The Spinner of Dreams

by K. A. Reynolds

  Anxiety slithered through her veins and grew and grew and grew and grew until Annalise felt too choked to breathe. But she wouldn’t let her anxiousness stop her. Stubbornly, perhaps even bravely, Annalise would do what she dreaded, for better or worse.

  Before leaving, Annalise wrote her parents a note and left it on her pillow.

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  You always tell me to follow my dreams, and that you’re always there for me. Try to remember that when you read this and find me gone. I’m tired of my curse ruining our lives, and I’m finally ready to do something about it. I hope you won’t be angry with me. Hopefully, I’ll return with a dream come true.

  How happy we’ll be then!

  I love you more than all the stars in the sky.

  Always, your Annalise

  XXOO

  Annalise unlocked every lock on the front door, followed by the giant padlock on the bars, and relocked them behind her. White crows, perched on the bars of the cage, ruffled their feathers and blinked at her in the dark. Annalise nodded to them, and she swore the largest bird, perched on the bar to the right, nodded back.

  Beyond the iron enclosure, Annalise crunched through the dead grass and leaves, past the shadowshine berry trees dotting their backyard. She used to help her mom in the garden often. Something about digging in the earth with bare hands was soothing. Her mom used to sing faerie songs while they planted their nightshades, and Annalise’s favorites always involved the strange fruit. “One whiff of shadowshine berries will wake those poisoned with sleep. One bite of shadowshine berries will kill those fated to eat. And keeping thorns close, when you need them the most, protects fair dreamers from harm . . .”

  Her mom said the shadowshine trees were a gift from the Spinner of Dreams herself.

  A twig snapped close by.

  Annalise flinched.

  The cameras. Was Richard Inglehart watching her escape from the trees? Was her guilty face flickering onto every townsfolk’s TV screen?

  Annalise listened closely. But no more twigs snapped. No shoes rustled dead leaves. No voices crept into the night.

  She spotted no night wolves in the field—not yet, anyway.

  When her pathway cleared, Annalise stepped forward, bag clutched close to her chest, and left her old life behind.

  Chapter 7

  The White Cat Returns

  In the backyard, the mid-October night arrived blustery and crisp. The field past the fence shone like a pale white diamond. Dew coated the dead lawn and fall decorations lay scattered about the yard. The white crows slept soundly in the dead poplar. The brisk wind cooled Annalise’s flushed cheeks as she crunched through the dead grass, listening to her worry-thoughts whirl.

  She had just paused in a shaft of moonlight beneath the poplar tree to gather her thoughts when a branch snapped above her. With a fright, Annalise slowly raised her eyes.

  A white cat in a top hat and monocle smiled down at her.

  Annalise gazed up into the tree in shock. Tail high, deep plum eyes steady, the cat was immediately recognizable.

  “You—you’re—” Annalise stuttered. “You’re the cat from the shelter.” Intelligence far beyond that of a regular cat gleamed back in his stare. “The cat that I thought liked me but ran away from me instead.”

  The white cat, which may or may not have been a guide to the Spinner of Dreams, nodded once.

  “I see.” The rejection stung. But still, the cat felt like a friend. Annalise noticed missing fur and a thin trickle of blood at the cat’s neck. He had other fresh wounds as well. “Fate hasn’t been kind to you, has it?” Her blackberry hair rose in a rogue breeze. The cat rubbed the half-healed wound at his neck, then shook his head so hard his monocle nearly popped out. “I’m sorry. Fate hasn’t been kind to me, either.”

  The cat observed Annalise for a moment before showering her in a warm grin. “But your kindness saved me.”

  The gentlemanly feline leaped down from the limb and landed on a stump behind the tree. Annalise gasped with excitement and followed. “I knew you could speak!” she said. “I knew I hadn’t imagined it!”

  Moonglow tipped the cat’s fur in a glaze of liquid mercury. He blinked up at her and replied in a wise, velvety voice, “Cats, like all animals, have always spoken. But only those touched by the magic of fate and dreams can hear us.” The cat’s eyes twinkled beneath his hat’s rim.

