The Last Dream Keeper

by Amber Benson

  Daniela sat down beside Weir. She held out her gloved hands, her eyes on the spiral-bound notebook resting in Lizbeth’s lap.

  “May I?”

  Lizbeth looked down at the dog-eared book. Once upon a time the front cover had probably been brown, but now it was a sad beige, the metal spirals rusted through. But despite its age and discoloration, the inside was still in decent shape as Lizbeth flipped open the cover. The paper was oatmeal brown and curling around the edges, the blue lines faded to a soft violet. Lizbeth traced a finger along the top, and saw that someone had written the word Evolvo in neat and precise script in one of the margins.

  She turned the notebook around so Daniela and Weir could see. Weir frowned.

  “It’s blank.”

  Lizbeth stared at him: What was her brother talking about?

  She looked at Daniela, who nodded in agreement.

  “Is there something on the page that you can see?” she asked Lizbeth. “Something that maybe we can’t?”

  Daniela held Lizbeth’s gaze, waiting for an answer.

  Lizbeth blinked.

  “Yes.”

  She returned to the page, eyes running along the rigid lines of script that cut across the paper, the handwriting tight and restrained. How could they not see it? She looked up again, catching Lyse’s eye.

  “It’s not a Dream Journal, but it’s something like it, right?” Lyse asked.

  She was still standing, hands on hips, a worn expression on her face. She’d pulled her shawl over her head and her eyes stayed on the gray sky above them as it threatened to douse them in rain. “And we should get out of here.”

  “Why? The rain?” Weir asked, confused.

  “Just a feeling,” she said. Then to Lizbeth: “I can’t read it either, but I know you can. Eleanora has more of these things back at the house. Dream Journals. She showed them to me—and I’m betting she’s shown them to you, too.”

  Lizbeth shook her head.

  “The tall lady did. Not Eleanora.”

  “Same difference,” Lyse said, and gave Lizbeth a wan smile. “What one does, the other already knows about.”

  Lizbeth agreed with that sentiment.

  “The notebook. It wasn’t here in our world?” Daniela asked, sitting back on her haunches and looking up at the sky.

  Lizbeth shook her head.

  “No.”

  Daniela pursed her lips together thoughtfully.

  “You brought it back with you from the other side.”

  Yes, that’s exactly what I did, Lizbeth thought. I have the ability to do strange and terrible things. I don’t even know the half of it yet.

  Like a carcass pecked clean by carrion birds, she felt as smooth as bone. The years of fear and uncertainty had been washed away. What remained was clean and glistening, waiting for her destiny to begin. Not that she said any of this to her brother or to Daniela. She would talk to Lyse later—Lyse, to whom she felt a kinship that went deeper than just being blood sisters.

  “What the hell does that even mean? Dream Journals, notebooks with stuff in them no one can see?” Weir asked, frowning.

  The sky chose that moment to split apart. A sliver of electric light arced across the sheet of gray clouds. A cold rain began to fall, large droplets that burst like ripe berries as they hit the ground. It wasn’t a normal California rain—it came in a torrent, cutting tributaries into the dirt and sluicing down the sides of the Dragon, sheets of water cascading across the outcropping of rock before splitting off into mini-waterfalls.

  “We need to go!” Lyse cried, reaching for Lizbeth’s arm. “Too much rain and it’s moving quickly.”

  Lizbeth tucked the spiral-bound notebook under her shirt where it would stay drier and took Lyse’s hand. She might have towered over her friend in height, but there was a quiet strength about Lyse that made Lizbeth feel safe.

  “C’mon,” Weir said, appearing at Lizbeth’s side, his blond hair plastered down to his head by the rain. Daniela was right behind him, looking as pissed off as a waterlogged cat.

  “I fucking hate rain,” she murmured, peeved. “Look, we can go to my house and get my car. Head to Devandra’s, check out the notebook there—”

  A crack of thunder rolled across the sky, and it was so loud all four of them instinctively looked up. Daniela opened her mouth to say more, but another loud boom drowned her out as a pillar of darkness amassed in the sky above them.

