The Last Dream Keeper (9 page)

That's where Daniela went,
Lizbeth thought.
She knew it wasn't real. She was looking for the source of the magic.

“It was an illusion,” Lyse said, pulling the shawl from her head and wrapping it around her shoulders. She turned to Arrabelle, who was still standing in the middle of the hiking trail, eyes fixed on Lizbeth: “How did you find us?”

Arrabelle blinked when she realized Lyse was speaking to her.

“Text from Daniela. Just got it,” Arrabelle said. “I have my car up the way.”

“We need Daniela—” Lyse started to say.

“Daniela's here.” Daniela crunched her way through the underbrush, her hair disheveled, but a wide grin on her face. She turned to Arrabelle: “You got my message.”

Arrabelle nodded, eyes still lingering on Lizbeth—which made Lizbeth feel weird. She didn't like being stared at like a specimen under a microscope.

“Things are getting weird and I think it's best if we reconvene at Dev's. We need to talk as a coven,” Daniela continued. “Besides, I'm beat from running. I scared the crap out of a bunch of hikers, but when I got down to the other side, I was too late. Whoever cast that spell was gone.”

She held up a pair of binoculars.

“But I found these at the grove—which we're gonna have to reconsecrate, by the way, since someone's breached our wards. They were watching their handiwork.”

“Agreed,” Arrabelle said, taking off her green sweater and slipping it over her arm.

Arrabelle was usually so put together, but today her face looked puffy, her eyes red and swollen like she'd been crying. Lizbeth had worked as the herbalist's assistant for months and she'd gotten used to Arrabelle's cool reserve. In all that time, she'd never once seen Arrabelle get emotional.

“You heard her talk?” Daniela said to Arrabelle, tilting her head in Lizbeth's direction. “Stupid crazy, right?”

Lizbeth blushed, wishing she were back in the dreamlands with Temistocles. He didn't embarrass her the way her blood sisters did, didn't look at her like she was some kind of freak. He treated her like an adult. Which she technically was—and he'd
kissed
her like she was one, too.

“Lizbeth and I are going home,” Weir said, reaching for Lizbeth's arm. “Then we're packing a bag and getting the hell out of Dodge.”

Everyone turned to face Weir. He'd been silent up until this moment, but now he looked ready to fight. From experience, Lizbeth knew once Weir had made up his mind about something, it was almost impossible to change it—and his mind looked pretty made up.

“We can't let you do that,” Daniela said. “It's not safe for either of you out there on your own.”

Weir began to shake his head, his mouth fixed in a tight grimace. Any emotion stopped at his eyes, which were cold
and unreachable. He looked from Daniela to Arrabelle, and finally to Lyse, who took the bullet and stepped forward.

“Weir, I know all of this sounds crazy—”

“There was a massive storm and then it was just
gone
—”

“I saw it, too. It was scary—” Lyse said, and tried to touch his arm.

He stepped out of her reach.

“Fuck scary,” Weir said, glaring at Lyse. “It's not safe for LB. You think you guys are going to be able to protect her? There were police at my house—”

“We don't know what they were,” Daniela said. “But that's beside the point right now. We need to get somewhere safe. All of us and the sooner the better.”

“If there even
is
a safe place,” Arrabelle murmured softly.

Weir wasn't having any of it.

“No way. It's not gonna happen, Daniela.” He turned to Lyse and Arrabelle. “You're all welcome to come with us.”

“I'm sorry, Weir,” Lyse said. “There is so much you don't know or understand . . . We're needed here. We can't just run away because we're afraid.”

She sighed, letting her hands fall to her sides, where they clenched into tight fists.

“And Lizbeth can't, either. We need her. And we need you, too.”

Weir bit his lip, a lost child in a grown man's body.

“I . . . my job is to take care of Lizbeth.”

Lyse nodded.

“Let us help you with that.”

Weir turned to Lizbeth, waiting for her to weigh in. She didn't want to disagree with him, but she knew Lyse and Daniela were right.

“Well?” Weir asked, his fear manifesting as impatience. “You can talk now, so what the hell do you want to do?”

What do I want?
Lizbeth thought.
I want to go back to the
dreamlands, but if I can't have that then I want . . . to do what would make Eleanora proud.

“Dev. Let Dev show you the cards and then you'll see.”

Weir nodded, capitulating to Lizbeth's request.

“Okay, we'll do what you want. For now . . . but if anything, and I mean
anything else
”—he let the words hang in the air so Lyse, Arrabelle, and Daniela would know he meant business—“happens, we're done. I don't care what you want, LB.”

“We read you loud and clear,” Daniela said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Good,” Weir replied. “That was the point. Now let's get the hell out of here.”

