The Book of Dreams (7 page)

“Yes, it’s a beautiful country,” she said.

He caught something in her tone.

“You are not happy here?”

“Yes. No. It’s … complicated.” She didn’t want to explain. She had yet to decide if she trusted him, this mysterious and charming stranger. “What about you? This isn’t your home either?”

“I am Québécois. Born in Rivière-du-Loup, but we move around a lot. My parents, they are
artistes
. They get good jobs in
le théâtre
here. I choose this school to learn English better.” A wry look crossed his face. “Maybe not a good idea.”

“I’m so glad you did!” she exclaimed.

Dana thought she would die. Her face burned. He was so easy to talk to, she had been lulled by their conversation. Her stuttering had stopped, and in a natural progression, she had sat down at his table. Now she couldn’t believe she had blurted out her feelings like that! Worse still, she grew suddenly aware of all the eyes that were watching.

Dana jumped up, almost upsetting her chair. She had to get away.

Jean looked surprised by her panic, and frowned. Before she could leave, he caught her arm. His voice was low.

“I want to say to you, about Crowley. Beware this man. For you, he is
dangereux
.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he nodded toward the entrance of the cafeteria. There in the corridor, staring through the glass doors, was their teacher. He looked from Jean to Dana and back again, eyes dark and furious.

“
Prends garde
,” Jean said softly as he released her arm.

Confused and disturbed, Dana hurried away.

O
n the same day and at the same moment in which Dana was attacked, Laurel Blackburn pitched forward with a cry. She was sitting in her academic supervisor’s office, discussing the subject of her thesis, when the blow struck. It was as if a balled fist had punched her gut. She doubled over. As the pain coursed through her, a series of images entered her mind.

A little girl with blond curls, about three years of age, reaches out to touch a hot stove. She lets out a cry as it burns her hand.

The same little girl, two or three years older, falls off a swing. Hitting the ground, she gashes her forehead.

Now she is nine, cornered in the schoolyard by a bully who pushes her against the wall.

Laurel recognized the child immediately, even as she remembered the images. They were memories of times when her twin, Honor, was in trouble. Being the stronger and more daring of the two, Laurel had rescued her sister on each occasion.

The last vision was a new one.

Through a dark wood overhung with shadows, Honor runs wildly. Her hair is tangled, her gown torn. Tears stream down her face as she cries out: “Our doom has fallen! The Summer Land is lost!”

“Are you all right?” Laurel’s professor asked her, concerned.

Laurel straightened up. The pain had left her, but the horror lingered on.

“Yes … yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry, but I must go.”

And she ran out of his office.

• • •

Gwen, too, felt the blow that day. Late for a job interview, she was hurrying through a downtown shopping mall when it struck. Her knees buckled under her. She leaned against a store window.

“Oh God,” she gasped.

The mannequins stared back at her blindly.

With the pain had come an image that hurt her all the more. It was only a brief flash, but the details were seared on her mind.

A high hill cloaked with hawthorn. A gray sky above a
grassy slope. A chill wind blows over the desolate scene. Two figures sprawl facedown in the grasses, both utterly still. One is an old woman, the other a young man.

As soon as she recovered, Gwen ran for the subway, abandoning her interview. She had to get home. Call Ireland. The place in her vision was well known to her; Dunfinn, the fairy fort on Inch Island in Donegal. Worse still, she knew the two people she had seen lying dead on the ground. The old woman was Granny Harte, fairy doctress and friend. The other was Dara, the young man Gwen loved.

The telephone was ringing as she opened her apartment door. She ran to answer it.

“Gwen, something terrible has happened!” Laurel’s voice shook.

“I know. Can I come over?”

“Please!”

• • •

Laurel’s rooms were spacious by student standards. A partition separated the bedroom from the wide living area that had a built-in desk against the window and shelves lining the walls. These were stacked with books and papers. There was a small sofa and armchair with a wooden coffee table. A burnt-orange rug warmed the tiled floor. Classical music played softly on the radio.

Gwen sat on the couch, sipping a mug of herbal tea. She could feel herself calming down.

“St. John’s Wort?”

Laurel nodded, pouring herself a cup.

“A fairy plant. It dispels dark forces.”

“Tell me what happened,” said Gwen.

Laurel paced the floor. No longer reserved and self-composed, she was evidently distraught. Her face was pale, her eyes frantic. The long blond hair straggled on her shoulders as she ran her hands through it anxiously.

“Honor and I always had this twin thing. We would know if the other was hurt or in trouble. The day she died, I collapsed. I knew she was gone.”

Laurel choked on her words. Gwen murmured sympathetically and waited for her to continue.

“This was the same but even stronger, as if she were consciously trying to contact me, to get a message through. I’m worried sick. There’s been no sign of her since that vision. I have an awful feeling that she can’t reach me. I tried to fall asleep to dream my way into Faerie, but I’m too upset.”

“I felt something too.” Gwen described her own experience. “I called Ireland right after you rang. All I got was Granny’s answering machine. She and Dara were to meet the High King today at Dunfinn on Inch Island.” She fought back the tears. “That’s where I saw them … lifeless.”

Overwhelmed with emotion, the two young women stared at each other.

It was Laurel who rallied first.

“You don’t know that for certain,” she insisted. “You’re assuming the worst and you don’t have the facts. For all we know these could be premonitions or warnings. We might be able to prevent them. We’ve got to think rationally.”

Gwen heard the “we” and it steadied her up.

“You’re right. I’m being a dope. We’ve got to get the story. Find out what’s happening.”

“There’s something else …” Laurel hesitated, then made a reluctant confession. “I rang Ireland too.”

