She stood before the Spinner of Dreams for the last time and smiled bravely up at her. “I will never forget this place, or all you’ve done for me. Thank you again . . . Reverie.” Annalise curtsied, removed the Spinner Queen’s locket, and passed it to her. “This is yours. Your mother gave it to me when I—when she—before she moved on to the next world.” Tears pooled in Reverie’s eyes. “It helped me open the gates, but it’s your mother’s, and you should have it.”
The Spinner of Dreams gazed at her mother’s locket like it was something holy, letting her tears fall. Finally, she inclined her head graciously and replied, “Thank you, dear Annalise, for bringing this gift to me.” Two white crows slipped it onto their mistress’s neck. “Did you know this locket gives every dreamer it belongs to a different gift?”
“Really?”
“Yes.” Reverie traced the mended heart’s edges. “Legends say it holds the very first dream ever dreamed. My mother claimed it gifted her with children. It gave my father a dagger to protect us, and when my mother let me try it on, it gave me a wonderfully magical book.”
A luminous beam grew from Annalise’s pocket.
The Book of Remembering!
“Goodness,” Annalise laughed. “I almost forgot. Muse gave this to me. It helped me remember things in the maze.” She offered it to the Spinner of Dreams.
When Reverie took it, the book lost its glow. She promptly handed it back. In Annalise’s hands, the book shone bright and fantastic. “It seems this book is no longer mine. Please,” she said with a soft smile, “keep it. It belongs to you now. Consider it your connection to Dreamland. And if you ever need help remembering, open this book, and it will remind you.”
Annalise held it to her chest. The book glowed brighter. “Remind me of what?” she asked.
“How, against all odds, a cursed girl followed her dreams, challenged Fate—and won.”
Muse tipped his hat to Annalise and hugged her tight. “I’m going to miss you.”
“And I’m going to miss you, too.” Annalise returned the book to her pocket and knelt before Muse. “But remember, a wise cat once said that just because you can’t see me, doesn’t mean I’m not with you.” She put her great hand over his great paw. “This goes the same about me, for you.”
Reverie bowed low, crown nearly touching the grass. Annalise bowed back the same way, then stepped onto the train car, bag in hand.
“I’ll never forget you,” Annalise said.
“Nor I, you,” the Spinner of Dreams replied.
The doors closed. The whistle blew. And four seconds later, the Train of Dreams dived through the crack between worlds.
The second they plunged through the crevasse in Dreamland, the skies over Carriwitchet changed from dark and broken to sunny, blue, and bright. To Annalise’s delight, a pack of night wolves, those that had haunted the Carriwitchet woods for eleven years, galloped upward toward the train windows on an enmagicked road of gold mist leading into the Mazelands. Too busy reveling in their shared dreams, no one except for Annalise noticed them. The wolves paused briefly outside Annalise’s window, fur black and sleek, gratitude soft in their eyes. She mirrored their thankful nods before they each continued home in peace.
Their group was given a private train car burgeoning with food and drink. “Glad to have you back, Miss Meriwether,” Ticketier Twixt said, appearing suddenly at her side. “Of course, I never had any doubts.”
Annalise smiled shyly up at the giant white crow. “May I ask you something, Miss Twixt?”
“Of course, anything you like.”
“Do you work for the Spinner of Dreams, too?”
“Oh dear, if I told you that, I’d have to enchant you to secrecy.” The ticketier winked and continued on.
Once the train and the last of the night wolves had cleared the crack between worlds, the tear in the heavens closed. In front of a perfect yellow sun draping everyone with light, Annalise left Dreamland and her curse behind.
Chapter 37
Dreams Really Do Come True
Once upon a time, there lived a kind but cursed girl who followed her dreams and believed, even in the face of cruelty, anxiety, panic, and fear, that there was more to life than her curse. And she vowed, for better or for worse, and once and for all, to do whatever it took to change her fate.
And the girl did.
And her life would never be the same.
