The Book of Dreams (42 page)

The remaining few hovered in the air without moving.

“Hah!” she called. “Not so brave now, eh?”

This was her chance. Bat held high, she made a dash for the ridge. But even as she ran, she realized the truth. They had only been playing with her. As the droning sound rose to a crescendo of screeches, more and more rose from the ground. Now they swarmed toward her.

Laurel screamed as the first struck her. Her shirt fabric burned away. Her skin was scorched. She batted away the second and the third, but the fourth hit her leg. She almost fell over. It was no use. There were too many. Gulping back sobs, she turned around and fled back to the trees.

Again her hand closed around the moonstone.
Don’t give up,
came the message, like a whisper in her mind,
you just need more weapons. Make a shield.
Clarity of thought gave her strength. Of course. A shield. Plaited branches would do. Soaked in water, they might even be fireproof. Dare she tackle that stream again? She would have to. As she hurried in that direction, her foot was caught by a hidden root. She was sent sprawling into a damp hollow. Black mud oozed around her. She could sense its malevolence.
Don’t bother to get up. It’s hopeless. You may as well surrender.
She clutched the moonstone.
Get up, gal, get up. You’re not beaten yet.

Gritting her teeth, she repeated the message.

“I’m not beaten yet.”

Laurel clawed her way out of the ditch. That was when she spied it: a small mound of soil heaped at the foot of a withered tree. At first it looked like a fresh grave. Then she realized the mound had a discernible shape, as if sculpted in clay.

The hair on the back of Laurel’s neck stood up. The shape was female.
Gwen?
Everything inside Laurel cried out not to look. But she had to. Breath held fearfully, she drew closer to the mound. As she recognized the body, a scream tore from her throat.

W
e are so dead if Gabe ever finds out,” Dee said mildly.

She looked out the airplane window. The sun shone palely above a sea of cirrus. The landscape below played hide-and-seek with the clouds. They had been flying for hours, over green and brown countryside, through various time zones, across plains and prairie.

“Yeah,” said Yvonne with the same lack of concern.

“Do you feel as if you’re wandering through a dream?”

Dee was still absorbing the fact that she was heading for Vancouver on someone else’s money. The luxury of first class was as good as she had hoped. The flight attendant kept giving her things: delicious food, hot towels, free perfumes, expensive magazines.

Yvonne shook her head vigorously. “Not in the least. I feel exquisitely awake. As if I’ve been doused in the ocean. Every nerve is tingling. I’m totally alive.”

Dee reflected on her words. “I have that too,” she finally agreed. “That’s a better description. It’s the way I feel when I’m making a film, when it’s all coming together but still at the stage where anything could happen.”

“Absolutely,” Yvonne concurred. “It’s as good as art and nearly as good as—”

They grinned at each other and cackled like witches.

• • •

Dozing in the seat across the aisle, Dana couldn’t help smiling to herself. Her aunts were worse than two kids. And in more ways than one. She couldn’t believe it when Deirdre hogged the window seat. Gabriel always gave it to Dana on their travels. When her other aunt objected, Dana thought she was taking her side but no, Yvonne wanted the seat for herself. After a spirited exchange involving colorful words, the two came to a time-sharing arrangement that didn’t include their niece.

“You need to rest,” Yvonne had said, quite unfairly. “You’re younger than us.”

Only in years, Dana thought to herself, but she gave up arguing when she saw it was futile. Instead, she promised herself she’d be the first on the plane for the flight home. With her aunts, it was every woman for herself.

Now the two were discussing the adventure in low tones. They had finally reached the realization that there could be trouble and they were worried for their niece.

“Things could get hairy,” Dee was saying. “Remember those strange little men screeching up and down the hall at night?”

“That was the dark rum,” Yvonne pointed out. “You didn’t see them again when you cut it out.”

Again Dana smiled, but she also felt a pang of guilt. Was it right to endanger them this way? She had no doubt that it was only a matter of time before Crowley found her out west. He seemed to be able to track her no matter where she went. Did she have enough power to protect herself and her aunts?

