hands on either side of his face. “If the magic leaves you, you will be who you always were,” I whispered. “You will be the person who matters most to me in the world.”

His hands covered mine where they lay against his cheeks. “Would you love me if I wasn't Dream-Maker?” he asked in the smallest voice.

I replied, in tones as soft as his own, “I will love you no matter what.”

The next day was Wintermoon, the most magical day of the year. Time to look ahead to the future and refine your hopes and dreams. Time to tie your wishes to a Wintermoon wreath and watch them get written in flame against a moonlit sky. Wishes had been generally in flux lately, I thought, at least for the people I was closest to. It would be hard to know exactly what items to attach to the great rope of greenery hanging over the bar at Cottleson's. It would be hard to brace for the new year, since it seemed so much had already happened—and so much was still undecided.