When the train of crows approached Carriwitchet, Annalise could hardly believe her eyes. Nothing was dead, and everything—everything—was so perfectly alive! The sunlight, soft and golden, shone upon green grass and fields and flowers and trees in bloom. None of the leaves were black. Songbirds sang summer-day tunes. Golden butterflies flew. And if Annalise listened closely, she could just hear the poets’ words: “All hail Annalise, dreamer of dreams!”
The houses, no longer black and decrepit but colorful and new, lined clean cobblestone streets. Townsfolk exited their homes as if in a daze. They stepped squinting into the sun, arms and hands shielding their eyes, then fell to their knees. And, weeping tears of joy, they cast their talismans away.
Not a peep could be heard from any passenger on the train. Every dreamer was glued to the scene below, until finally, the train of crows landed at the edge of the field alongside the cemetery, and those aboard began going home.
Annalise and her mom and dad paid their respects to her grandparents at their graves. Trees swayed in the light winds, and arcs of dappled sunlight shone on their plots. Annalise knelt at the foot of each grave, Grandmas Thessaly and Frida, Grandpas Jovie and Hugo, and did something she never thought she’d do. Annalise untied the four tattered black ribbons atop her mussed braid, then knotted one on each of the fresh purple flowers growing alongside their names.
“I know you were with me inside the labyrinth,” she told them. Her chin wobbled, and her eyes stung with old tears. “I followed my dreams.” Annalise paused to wipe her cheeks. “I hope I made you proud of me.”
Four golden butterflies landed on the branch directly above her. They recited no poems. But Annalise didn’t need them to. Sometimes, the best poetry didn’t need to be spoken but kept quietly tucked away in one’s heart.
Annalise’s parents shook paws with Mister Edwards and Mister Amoureux, who were itching with anticipation to visit their candy store in the center of town, on Olde Faerie Road. Harry and Mattie Meriwether held Annalise’s bag and waited for her to say her goodbyes.
“Mister Edwards,” Annalise said sincerely. “I never dreamed that on a quest to rid myself of a curse of fate, I’d meet such a kindred friend.” She pulled him into a hug. “I am so glad you decided to stay in Carriwitchet, rather than go to Caledonia. Now we can spend a lifetime of dreams, side by side.”
Mister Amoureux, standing on the sidelines, sniffed and dabbed his eyes with a hanky. “So beautiful,” the silver fox said.
At their backs, the train of crows fluttered apart. A flurry of white wings burst into the cerulean sky.
Mister Edwards sighed and extended his paw. Annalise wrapped it gently in her great hand—the other, gloved in a half gauntlet of silver and gold. Esh-Baal stirred beneath her mark, maybe saying her goodbyes, too. “And I never dreamed that on a mission as dark and terrible, and dare I say, as wicked as my own,” Mister Edwards said, “that I’d meet a young woman with a Spinner’s heart on her left hand, and one as shiny and beautiful as gold in her chest.” He blushed and stared at his toes. “I’m the luckiest fox in the world. Thank you for sticking with me.”
“Mister Edwards,” Annalise replied, “dreamers must always stick together. Now, go. Enjoy your dream. I promise, we’ll see you soon.”
Annalise and her parents meandered through the field toward home, taking everything in—the light, the birdsong, the clear blue skies, soft summer breezes layered with pine and lilac perfume. The deer and rabbits grazing out in the open, unafraid, no longer hunted by the Fate Spinner’s wolves. The tall grass that swayed at their waists in w
hispers of wind, centuries old. “Welcome home,” the lush field said. Then, “Thank you.”
White crows caw-caw-caw-cawed. They flew right over their heads and landed on the Meriwethers’ witch’s hat house—black with boysenberry trim. It looked almost the same. Except now it had a fresh layer of paint, stood tall and straight, and had no surrounding cage. The garden out front was ripe with leafy green vegetables, black rosebushes, purple hyacinths, fruit trees heavy with winterberries, orange grapes, and de Salzmann plums. Alongside the house was a structure that hadn’t been there before.
“Mattie . . .” Annalise’s dad raised a hand to his mouth, round with wonder. “Is that—?”
“A boathouse! Yes, Harry, I think so!”