  Annalise had to admit, she really did like this cat. There was something unusual about him—something dark and bright at once.

  The cat lowered his head and tapped his top hat. A word appeared in a glitter of gold across the black ribbon at its base.

  Muse

  Annalise’s eyes went wide. “Your name is Muse? That’s a wonderful name!” She glanced over her shoulder, making sure her parents hadn’t come outside, and whispered, “You’re a dream cat, aren’t you—a guide into the Mazelands?”

  Muse nodded sadly. “I am. And for the record, I would have liked to have left the shelter with you earlier. Please know I didn’t run from you out of fear but to retrieve something I’d lost when they locked me up in that cage. Something I needed in order to help get you to the Mazelands.”

  Annalise shook her head and circled Muse on the stump, stroking her hair in rhythms of four. “I don’t understand. Why would the Fate Spinner try to stop us?” In the vision Annalise had seen, it had seemed like she wanted Annalise to go to the Mazelands with her.

  “Because you possess something the Fate Spinner would do anything to control.” His voice deepened. “Something rare. Something that she doesn’t want inside her labyrinth.”

  Annalise’s breath came faster. “What could a powerful enchantress want from me?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.” Muse faced the frosted night field. “All I can tell you is, on the night you were born, the Fate Spinner made a terrible mistake. And today, she made another.”

  The Fate Spinner made mistakes? Annalise knelt alongside the cat in the moonlight and stared into his plum eyes. “What mistake did she make?”

  Muse turned toward Annalise and grinned with all his teeth. “She underestimated us. And it will be her undoing.”

  A small, hesitant smile played at Annalise’s lips. Muse had given her new hope. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she spotted a butterfly with golden wings flutter past. When she looked again, it was gone.

  “Thank you, Muse,” Annalise said, still scanning the air for the butterfly. “For coming back here and sharing your knowledge with me.”

  Muse bowed. “Anything for those on the path to their dreams.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” Annalise said more quietly, not quite ready to leave the safety of her yard, “what was it you needed to find when you left the shelter?”

  Muse patted his hat with one paw and tapped his monocle with the other. “These were gifts from the Spinner of Dreams, given to me long ago. When worn in your world, the Fate Spinner can’t see me or anyone I’m with. But when the cat-catcher found me, my hat and eyeglass fell off. Since they’re essential in getting you to the Mazelands, I needed them back.” He swished his tail and focused his plum eyes on her. “I am glad you found what I left you in the cage.”

  Annalise brightened. “You’re the one who left the book in the box?”

  “I am,” Muse answered with a bow. “That book is elven made, and twice as magical in the right paws. Pass it to me and see for yourself.”

  Muse stuck out his large left paw, waiting.

  “Oh, hold on.” Annalise dug into her bag, pulled out the tattered book, and placed it in his paw. Immediately, it shrank to half the size of her cursed mark. “Mercy.” When he handed it back the binding resumed its proper size. “That’s brilliant.”

  Muse half laughed, half purred. “I thought you’d enjoy that. I smuggled it into the shelter hoping you’d find it.” He glanced at her hidden big hand. “I wanted to make sure you knew what you were up against with the Fate Spinner. Als
o”—he might have blushed—“so you’d recognize me.”

  A flush of kindredness warmed her cheeks. “I definitely recognized you. The book showed me sketches and information about the Mazelands and Spinners and—” Annalise shied away with ambiguous worry. Would Muse believe that she’d had a vision? What if she imagined it? Would he think her too strange to be her friend?

  “And what?” Muse asked, looking more curious now than ever.

  One-two-three-four. “When I touched the cover, I remembered something odd—a memory from years ago. Of the Fate Spinner at my home.”

  The cat leaned in closer, tail tick-tocking like a metronome behind him. “The Book of Remembering gave you a memory. Interesting.”

  Dry grass rustled close by. The white crows swiveled their heads toward the field. Annalise searched for night wolves but saw nothing except tall, undulating grass.

  She stroked her blackberry hair, slipped the enchanted book into her pocket, and said softly, “Do you know . . . I mean, could you tell me . . . did what I saw really happen, or was it a dream? Because sometimes, especially when I’m scared, my imagination sort of . . . runs away from me.”