“The car's just over here,” Arrabelle said, pointing up the trailhead.

They trudged up the path in silence, cutting through the trees. It seemed like everyone had forgotten about the notebook, so Lizbeth kept quiet, waiting until she was in Arrabelle's backseat, between an angry Weir and a distracted Lyse, before pulling it out and opening its cover.

She traced the word
Evolvo
with the tip of her index finger . . . and then she began to read.

Hello, last of the Dream Keepers. Last one born under the old moon, last one born before the blood moon heralds the coming of
the others
 
. . . my name is Marie-Faith and I sit here holding this notebook with no idea whether my sly trick will work. The dreamlands mirror our own reality, and some things, like a Dream Keeper's consciousness, can pass between the two. Francesca believes we can use this to our advantage, to keep this sensitive information safe. In case something happens to me, or to her . . . Francesca is a Dream Keeper, like yourself, and she lies on the bed nearby me, asleep. She is traveling in another realm as I dictate this story to her. She will write it down there, in a mirror image of this notebook, my words in
her head, so that only those who can walk in dreams might read it . . . strange the way these two worlds work, each bleeding over into the other. But that is neither here nor there . . . what I need to say to you, last of the Dream Keepers, is brief, and I only hope it will be enough to prepare our world for the oncoming Flood—out of the darkness, on quiet feet, it will arrive at our door before we know it—and then we must band together to prevent it from destroying everything we hold dear. Already it has slipped into our ranks . . . the Council has not been impervious—this is a truth . . . trust
no one
, last of the Dream Keepers.
No one
 . . . not even the members of your own coven, barring Eleanora. She is the only one who can be counted on. Listen to her for she is wiser than me . . . I'm sorry to be so harsh, but you must be made to understand, and all I have at my disposal is this notebook. A paltry sheaf of pages that might never see the light of day . . . but I have hope . . . although time
is
running out. Even now, Francesca starts to stir . . . You must come to Rome. In the old Jewish catacombs beneath Villa Nomentana, you will find a secret way that will lead you into the vast, underground heart of the catacombs. Here they have been doing unspeakable things . . . locking away souls that have no business being trapped . . . release them . . . we will need their power, the power of
all
the Dream Keepers, once The Flood is at its fiercest . . . Francesca will be there waiting for you with my last gift . . . You will know her when you see her. Godspeed, last of the Dream Keepers . . . you must get there before the blood moon or it will be too late . . . may you save us from ourselves.

L
yse was confused by her feelings for Weir.

She appreciated that he was worried about his sister, that he had no idea what kind of crazy shit Lizbeth was involved in, and that he'd been overwhelmed and thrown into the deep end of their world without any preparation. She knew it wasn't fair to ask him to accept everything he'd seen without question—and yet that was exactly what she wanted him to do. Because she was the master of a coven and anyone she dated needed to be okay with that part of her life.

Until this morning, she'd been ridiculously smitten with Weir, his presence making her feel as giddy as a schoolgirl with her first crush. Even though she'd screwed stuff up, leaving things with him on shaky ground, she'd been hopeful she could fix it.

Now she wasn't sure if Weir liked her anymore, wasn't sure if he even
wanted
to mend things between them. Not that she was writing him off, but his silence made her wonder about any kind of future for them.

If both of them wanted it to work, anything was possible. If they didn't, it was over.

God, she hoped she wasn't turning into Eleanora. She didn't want to be a spinster. Didn't want to be alone forever. She was interested in having a partner, a man who was her equal and could match her in everything. Someone she could trust to be there when she needed him and who wasn't scared of her independence. A tall order. She knew it. But he was out there—and maybe it
was
Weir. Maybe he'd surprise her.

“You have a funny look on your face,” Daniela said, twirling a strand of pink hair around her index finger.

They were in the Mucho Man Cave waiting for Dev to get back from taking the girls their bag lunches, which had been forgotten in the craziness of the morning. Lyse had never been in the actual bar before, only the backyard, where every few weekends Dev and Freddy threw an outdoor brunch for the neighborhood, but it was exactly as she'd imagined it: beat-up rattan tables with matching chairs, dodgy green carpeting on the former garage floor, a real working tiki bar with twinkle lights and a puffer fish hanging from the top of its crossbeam.

The place even smelled like she'd imagined. Stale beer and Nag Champa incense—not as odd a combination as you would think. It was safe and homey inside the Mucho Man Cave, which made Lyse kind of love it.

