The Book of Dreams (3 page)

Laurel answered guardedly. “Yes, I remember. On a train crossing Ireland.”

“She wants us to take a mission together.”

Laurel’s response was quick and unequivocal. “I asked to be left alone.”

“I know. I understand. I think. But … please, could we meet? Just once? It’s so hard doing this over the phone. I need … I mean …”

Laurel heard the desperation and relented a little. “It’s the nature of the beast, eh? They don’t like being talked about.” Against her own wishes, she could feel herself softening. “All right. I’ll meet you, but that’s all I’m agreeing to. Can you come here?”

• • •

They sat together on the bench. Both were around the same age, but there the similarities ended. Laurel was diffident and reserved, a tall young woman of lean and athletic build. She wore slim-fitting jeans, a dark sweater, and high-heeled boots. Her fair hair was pulled back in a French plait to reveal finely honed features and hazel eyes. Though she was striking, there was an air of vulnerability about her and her manner was defensive.

Gwen guessed at the reasons for the other girl’s wariness. She knew the story as it was told in Faerie: how Laurel’s twin sister had died in this world to become High Queen of the other. It underscored a truth Gwen knew from her own experience, something that Granny often repeated in warning.
There has always been commerce between the Earthworld and Faerie, but while the rewards are enchanting the dangers are real
.

“I’m sorry about your sister,” Gwen said quietly to Laurel. “For your loss, I mean. I know she’s happy where she is.”

Laurel shrugged. She wasn’t the sort of person who discussed her private life with strangers, but she appreciated the sentiment.

“Have you met Honor?”

“Not yet,” Gwen explained. “I heard about her from my friends. To be honest, I don’t visit Faerie that often. I haven’t returned since she became queen. I guess you visit often?”

“No. I don’t. My sister comes to me in dreams and sometimes in person, but I don’t go there.”

Though they were sitting beside each other, Gwen sensed the great divide between them. She needed to build a bridge.

“I understand,” she said quickly. “Or at least I think I do. We were born into this world. This is where we’re meant to live. Faerie is so incredibly beautiful, so magical, it can make being here too pale. That’s not right. This is where we belong.”

“Yes,” Laurel agreed, with sudden vehemence. “Faerie can be like a drug. Alluring. Dangerous. Best avoided.”

The bitterness echoed in her voice. She had said more than she intended.

“Is that why you asked that no one contact you?” Gwen spoke carefully. “Are you afraid of being drawn back in?”

It was a tricky moment, but it had to be grasped. Gwen needed Laurel’s help.

As the last of the summer breezes blew through the quadrangle, the ivy on the walls fidgeted nervously.

They were two young women newly launched upon the world, yet they were more. Much more. Both had traveled far, not only across the Atlantic to the green isle of Ireland, but also across the ocean of infinity to the land of Faerie. Both had undertaken quests, faced danger and death. Both were heroines of song and story.

When Laurel didn’t answer, Gwen cleared her throat. It was time.

“Something terrible is coming. A great attack against Faerie. Against all our hopes and dreams.”

A tremor ran through Laurel, but she didn’t look surprised. She had already been warned.

“My sister spoke of a ‘dark hour’ some time ago.” Laurel’s tone was wry. “But of course the warnings were couched in the usual cryptic premonitions. How do they expect to get a clear picture of the future from the flight of birds or the movement of clouds? It’s absurd. Did you get the message from a dream?”

“No. E-mail.” Gwen grinned. “Granny has taken to computers. She talks about the World Wide Web like it’s a new form of magic. But she does the old stuff too. She saw the attack in a scrying glass even before the High King contacted her. She can also predict things from the movement of clouds—nephelmancy it’s called—which is close to austromancy, divining the wind.” She pointed to the spray of water in the fountain. “Pegomancy interprets the pattern of water as it falls in a fountain.”

Laurel looked amused. “You should be in Folklore Studies. How do you know these things?”

Gwen started to laugh. “Granny taught me. Maybe if I can’t get a job as a teacher I should try being a witch. Ornithomancy is my favorite. Can you guess?”

“Something to do with birds?”

“Yep. Reading the flight of birds.”

The air was lighter between them.

“I know your story,” Laurel admitted. “My sister’s harper sang it one night when I still dined in the halls of Faerie. How you led the Company of Seven against the Great Worm to rescue Fairyland. It’s a heroic tale.”

“We just did what we had to.”

Gwen was embarrassed by the praise. She would never be able to see herself as a heroine. In books and movies, the lead females were always tall and beautiful as well as fearless. Not only did she not look the part, she remembered being scared out of her wits most of the time. That was the difference, of course, between reality and fiction.

“Faerie is really important to me,” she said quietly. “Something worth fighting for. Plus my cousin Findabhair was in danger at the time. Truth is, I was in over my head before I knew what was happening. And I couldn’t have done it without the others, Katie, Matt, Dara …”

Her modesty was disarming. Laurel’s tone was warmer. “Why don’t you call up the Company of Seven? You’ve worked with them before and a team would be good if something big is going down.”

Gwen shook her head ruefully. “The Company is scattered. My cousin and her husband, Finvarra, are on tour. They’re musicians. The others were happy to volunteer, but Granny says no. The mission isn’t really ours. We are just being called to support the key player.”

Laurel frowned as she remembered. “Honor said the same thing. It has to do with the girl, Dana Faolan?
The light that can bridge the darkness
. She’s here in Toronto?”

“Yes. We’re supposed to protect her. Granny was adamant about it. Her exact words were ‘You must stand between the child and the quern-stones of the Enemy even if you be crushed yourselves.’”

Despite the sunshine, they both shivered. A gloom fell over them.