  Muse appeared to weigh his next words carefully and gave her a sideways glance. “I’m not surprised you saw something when you touched the book. The Book of Remembering is a diary of sorts, written by the Spinner of Dreams when she was about your age.”

  Annalise gasped. “Really?”

  “Really.” Muse gave her a wistful grin. “As children, Reverie and Kismet were never close, but they were the only playmates they had. They used to play hide-and-seek in the labyrinth, knowing none of the beasts could hurt them. Reverie was always forgetting things about the maze, and Kismet had been known to trick her. So, Reverie wrote in the diary to help her remember details in case she got lost. The pages are even enchanted to erase after each close.” Muse straightened his monocle. “It can’t tell you which way to go or how to win, since the labyrinth is always changing. But if you stay true to your dreams, the book may help you recall certain memories as well as give you clues and visions along the way.”

  Annalise’s big hand tingled but didn’t hurt. “If it belongs to the Spinner of Dreams, why did you give it to me?”

  Muse gestured toward her pocketed book. “What belongs to the Spinner of Dreams always comes to those who need it and hides from those working against her. Keep it close and remember: no matter where you are on your journey toward your dreams, the magic you hold within yourself is greater than any curse. You are a dreamer, Miss Meriwether,” Muse said, leaping down off the stump. “Try not to forget it.”

  A blaze of fire cut through her marked palm, greater than any pain before. Annalise inhaled a fast breath through her teeth. Smoke slithered through her cloak in plumes. She dropped her bag to the ground and released her cursed hand into the moonlit air. “Not now,” she ordered it. Panicked thoughts slithered over her brain like tentacles and squeezed. “Please,” she whispered, “stop!”

  The cat stared in alarmed wonder at her hand spewing black flames. He was about to speak when something sharp pierced the broken heart on Annalise’s big hand from within. Something resembling . . . the tip of a horn.

  Mercy. There was a small monster inside her.

  Annalise raised her big hand and spoke directly to the creature beneath the shattered black heart: “I won’t let you rule me any longer. Do you hear me? Now go away!”

  The ugly horn tip vanished at once.

  Was she imagining it, or had her cursed hand . . . obeyed her?

  The wind gusted sideways, carrying scuttling leaves toward the field.

  Muse gave her a strange look—wonder, pride, hope?—and cleared his throat. “The journey to the Mazelands is dangerous. Are you ready to fight for your dreams?”

  Annalise glanced over her shoulder, past the bars surrounding her home. The night-light shone steadily from the kitchen. Upstairs, her parents slept safe and sound in their bed. They wanted to protect her with bars and locks and kind words, but with the Fate Spinner guiding her path and a monster growing stronger within her, how could they ever keep her truly safe?

  The only way to get the Fate Spinner to reverse her curse was to face her head-on inside the labyrinth. Maybe then, Annalise and her family’s sad tale would change for good.

  Annalise nodded to herself and reburied her cursed hand. “Yes,” she answered over the worry-thoughts pounding her brain and her rib-cracking, too-fast-beating heart. “I’m ready.”

  I wish to rule my own destiny and rid myself of this curse.

  Muse straightened his monocle with a grin and purred, “Wonderful.”

  Her big hand ached but no longer stabbed or burned. She clenched it hard anyway. “Before we go, would you please promise me something?” Annalise asked.

  “Anything.”

  “If you’re going to abandon me again, this time, would you warn me first? Because,” she said with a nervous blush, “I do rather like you.”

  Now, Annalise might have been mistaken, but she was almost certain the fur at the dream cat’s cheeks pinked when he replied, “And I, you, Miss Meriwether.” Muse held out his big paw. “Friends?”

  Friends? She’d never had a real honest-to-goodness friend before.

  Excited beyond all imagining, Annalise shook Muse’s big paw with a laugh. “Yes. Friends.” A flutter of warmth surged through her palm where they touched.

  Muse let go of her hand and winked.