  “Holy hell!” Weir said, grabbing Lizbeth and wheeling her away from the edge of the rocks. “Let’s go!”

  He pushed her toward the slope leading back to the trailhead, but Lizbeth couldn’t move. She stood transfixed by the towering funnel of dark cloud as it shot swiftly toward her, scooping up trees and rock wherever it touched the Earth. Lizbeth knew she needed to move, but she felt drawn to the darkness, curious to see what was at its core.

  “Go!” Lyse said, and pulled on Lizbeth’s arm, yanking her out of her stupor.

  Whatever hold the dark had over her was broken. She let Weir take her arm, guiding her down the slope. Lyse was ahead of them, trying to keep her balance as she slid down the rocky incline.

  “Daniela!” Lyse screamed when she realized Daniela wasn’t with them. She turned back, staring up at the top of the ridge. “Where the hell are you?”

  Daniela popped her head over the side of the Dragon and grinned down at them.

  “I’m gonna go back,” she called out, pointing in the opposite direction. “I wanna see what’s on the other side of it.”

  “Are you insane?!” Weir yelled back at her. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

  “I’m not! I promise!” she shouted over the sound of the storm—and then she was gone.

  “She’s nuts,” Weir said. Not wasting any time, he pulled Lizbeth with him as he searched for the trail leading them back to the heart of Elysian Park.

  Lizbeth wasn’t worried. She knew Daniela would be okay because, like a cat, Daniela always managed to land on her feet.

  “Hold up!” a voice called out ahead of them.

  Arrabelle stood in the middle of the trail, waving at them. Weir tried to dodge her but tripped on an exposed root. He fell hard, and Lizbeth went down with him, his hand still clutching hers. He was running on big brother mode, and to that end he was already climbing to his feet, his sole focus getting Lizbeth to safety.

  Lizbeth noticed the change in barometric pressure and the sudden silence.

  “Weir!” she cried, but he ignored her.

  She could see that the sky had changed, was nothing like the steely black mass of clouds that preceded the funnel. She dug in her heels, weighing him down like an anchor. He kept pulling her, but she was not a waifish thing, and after a few seconds he stopped trying to do the impossible.

  “Look, it’s gone,” she said, squeezing his hand as she pointed up at the sky.

  Shell-shocked, Weir followed her gaze. There was absolutely nothing funnel-like on the horizon, no uprooted trees, and no destroyed property. It was as if the rain and the funnel had never happened—which she was beginning to suspect was the truth of the matter.

  That’s where Daniela went, Lizbeth thought. She knew it wasn’t real. She was looking for the source of the magic.

  “It was an illusion,” Lyse said, pulling the shawl from her head and wrapping it around her shoulders. She turned to Arrabelle, who was still standing in the middle of the hiking trail, eyes fixed on Lizbeth: “How did you find us?”

  Arrabelle blinked when she realized Lyse was speaking to her.

  “Text from Daniela. Just got it,” Arrabelle said. “I have my car up the way.”

  “We need Daniela—” Lyse started to say.

  “Daniela’s here.” Daniela crunched her way through the underbrush, her hair disheveled, but a wide grin on her face. She turned to Arrabelle: “You go
t my message.”

  Arrabelle nodded, eyes still lingering on Lizbeth—which made Lizbeth feel weird. She didn’t like being stared at like a specimen under a microscope.

  “Things are getting weird and I think it’s best if we reconvene at Dev’s. We need to talk as a coven,” Daniela continued. “Besides, I’m beat from running. I scared the crap out of a bunch of hikers, but when I got down to the other side, I was too late. Whoever cast that spell was gone.”

  She held up a pair of binoculars.

  “But I found these at the grove—which we’re gonna have to reconsecrate, by the way, since someone’s breached our wards. They were watching their handiwork.”

  “Agreed,” Arrabelle said, taking off her green sweater and slipping it over her arm.