“The fact we’ve been asked to do this shows how serious the threat is. I mean, the girl has abilities beyond either of us. If you’ve heard my story, then I guess you know hers too? She’s half-fairy. Light flows in her veins. I’ve been told she’s still growing into her powers, but she took on her quest for Faerie at a much younger age than we did.”

“Honor’s worried about her,” Laurel said. “Apparently Dana is not the same girl we know from the story. Maybe she has fallen under malign influences already?”

Gwen was shocked by the suggestion. But it made her think. Even before she had decided to be a teacher, Gwen was involved with youth groups and summer camps. She had a special affinity for the young, particularly ones with problems.

“Dana was only twelve in her Faerie tale,” Gwen pointed out. “That’s over a year ago. The change in her personality could be due to something less sinister.” Gwen grinned. “She’s a teenager now.”

Laurel rolled her eyes, but she was grinning too. They were both at ease with each other and definitely in tune. Perhaps that was what made Gwen careless.

“So, I understand you’re in the same boat as me?” she said. “In a long-distance relationship with an Irishman? My boyfriend, Dara—”

The air between them went suddenly frosty.

Laurel’s features cooled and her eyes hardened. Glancing at the clock tower, she stood up. “I have to go. I’ve got an appointment with my thesis supervisor and I need to prepare for it. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be involved with the mission. You’ll have to do this without me.”

“But …” Gwen was so surprised she could hardly think. “You … you’re needed! Only humanity can rescue Fairyland. It’s always been that way.”

“I’m sorry,” Laurel repeated, and her tone rang with finality. “I’m telling you what I told my sister. I’m no longer a Companion of Faerie. I won’t fight their battles. Maybe it’s time Faerie grew up and took some responsibility for its own survival. Time they learned to rescue themselves.”

And she hurried away.

• • •

Gwen sat stunned. What had happened? She was sure she had been getting through to Laurel. She had felt the first inklings of real friendship between them. Yet somehow she had said the wrong thing and ruined everything! Disheartened to the point of tears, she stared blindly into the fountain.

The splashing water sparkled in the sunshine. Though pegomancy was not something Gwen was very good at, she began to see patterns in the weave of water and light. Granny had explained to her the truth of fortune-telling.
Everything is interconnected. Reality is like a hologram. Every piece contains the truth of the whole. All that happens—past, present, and future—can be read in what lies around us, if we
only know the code. If we can read the language
. What was she looking at? Something horrible. A monstrous shape with snakelike tentacles. There was another form near it. A human male. Now the tentacles snaked out, piercing the man’s body like grappling hooks.

Gwen let out a cry and looked away. She couldn’t bear to see more. But she knew what it meant. With or without Laurel, her mission had begun.

B
runswick Avenue was an old tree-lined street of big brick houses with bay windows, gables, and stained-glass transoms. Most had landscaped gardens and rockeries overlooked by verandahs dangling with wickerwork planters and glass wind chimes. Midway up the street stood an abandoned convent, nailed and boarded. The nuns were long gone and the school they had founded had moved elsewhere. Where the street ended was a small park with flowerbeds and rosebushes, and looming over the park was the rambling brownstone in which Dana Faolan had lived for the past year.

The house was a maze of winding stairs, dim corridors, and rooms with high ceilings. It was divided into generous flats that were leased out to professors and artists. Dana’s family had the third floor with a spacious living room, wide kitchen for dining, and studies for both her father and stepmother. The master bedroom was at the front of the house. Dana’s small room was at the back. Once a large balcony, it was enclosed with windows on three sides.

The glass bedroom was Dana’s haven. Like an eagle’s eyrie, it overlooked the treetops and the park below. The one solid wall was covered with pictures of Ireland and posters of animals, especially wolves. The floor was covered with a golden-brown rug that looked like a fall of autumn leaves. There was a cluttered bookcase, an iron bed piled with cushions, and a desk with her computer.

When Dana wasn’t in her room, she could be found in the backyard. It was a gloomy place, shunned by the other tenants and overgrown with weeds and briars. Old washing lines hung limp and gray. There was a greenhouse with broken panes inhabited by a clan of stray cats. At the foot of an old apple tree was the rickety bench where Dana liked to read.

On that warm and sunny Labor Day, she found it hard to concentrate. Tomorrow she would begin high school, her first day in grade nine. The idea was terrifying. A new school. New faces. As if junior high hadn’t been bad enough. She flicked through the pages of the book in her lap. It was one her aunts had given her, by their favorite author. He wrote about urban magic and fairies in North America.

I wish
.

Dana’s thought was bitter. There was no magic here. She leaned back against the apple tree and stared up into the branches. Her dark hair was lank on her shoulders, her face pale. Blue shadows rimmed her eyes. Under the bulky pants and sweater, she was thin and gangly. A great longing came over her and she let out a deep sigh. She couldn’t have imagined being so lonesome and homesick. The past year had dragged on like an unending nightmare. Not a day passed by that she didn’t miss Ireland.

She had found it impossible to settle in her new country. For one thing, she had no friends. And though she pretended she didn’t care, Dana was aware of what she was missing that day. Most kids her age had gone in droves to celebrate their last day of the summer vacation at the Canadian National Exhibition. She knew from the previous year that there were carnival rides, an international food building, musical performances, and every kind of show and display. Her father had offered to take her again this year, but at thirteen you went with your peers, not your parents.

Her eyes misted with unshed tears. She fought them back.

“I’m such a loser,” she muttered angrily.

The cat dozing on the bench beside her reached out to claw her arm.

“Ow!” she yelped. “Hey you!”

A big tabby, sleek and strong, he was the king of the cats who lived in the greenhouse. His golden eyes appraised her coolly.

She grinned back at him.

“You’re right. Stop feeling sorry for myself.”

As she tickled his ears and scratched his chin, he purred like a motor.