Below lay the western province of Alberta. As they passed over the brown foothills of the Rocky Mountains, the flight got bumpy.

“I don’t want to die,” Deirdre moaned. “Not now. Not ever.”

Yvonne didn’t speak, but she looked anxious. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the armrests.

Dana wasn’t afraid. It was far less turbulent than the flying canoe.

“Come on, let me near the window. You both have your eyes shut!”

Conceding defeat and welcoming the distraction, her aunts changed seats to let her in. Dana pressed her face to the window. The drifts of cloud had parted to reveal a vast mountain range powdered with snow. The stark peaks undulated like an ocean of living rock. Dana shivered with awe. There was power in these mountains. She had flown into the west to meet them. What would they teach her? What would she find here?

An ache gripped her heart. If only Jean could see these too! She had thought about him all the way across Canada, missing him, wishing he was there, and imagining him in her mind. At the same time, she was glad of her decision. She preferred that he was safe.

When the plane landed, the three took a taxi to their hotel. The driver was surprised when the aunts encouraged him to go the long way.

“Ah, Vancouver,” Yvonne sighed, “Queen of Cities.”

“Traitor,” said Dee, though she was also looking around her joyfully.

“What?” said Dana, puzzled.

Yvonne explained. “If you come from Toronto you can’t even hint that Vancouver might be better. Though it so obviously is and everybody knows it.”

“Traitor,” said Dee again.

“Don’t you have that in Ireland?” Yvonne asked her.

Dana thought a moment. “There is a thing between Dublin and the west, but everyone pretty well agrees that the west is best. It begins when you cross the River Shannon.”

“What is it about west coasts?” Yvonne mused. “Why do they have all the ambience? The
je ne sais quoi
?”

“Yeah, think of Seattle and California too,” Dee added.

Beyond the cab window, the cityscape opened to embrace the Torontonians. On one side glimmered the pure blue of the Pacific Ocean, on the other sheered a grandeur of mountains. Cradled in between, like a sunburst of crystals, was Vancouver itself, with its elegant architecture and spacious streets, arched bridges and sandy beaches, museums and quaint pubs. Overhead, the Skytrain glided like a silver serpent. The weather was crisp and sunny, in contrast to the prairies where it was already snowing. Some of the trees still blazed with autumn color while others stood naked, leaves heaped at their feet like discarded garments.

Their hotel was old and old-fashioned. It had been a stylish apartment building in its day, but now the lobby and elevators looked worn and a little shabby. Their room had an antique charm. The furniture was 1950s, with oversized lampshades in beige and brown, stuffed armchairs, wooden furniture, and comfortable beds. The carpet was threadbare, the television huge, but the bathroom was spotless with an abundance of thick towels.

“We could have paid more for more,” was Deirdre’s comment.

“I just couldn’t,” said Yvonne. “I always stay here when I come to Vancouver. She’s like an old lady friend. I would feel I was betraying her if we went to some tarty new place.”

Dee rolled her eyes at Dana, but was obviously happy enough. Their room overlooked English Bay with a panoramic view of beach and promenade. Seagulls perched on the windowsills.

“Wait till you taste the food,” Yvonne added. “Especially breakfast. Seriously yum. Bacon and eggs, fruit cup, pancakes with syrup, big pot of coffee.”

“I want that right now,” Dee decided, picking up the phone. “Why put off till tomorrow what you can eat today?”

“She knows nothing about deferment of gratification,” Yvonne said to Dana, then she called to her sister, “The same for us!”

“No bacon for me!” said Dana.

When the food arrived, it was devoured with appreciative noises as they continued to discuss their plans. Dana had brought the Fair Folk’s itinerary with her. The venue for the Vancouver dates was the Moon in the Bog, Whelan’s Tavern, Gastown.

“I think it’s safe to say the Moon in the Bog is a club on top of a bar,” Dee said.

“New Irish bar,” Yvonne said, nodding. “I’ve heard of it, but haven’t got there yet. That means you can’t go,” she said to Dana. “They serve alcohol.”