  Then lickety-split, he spun on his heels, sprang over the short picket fence, and bounded into the moonlit field. And for better or for worse, Annalise picked up her bag and followed the dream cat into the dark.

  Chapter 8

  A Field of Fire and Wolves

  With nothing but his tail tip to follow, Annalise sprinted after the cat.

  Her bag of possessions bumped against her leg. Lengths of wild blackberry hair swirled out behind her. On the borders of the large grim field, night wolves howled a cry that said: The hunt is on.

  Half the population had either left or died because of the night wolves. The townsfolk used to hunt the foul creatures until the hunters were killed by their fangs instead. Many in Carriwitchet said the beasts fell through the crack in the sky the night Annalise was born—that their peculiar leathery bodies were burned by moonlight when they plunged from the world above, glazing them in a silver sheen. Others claimed they belonged to the Fate Spinner and were sent by her as spies. But, however they’d come, they were always out for blood.

  And tonight, the blood they wanted was hers.

  Sudden howls echoed over the parched grass. Annalise stumbled. Pulse pounding, she quickened her steps across the field. She’d lost sight of the cat, but kept going, not giving up.

  “Muse?” Annalise called ahead.

  No reply.

  The wind died. Sweat slicked her skin. Annalise’s breath rattled and chugged. She imagined the wolves closing in.

  Stop, she told her anxious brain when it showed her exactly how the beasts would take her down. Annalise imagined them biting her ankles. Dragging her away. Ripping her to shreds. Running faster, she thought louder.

  Stop! Blood hammering in her ears, the movie of her death playing out in her mind, Annalise sprinted faster than ever.

  “Muse!” Suddenly, her dark mark burned as if seared with a red coal. She thought she saw eyes and the tips of black wolf tails through the grass. “Where are you?” Annalise glanced left and right but found no sign of the white cat.

  Why would he leave her alone with the wolves?

  White crows appeared overhead in a swarm—caw-caw-caw-CAW! Behind her, the crunch of claws on dead earth. Annalise ran faster. She shouted to all that would hear, “I will rule my own destiny and rid myself of this curse!” before tripping on a rogue rock. She stumbled and dropped her bag. A wolf snapped and growled at her back. Icy breath swirled around her, and she huffed and puffed and scooped up her bag—and ran. “And after that,” she sputtered, ignorin
g her worry-thoughts (You’re going to fall. You’ll never make it. Dreams are no match for fate!), “I have another dream, too. One day, I want to run a sanctuary for mistreated animals. A sanctuary,” she said louder over her shoulder as the wolves closed in, “for hunted animals like you!”

  The thunder of paws faltered. From every direction, the throng of night wolves howled. Their cries sounded sad. The moment hung on like a kite at the edge of the world. Still, Annalise kept sprinting through the tall grass. “And I would love you,” she said, tears in her voice. “I wouldn’t ever let anyone harm or hunt you again.”

  A breath-stealing pain shot through her marked hand.

  Annalise dropped to her knees. If the night wolves got her, she’d be ribbons in seconds. Frozen in pain, she removed her big hand from her cloak and stared at it in horror. Again, the tip of a black horn had broken through her dark mark. A ring of fire circled the horn’s tip. Sparks flew from her cursed hand and caught on the wind. Afraid it would ignite the dry grass, Annalise clenched her marked palm, raised it over her head, and scrambled to her feet.

  Too late.

  Smoke plumed from the field. Red eyes peered at her through the grass, inches away, as the muzzles of night wolves taller than her parted the grass on all sides of Annalise.

  “Get back!” Panic readied her heart to explode. Shaking with adrenaline on noodley legs, she spun in a slow circle and extended her big hand like a weapon. “I don’t want to hurt you—but I will.”

  The crows circling above cawed and watched but did not intervene.

  “We don’t want to hurt you,” the largest wolf spoke, teeth bared, inches from Annalise’s shoulder. “We just want to rid you of that thing growing behind your mark.” A smaller wolf growled right beside her cursed hand. “Our mistress won’t let us live in our true home or control our own lives until you give us that hand.” They snapped. When Annalise jumped, they grinned. “Besides, we’d be doing you a favor. Do you not agree?”