The door was open. Inside were all the wood and tools her dad would need to build longboats again.
“Goodness, Harry, Annalise, look,” her mom said excitedly. “I think we’re getting new neighbors, too.”
Her dad raised his eyebrows and clapped. “Oh right, the Spinner of Dreams did mention something to us about that particular surprise.”
As Annalise stepped through their front gate, she squinted at the small house a short distance from theirs, and the people just moving in.
With two children her age.
Annalise gasped.
Nightingale and Bowie! And they didn’t even look hurt.
Nightingale, with her silvery eyes, spiraled black hair, and radiant smile, grinned widely and waved at Annalise. Wild thoughts rushed over her brain as if every word she thought was on fire. Bowie was as tall and handsome as she remembered—twin dimples, eye twinkles and all—and he smiled halfway as the two approached her.
Annalise stood stunned in place. The last time she’d seen them, they were flying over the labyrinth walls.
Heart racing, hands sweaty, she must have looked frightful. Covered in wounds in various stages of healing, cloak and leggings ripped, hair singed and knotted—all she could hope was that she wasn’t littered with dead spiders.
But when Nightingale breezed up to Annalise, all she said was, “Hi! We just moved in. Isn’t that great?” She extended her hand, and Annalise shook it. A zing pinged through her other, greater hand. A thrum of exhilaration rather than pain. “Ohhhh, I like your gauntlet,” Nightingale said, as if people wore such things regularly, and it wasn’t the least bit odd.
“Hey,” Bowie said next, blushing slightly. “That is a really cool half gauntlet. Did you win that in the maze?”
Annalise laughed. She wanted to ask what happened to them but knew that they’d have plenty of time for that later.
“Yes,” she answered. “It’s got special powers, actually. Watch this.”
While on the Train of Dreams, Annalise had discovered that if she pressed the dragon engraved on the palm, it became, well, a golden dragon—a lovely little cockatrice. Their eyes brightened as the winged creature flew from the gauntlet and fluttered around their shoulders, sputtering tiny black and gold flames.
Annalise had a very good feeling the Tristles would become good friends to her.
“Wanna come inside with us?” Nightingale asked. “It’s only us and our gran, but she just made the most amazing batch of lemon-zing cakes and starry-moon pies ever.”
Oh, Annalise thought with a touch of sadness. They must not have gotten their dream of having their parents alive.
“Hey,” Nightingale said, touching her arm. “Don’t be sad. We couldn’t bring our parents back, but it’s okay. The Spinner of Dreams gave us the next best thing. Wanna come see?”
Annalise did want to see, but she was so tired. She wanted to go inside with her mom and dad, share stories, and rest. Her mom stood at the door, waving her over. “I’d love to. But . . . maybe can I see it tomorrow?”
“Of course,” Nightingale said. “We’ll be here when you’re ready.”
“See ya.” Bowie pushed his hair away from his eyes and gave her a short wave before turning and walking away.
A blush in her cheeks, and a skip in her step, Annalise padded her battered boots through the soft green grass, counting her steps by fours and letting the beauty and wonder and happiness of Dreamland and home sink in.
“Annalise,” her mom cried. “Come see the surprise the Spinner of Dreams sent you!”
Annalise ran through her door alongside her dad, no bars, no locks, free. Both laughing, they practically tripped up the stairs.
Along the way, Annalise spotted a letter to her mom on the fridge.
Dear Ms. Meriwether, sorry for the delay in getting back to you regarding your literary submission, Dreamland. We at Walker Fawkes Publishing Co. have finally had a chance to review your manuscript, which had somehow fallen between the cracks, and would love to offer you a contract. . . .
That was all Annalise had time to read before her dad pulled her along. When they burst into her bedroom, a hypoallergenic golden Siberian cat with giant gold eyes blinked lovingly up at Annalise from her bed.
“The Spinner of Dreams told us the cat would be a girl,” Mattie Meriwether said with an excited grin. “And that she was quite special.”