With sudden insight, Gwen guessed what she was talking about. Laurel’s tale was familiar to her: how the other had quested in the west of Ireland to find the Summer King. During the course of her mission, Laurel had discovered that the fairy king was to blame for her twin’s death; but she was already in love with his human side born separately in the Earthworld.

“You called Ian?”

Laurel turned away. Her voice was strained. “We broke up a year ago. I stayed away from Faerie since he spends half his time there as the Summer King. I decided it was best to leave it all behind me and get on with my life. When I couldn’t contact Honor … well, I thought he might know something. I rang his flat and his work but there was no answer, so I called his father, the Reverend Gray.” A quaver crept into Laurel’s voice. “Ian’s missing. He didn’t show up for work today and he didn’t call in. That’s not like him. He’s a vet, with his own practice. His parents are really worried. So am I.”

She returned to her pacing.

“I thought it was over, but I’ve obviously been fooling myself. As soon as I heard he was missing, it was like an arrow in my heart. I thought I would die.”

“So whatever has happened involves him too,” Gwen said, thinking. “But I thought this mission had to do with Canada, not Ireland.”

“Ireland isn’t the common denominator here,” Laurel pointed out. “It’s Faerie.”

That was when the penny dropped for Gwen; the bigger picture that loomed over the nightmarish vision of Dara and Granny.

“How could I be so stupid? It was just … Dara … I … Yes, this is it. The great attack against Faerie that Granny foresaw. The darkest hour.”

Laurel nodded. “We know what we must do: rescue Fairyland.”

Again Gwen was heartened by the “we” but needed to know for sure.

“You’ve changed your mind, then? You’re In this with me?”

Laurel grimaced wryly. “That’s the way it goes, eh? Just like you said. You’re in over your head before you know it. Honor and Ian are the two people I love most in the world. I can’t bear the thought of losing them.”

They regarded each other solemnly, two heroines who had quested once before for Faerie.

“We need a plan,” said Laurel.

Gwen agreed. “I’ll keep trying to find out about Dara and Granny. Hopefully Honor will contact you again, or maybe Ian. We’ve got to find out what’s going on. Meanwhile, our original task was to look after Dana. I have some protective charms and herbs. I was going to put them around her, secretly of course.”

“Excellent idea,” said Laurel. “I have a few spells of my own that I learned on Achill Island. ‘Red thread tied round branch of rowan.’ Stuff like that. We should do ourselves as well.”

“Of course. We could be targets too,” Gwen said without flinching. “I’ve got the addresses of Dana’s home and school. I’ve even applied for a job at her high school, as a teacher’s assistant. That would have been perfect, but no luck. We should get going on this as soon as possible. Today, at twilight or midnight. Threshold hours are the most potent. I suggest midnight. Less chance of being seen. Is that okay with you?”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Laurel smiled at Gwen’s air of command. It was such a contrast to her friendly features and plump femininity. Here indeed was the captain of the Company of Seven. A warrior in pink.

“The sooner we do it, the better,” Laurel agreed. “Something is on the move, working its way through the city. Have you read the papers? A crime wave is hitting the streets.”

“I should’ve acted before now,” Gwen said with a pang of guilt. “The move and the job hunt have really slowed me down.”

The same guilt struck Laurel. “It’s my fault too. If I had joined you when you asked …”

Gwen dismissed the point with a wave of her hand. “I could’ve made more of an effort to win you over. You want to know something? I wasn’t really that happy that you were being called in. I liked being the only adult on this side of the water. It left me in charge.”

Caught off guard by her words, Laurel let out a quick laugh. “Well, you’re the only American.”

“Good thing,” rejoined Gwen, and they both laughed together.

“You should laugh more,” Gwen said.

“With you around I have a feeling I will.” Laurel’s features softened. “After things ended with Ian, I couldn’t go back, not to Ireland or Faerie, even though I wanted to. It was my fault, you see. We were always arguing and I just found it too difficult to reconcile our differences. He wanted to keep trying. He believed in us. But I said no.” She shrugged sadly. “I think I’m just one of those people who ends up alone.”

Gwen reached out to touch her arm.

“You’re not alone. We’re in this together.”

• • •

Later that night, shortly before twelve, Gwen and Laurel met at the corner of Brunswick and Bloor. Both wore dark clothing to blend with the night. Each had a bulging knapsack. Gwen had brought branches of ash and whitethorn as well as bunches of primroses gathered on May Eve. Laurel had sea salt, twigs of rowan and broom tied with red thread, dried daisy chains, and old knives and scissors. Gwen had been taught her charms by Granny, the Wise Woman of Inch. Laurel had learned hers from the sea fairies of Achill Island.

“Any news?” Gwen asked.

Laurel shook her head. “Still no word or sign from either of them.”

Gwen’s shoulders slumped. “Same for me. I tried to reach the other members of the Company of Seven: Katie on her farm and Matt at home. All I got was voice mail or busy signals. I’ve sent e-mails too, but no replies. My cousin Findabhair is still on the road with her husband. I left an urgent message with their manager.”

Laurel could hear the huge effort Gwen was making to stay optimistic. They were both clinging to the hope that, despite all appearances, their loved ones were safe.

“Come on,” Laurel said, “we’ve got work to do.”

They hurried up Brunswick Avenue to Dana’s address. When they reached the big brownstone, they stared in dismay. It was a huge area to cover. Despite the late hour, lights shone in many of the rooms. The charms had to be placed in spots that were both secret and safe; where they wouldn’t be seen or removed or blown away by the wind. And would it be possible to strew the doors and windowsills without being noticed? At least the house was surrounded by trees and bushes. Plenty of places to hide if anyone came out.

“I’ll take the backyard,” Laurel said in a low voice. “You do the front.”

Gwen was grateful that she didn’t have to climb over the fence.