“Yahoo!” said Dee, but when she saw Dana’s face, “I mean, boo-hoo!”

“We’ll go there for you,” Yvonne continued, after throwing Dee a stern look. “If we can’t bring the Fair Folk back here, we’ll arrange a meeting for tomorrow. We know the story, we can fill them in. Okay?”

Dana was not happy at all.

“Can’t we just put loads of makeup on her?” Dee suggested. “She’s taller than us. She looks at least sixteen.”

“Which is still not the legal age,” her sister said archly. “Look, we’re in pretty deep here already. Can you imagine if we got arrested with a minor and they contacted Gabe?”

“Right,” said Dee. Turning to Dana, she shrugged. “Watch TV till your eyes bug out and run up the room-service bill.”

Dana opened her mouth to object, but Deirdre had already turned away to peruse the itinerary of the Fair Folk. A short blurb described their music: “Findabhair and Finvarra wow their audience with the eclectic electric sound of Celtic fusion.”

“How do you pronounce this name?” she asked Dana. “Find-a-bear?”

Dana had to laugh. “It’s an old Irish name, linked to Guinevere. You pronounce it ‘Finn-ah-veer.’” But she wasn’t distracted for long. “Can’t we contact them before the show?” she insisted.

Yvonne looked sympathetic. “Keep trying if you want, kiddo. But you know how well that went before we left Toronto. Groups on the road are never easy to get ahold of.”

While her aunts unpacked, Dana rang the tavern, the club, and the Fair Folk’s hotel, all to no avail. She left messages at each number giving her name and “The Companions of Faerie” for reference, but her lack of success left her crestfallen.

“They might call back,” Yvonne said to comfort her. “And you’ll be here to talk to them if they do. Bottom line, I promise you, we’ll bring them to you as soon as we can.”

It was too early for the club to open, so the three went for a walk along the promenade of English Bay. Crowds of people strolled along, enjoying the sunshine in the late afternoon.

“Very West Coast,” said Yvonne approvingly.

There were musicians busking with guitars and fiddles, skateboarders, lovers walking hand in hand. Two old men played chess at a stone table beneath a big tree, while a young woman contorted herself into yoga positions. The pale sand on the beach was strewn with gray driftwood. Ducks bobbed on the waves. Gulls screeched overhead.

The three bought popcorn and ice cream, and sat on a bench to watch the world go by. Dana let herself relax. For now, there was really nothing else she could do.

• • •

Back in their room, Dana’s good humor was dispelled as her aunts dressed to go out. Dee donned a black leather cat suit with a long zipper and metal jewelry, while Yvonne put on a slinky red dress with stiletto heels. Clouds of perfume wafted from the bathroom.

“You look divine, Mrs. Peel,” Yvonne said to Deirdre.

“You too, Madonna.”

“You’re supposed to be on a mission,” Dana accused them.

“You never know who you might meet on a mission,” Dee pointed out.

“Heroes?” Yvonne said to her sister.

They grinned at each other.

“Now, don’t wait up,” Dee said to Dana. “We’re bound to get tanked.”

“Just try and remember why you’re going,” their niece pleaded as they left.

• • •

The club was not what Dee and Yvonne expected. The pub on the first floor was sleek and expensive. Upstairs, the Moon in the Bog was Celtic chic, a cavernous space with a big stage and dim lights. The walls were painted to look like stone adorned with ancient spiral designs. Afro-Celt music shivered through the speakers. A well-dressed crowd slowly filled the room.

“Not your average grotty, find-your-roots gig,” Dee commented.

“Don’t be cynical,” said her sister.

“I am not ‘doglike,’” she retorted.

Heading straight for the bar, they ordered pints of Guinness.

“Mmm good,” said Dee after a long swallow of the cold black beer.

“You’ve got a mustache,” Yvonne warned her.

“I should hope so,” said Dee, licking the creamy froth from her upper lip. “It’s bad Guinness if I don’t.”