  Arrabelle was usually so put together, but today her face looked puffy, her eyes red and swollen like she’d been crying. Lizbeth had worked as the herbalist’s assistant for months and she’d gotten used to Arrabelle’s cool reserve. In all that time, she’d never once seen Arrabelle get emotional.

  “You heard her talk?” Daniela said to Arrabelle, tilting her head in Lizbeth’s direction. “Stupid crazy, right?”

  Lizbeth blushed, wishing she were back in the dreamlands with Temistocles. He didn’t embarrass her the way her blood sisters did, didn’t look at her like she was some kind of freak. He treated her like an adult. Which she technically was—and he’d kissed her like she was one, too.

  “Lizbeth and I are going home,” Weir said, reaching for Lizbeth’s arm. “Then we’re packing a bag and getting the hell out of Dodge.”

  Everyone turned to face Weir. He’d been silent up until this moment, but now he looked ready to fight. From experience, Lizbeth knew once Weir had made up his mind about something, it was almost impossible to change it—and his mind looked pretty made up.

  “We can’t let you do that,” Daniela said. “It’s not safe for either of you out there on your own.”

  Weir began to shake his head, his mouth fixed in a tight grimace. Any emotion stopped at his eyes, which were cold and unreachable. He looked from Daniela to Arrabelle, and finally to Lyse, who took the bullet and stepped forward.

  “Weir, I know all of this sounds crazy—”

  “There was a massive storm and then it was just gone—”

  “I saw it, too. It was scary—” Lyse said, and tried to touch his arm.

  He stepped out of her reach.

  “Fuck scary,” Weir said, glaring at Lyse. “It’s not safe for LB. You think you guys are going to be able to protect her? There were police at my house—”

  “We don’t know what they were,” Daniela said. “But that’s beside the point right now. We need to get somewhere safe. All of us and the sooner the better.”

  “If there even is a safe place,” Arrabelle murmured softly.

  Weir wasn’t having any of it.

  “No way. It’s not gonna happen, Daniela.” He turned to Lyse and Arrabelle. “You’re all welcome to come with us.”

  “I’m sorry, Weir,” Lyse said. “There is so much you don’t know or understand . . . We’re needed here. We can’t just run away because we’re afraid.”

  She sighed, letting her hands fall to her sides, where they clenched into tight fists.

  “And Lizbeth can’t, either. We need her. And we need you, too.”

  Weir bit his lip, a lost child in a grown man’s body.

  “I . . . my job is to take care of Lizbeth.”

  Lyse nodded.

  “Let us help you with that.”

  Weir turned to Lizbeth, waiting for her to weigh in. She didn’t want to disagree with him, but she knew Lyse and Daniela were right.

  “Well?” Weir asked, his fear manifesting as impatience. “You can talk now, so what the hell do you want to do?”

  What do I want? Lizbeth thought. I want to go back to the dreamlands, but if I can’t have that then I want . . . to do what would make Eleanora proud.

  “Dev. Let Dev show you the cards and then you’ll see.”

  Weir nodded, capitulating to Lizbeth’s request.

  “Okay, we’ll do what you want. For now . . . but if anything, and I mean anything else”—he let the words hang in the air so Lyse, Arrabelle, and Daniela would know he meant business—“happens, we’re done. I don’t care what you want, LB.”

  “We read you loud and clear,” Daniela said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Good,” Weir replied. “That was the point. Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “The car’s just over here,” Arrabelle said, pointing up the trailhead.

  They trudged up the path in silence, cutting through the trees. It seemed like everyone had forgotten about the notebook, so Lizbeth kept quiet, waiting until she was in Arrabelle’s backseat, between an angry Weir and a distracted Lyse, before pulling it out and opening its cover.

  She traced the word Evolvo with the tip of her index finger . . . and then she began to read.