The only thing out of sync with the rest of the bar was the man sitting in the corner, bound to a rattan chair with a thick coil of rope. It was a pretty thorough job, and Lyse would never have guessed Dev possessed a talent for binding. But she supposed when someone broke into your house and used magic against you and your children, it would bring out the mercenary in anyone.

He was handsome with sharp features, pale skin, and long dark lashes. He had a thin build, but Lyse could see that he was lithe and muscular, too. If he hadn't been a horrible waste of a human being, she would've found him rather attractive. He
was still unconscious, had been since Eleanora, Hessika, and a stranger wearing a green leather coat had had their way with him. After that, it hadn't been too hard for Dev to drag him out to the Mucho Man Cave and tie him up.

Arrabelle sat across from the man in one of the matching rattan chairs, her dark eyes fixed on him. She looked as if she expected him to jump up from unconsciousness at any moment and attack her. Lyse didn't want to wager on the man's chances if that happened. She didn't recommend crossing Arrabelle. Her friend was ruthless and could do serious damage if she wanted.

On the other side of the room, Weir and Lizbeth were cozied up at the bar, the two of them huddled together like co-conspirators. An articulated skeleton wearing a blue Hawaiian print shirt, aviator shades, and a straw hat sat on the stool beside Lizbeth. Its bony hand was wrapped around a beer can ensconced in a foam rubber coozie. Someone had placed an unlit cigar in its mouth, and when seen from the right angle, the skeleton kind of looked like it was smiling at you.

Slightly creepy.

Lyse and Daniela were sitting by the door, the tiny table between them stopping Daniela from accidentally touching Lyse. She felt bad that they had to be so aware of their proximity to each other, but Daniela's empathic powers were too erratic.

“I keep thinking about the future, about what's coming . . . what Marji said to Dev about needing to circle the wagons and call in reinforcements,” Lyse said, playing with the fringe of her shawl. “That we'd be going away. It's chilling.”

Daniela narrowed her eyes.

“It's been a long time coming. When my mom—”

Daniela stopped speaking, the words refusing to come. Lyse wanted to reach out and touch her friend, offer her some solace, but once again it wasn't an option.

“I'm sorry.”

Daniela nodded, jaw set and eyes as steely as flint.

“It is what it is now. But I know her death wasn't what it seemed.”

“Just like Eleanora,” Lyse whispered, her voice so low that Daniela had to lean in close to hear. “I know how you feel.”

Daniela nodded, sitting up straighter in her chair.

“You never really told me what happened.”

Lyse swallowed hard, emotion flooding through her body.

“He tried to kill me, but Eleanora stopped him. She just appeared. Like this morning. With Dev and the girls? She's a Dream Walker now.”

“So what happened to him? Where's the body?” Daniela asked, eyes on alert. Lyse thought she looked ready to go down to the lake and do battle right then and there.

“I went back early this morning, and there was nothing there,” Lyse said. “Seriously, it was like it didn't even happen.”

Daniela sighed and leaned onto her elbows, dropping her chin into her gloved hands.

“I don't know. It's all so messed up.” She shook her head but kept her eyes fixed on Lyse. After a moment of silence, she changed the subject: “Those two over there are thick as thieves. I just want to see what's in that damn notebook she found. But she's not gonna let it out of her sight.”

“She will,” Lyse said, following Daniela's gaze to where Lizbeth was sitting, hunched over the bar with Weir. “She knows we need to see it.”

“And I love Weir, but he was such a mess up there in the park,” Daniela added as if Lyse hadn't just spoken. “I think it's too much for him. Some people can't handle the massive shift in perception that comes from exposing them to our world.”

Lyse nodded. She'd been thinking the exact same thing.

But before she could reply, the door to the Mucho Man Cave opened and a shaft of sunlight cut across the darkened bar. Lyse and Daniela looked up at the same time, with an
unspoken promise that they would pick up the thread of this conversation later.

Lyse was surprised by how easy it was to be with her blood sisters. She was growing to rely on them more and more, to the point that they were becoming like the family she'd never really had. After all those years of feeling alone, it was hard for Lyse to give over and be open with other people. Her best friend, Carole, had been the only person she'd ever felt comfortable enough to share her deepest, darkest secrets with.

But after Eleanora's death, Lyse had changed.

She'd allowed Arrabelle and Dev to pick up her slack. They'd arranged for the memorial service at the house and not asked Lyse to do anything other than be present. At the time, that was all Lyse
could
do. Eleanora's death, and then the subsequent discovery that Eleanora was
actually
her grandmother and not her great-aunt, had been difficult for Lyse to process. But her coven mates hadn't pushed her, hadn't forced her to deal with things until she was ready.

It was strange to feel like she'd been given four new sisters out of the blue. With all the good and bad that went along with the gift.