“Oh!” Annalise ran to her. “She certainly looks special.” Underneath the thick fur atop her head, Annalise found two very small, very sharp, black horns. She gave her new friend the world’s longest ear scratch, and her furry friend purred and purred. “I know just what to call you,” Annalise said.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Her dad seemed more at peace than she remembered ever seeing him. He and her mom looked so happy.
“I think Muse the Second works, don’t you?”
“I think Muse the Second is perfect,” her mom said.
Everything was just as it should be. Annalise had friends, her parents, the sun and sky, and all her dreams. All was right with the world.
Her dad clapped. “Okay, who’s up for lunch and a game of Castles, Angels, and Fiends? What do you say, Meriwethers?”
“Oh yes,” Annalise answered, snuggling Muse the Second. “A game and food sounds perfect.”
The tiny cockatrice flew at the cat and blew fire at her nose. To everyone’s surprise, the cat blew fire right back.
The Meriwethers honked in giggle-fits.
“Meet you downstairs?” her mom asked Annalise.
“Okay.”
After her parents left, Annalise cleaned up and changed her clothes. While hanging up her battle-ravaged cloak, one of her pockets radiated a faint glow.
The Book of Remembering.
Annalise lifted it free and found the book different from before. The binding was now made of tiny white feathers, and the cover flapped open all on its own. The golden pages revealed an intriguing story of faeries and kingdoms and magic she couldn’t wait to explore.
Before heading downstairs, Annalise glanced out her window. A flash of white caught her eye. On the branch of the old poplar tree with great yellow heart-shaped leaves sat, proud as you please, a white cat with big purple eyes, wearing no hat or monocle. The cat licked his large double paw in the sun. “Muse the First!” Annalise opened the window.
White crows stretched their wings and closed their eyes among the leaves. Muse leaped down and smiled up at her from the grass. “The Fate Spinner was apprehended and taken to Mazelands Prison. I thought you should know.”
“Thank you, my friend,” she told him.
He bowed. “Until next time, Annalise.”
“Until then,” she said, bowing back. “May the magic of dreams be yours.”
Muse the Second hopped off the bed, curled around her ankles, and purred. Annalise grinned down at her and silently thanked Reverie. And as she made her way downstairs to her family, a spark of gold fire and the tip of a black horn lit from inside her great hand.
Right away, a wonderful new dream came to Annalise.
A thrill rushing through her, she paused before the kitchen, counting her quick breaths by fours. If there was one thing she’d discovered, it was that all the magic she needed to fight for her
dreams lived within her.
“Esh-Baal?” Annalise whispered, heartbeat like a thousand wings. “Are you ready for another adventure?”
One-two-three-four.
“I am your fire,” Esh-Baal whispered back. “And my fire is yours!”
Author’s Note
The Spinner of Dreams is a work of fiction spun from my imagination, but the way Annalise Meriwether reacts to the events unfolding around her are all drawn from my real-life experiences and the way I process the world.
I’ve always felt strange. Different. Like an unusual creature on the outside of normalcy looking in. Until I was an adult, I didn’t know why. Because of this, it was extremely important to me that Annalise be a #OwnVoices main character representing some of the diagnoses I’ve lived with since childhood—anxiety (Social Anxiety Disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder), intrusive thoughts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and panic.
Like many others, my childhood was steeped in trauma—the worst of it too personal to speak of here. But it wasn’t until my gentle and radiant mother died by suicide that all the light in my world went out. The shock was enormous. I was so traumatized by her death and the other horrors occurring in my life that, by the time I turned eight, I’d developed bleeding ulcers, depression, panic attacks, and PTSD from trauma incurred from abuse. Only as an adult would I be formally diagnosed with the above, as well as a bigger part of my puzzle, Autism Spectrum Disorder. I didn’t purposely write Annalise as having Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), but I’m sure many of her characteristics, actions, and thoughts were influenced by my own autism, as this is the only way I know how to see the world. I had so much going on around and inside me—things I couldn’t talk about, things I didn’t understand, things that made me afraid—that I felt like the saddest, wickedest, weirdest, and loneliest girl in the world.
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