  Hello, last of the Dream Keepers. Last one born under the old moon, last one born before the blood moon heralds the coming of the others . . . my name is Marie-Faith and I sit here holding this notebook with no idea whether my sly trick will work. The dreamlands mirror our own reality, and some things, like a Dream Keeper’s consciousness, can pass between the two. Francesca believes we can use this to our advantage, to keep this sensitive information safe. In case something happens to me, or to her . . . Francesca is a Dream Keeper, like yourself, and she lies on the bed nearby me, asleep. She is traveling in another realm as I dictate this story to her. She will write it down there, in a mirror image of this notebook, my words in her head, so that only those who can walk in dreams might read it . . . strange the way these two worlds work, each bleeding over into the other. But that is neither here nor there . . . what I need to say to you, last of the Dream Keepers, is brief, and I only hope it will be enough to prepare our world for the oncoming Flood—out of the darkness, on quiet feet, it will arrive at our door before we know it—and then we must band together to prevent it from destroying everything we hold dear. Already it has slipped into our ranks . . . the Council has not been impervious—this is a truth . . . trust no one, last of the Dream Keepers. No one . . . not even the members of your own coven, barring Eleanora. She is the only one who can be counted on. Listen to her for she is wiser than me . . . I’m sorry to be so harsh, but you must be made to understand, and all I have at my disposal is this notebook. A paltry sheaf of pages that might never see the light of day . . . but I have hope . . . although time is running out. Even now, Francesca starts to stir . . . You must come to Rome. In the old Jewish catacombs beneath Villa Nomentana, you will find a secret way that will lead you into the vast, underground heart of the catacombs. Here they have been doing unspeakable things . . . locking away souls that have no business being trapped . . . release them . . . we will need their power, the power of all the Dream Keepers, once The Flood is at its fiercest . . . Francesca will be there waiting for you with my last gift . . . You will know her when you see her. Godspeed, last of the Dream Keepers . . . you must get there before the blood moon or it will be too late . . . may you save us from ourselves.

  Lyse

  Lyse was confused by her feelings for Weir.

  She appreciated that he was worried about his sister, that he had no idea what kind of crazy shit Lizbeth was involved in, and that he’d been overwhelmed and thrown into the deep end of their world without any preparation. She knew it wasn’t fair to ask him to accept everything he’d seen without question—and yet that was exactly what she wanted him to do. Because she was the master of a coven and anyone she dated needed to be okay with that part of her life.

  Until this morning, she’d been ridiculously smitten with Weir, his presence making her feel as giddy as a schoolgirl with her first crush. Even though she’d screwed stuff up
, leaving things with him on shaky ground, she’d been hopeful she could fix it.

  Now she wasn’t sure if Weir liked her anymore, wasn’t sure if he even wanted to mend things between them. Not that she was writing him off, but his silence made her wonder about any kind of future for them.

  If both of them wanted it to work, anything was possible. If they didn’t, it was over.

  God, she hoped she wasn’t turning into Eleanora. She didn’t want to be a spinster. Didn’t want to be alone forever. She was interested in having a partner, a man who was her equal and could match her in everything. Someone she could trust to be there when she needed him and who wasn’t scared of her independence. A tall order. She knew it. But he was out there—and maybe it was Weir. Maybe he’d surprise her.

  “You have a funny look on your face,” Daniela said, twirling a strand of pink hair around her index finger.

  They were in the Mucho Man Cave waiting for Dev to get back from taking the girls their bag lunches, which had been forgotten in the craziness of the morning. Lyse had never been in the actual bar before, only the backyard, where every few weekends Dev and Freddy threw an outdoor brunch for the neighborhood, but it was exactly as she’d imagined it: beat-up rattan tables with matching chairs, dodgy green carpeting on the former garage floor, a real working tiki bar with twinkle lights and a puffer fish hanging from the top of its crossbeam.

  The place even smelled like she’d imagined. Stale beer and Nag Champa incense—not as odd a combination as you would think. It was safe and homey inside the Mucho Man Cave, which made Lyse kind of love it.

  The only thing out of sync with the rest of the bar was the man sitting in the corner, bound to a rattan chair with a thick coil of rope. It was a pretty thorough job, and Lyse would never have guessed Dev possessed a talent for binding. But she supposed when someone broke into your house and used magic against you and your children, it would bring out the mercenary in anyone.