“Well, the girls are taken care of and my mom and my sister, Delilah, are on their way now,” Dev said, closing the door behind her and shutting out the sunlight. “They'll be here in the morning.”

It took Lyse's eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness again, but when they did, Lyse saw that the man in the corner had woken up—and he was looking right at her. Their gazes locked and a visceral thrill ran through Lyse's body. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table and she swallowed hard before dragging her eyes away from his.

The bizarre connection threw her and she scanned the room, hoping no one else had caught the interaction. To her dismay, the only person who'd noticed was Weir. He refused
to meet her gaze, eyes shifting away before she could catch them, a frown on his face.

Dammit,
she thought, mentally chastising herself for even looking in the stranger's direction.

“—they're here in my house. They saved Ginny and Marji from that son of a bitch.”

Lyse tried to focus on what Dev was saying, but her brain only wanted to think about whether Weir was ever going to talk to her again.

“Well, we'd planned on doing Eleanora's releasing spell tonight,” Arrabelle said, eyes still on the man, watching his every move—which consisted of him testing his bonds while making bemused faces at the thoroughness of his bindings. “But maybe that's not a good idea.”

“I'm afraid it might be the last ritual we'll do together as a coven,” Lizbeth said from her perch at the bar, the timbre of her voice smoother than before. Her vocal cords were finally warming up.

She stood, holding the notebook in her hands.

“It's like a Dream Journal, but not,” she said, then turned her attention to Daniela. “It's from your mother. She didn't write it, but she dictated it to a Dream Walker on the other side. In the dreamlands.”

Lyse watched Daniela's face tighten. She wondered if her friend was jealous that she'd received the notebook, and not her.

“Dreamland?” Arrabelle asked, raising an eyebrow. “That's H. P. Lovecraft stuff, isn't it?”

“Maybe. I don't know. But it's where we go when we dream,” Lizbeth said.

Her eyes slid away from Arrabelle, done with the question.

Lyse understood that the Lizbeth they were dealing with now was not the Lizbeth from before. The girl she'd first met was shy and withdrawn, frightened of her own shadow. The new Lizbeth was no longer a wilting teenager. She was a strong and assertive
woman
.

“Marie-Faith left something for me in Rome. I need to leave tonight, and I want Weir to go with me. The blood moon is coming and I need to be there before—”

Daniela's chair slid away from the table and she was up on her feet before Lyse realized what was happening.

“I don't think so,” Daniela said, striding across the room until she was face to face with Lizbeth. It would have been comical—the tall, willowy girl towering over the petite rainbow-haired pixie—if the air hadn't been so fraught with tension. “Where you go, I go. No
if
s,
and
s, or
but
s about it.”

The old Lizbeth would've been intimidated. This one was not.

“No.”

Daniela didn't back down.

“It's not up for negotiation. I will be going with you. Get over it.”

There was a protracted silence and then Arrabelle spoke: “I agree with Daniela. You can't go alone, and Weir isn't a member of this coven, or a blood sister; he would be useless in some situations”—she shot Weir an apologetic smile—“sorry, Weir, but one of us should be with you, LB. Probably Lyse or Daniela.”

“And what about you?” Lyse asked Arrabelle. “Don't you want to go?”

Lyse didn't think Arrabelle was capable of showing intense emotion. She'd spent so long beating her feelings into submission that they'd ceased to exist. Well, Lyse was dead wrong.

“I . . .” Arrabelle began, and then her eyes filled with tears. “They're burning witches. I had word from my friend Evan, whose coven is just outside Seattle. They've burned them out, destroyed them utterly. I need to go and see if I can help. And then I need to travel, begin spreading the word, letting our world know that we're at war with something evil. Do this now. Before it's too late to make a difference.”

Dev crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Arrabelle—and Lyse was shocked to see Arrabelle not only
allow it, but reciprocate. Who was this Evan person and how important was he to Arrabelle? For her to lose her composure like this, Lyse decided he had to be important.

“I'm so sorry,” Dev said, holding Arrabelle close.

“It's . . . it's not good, Dev,” Arrabelle sighed. “I didn't want to believe any of this was possible. The world should be long past destroying what it doesn't understand. It's the twenty-first century, dammit.”

Lyse wished this were the case, but time and again, humanity proved to have one foot stuck in the Dark Ages. Being different was no easier in the twenty-first century than in the Stone Age.

“Why are we doing this in front of him?” Daniela said, her voice a sharpened knife cutting through the emotion in the room. “We're going to Rome”—she looked at Arrabelle—“and you're going to Seattle. This guy could escape with that info and then we're all screwed.”