The Last Dream Keeper

by Amber Benson

  It hadn’t been her intention to let her emotions get out of hand, but there she was, sitting in a brightly lit diner at five A.M., crying like a baby. She didn’t want to do this, so she picked up her paper napkin and dabbed at her eyes, trying to control herself. It was being with Desmond, one of her mother’s oldest friends and a trusted compatriot within the highly political fishbowl of the Greater Council, that made it impossible for Daniela to hold on to her composure.

  “No tears, my dear,” Desmond said. “That’s not what Marie-Faith would want to see.”

  He didn’t reach out to touch her—he’d known her since she was a small child and was well aware of her powers—but he removed a monogrammed white handkerchief from his navy wool peacoat pocket and offered it to her. She took it, grateful for the small kindness. Not being able to use your hands to touch the ones you loved made these tiny gestures of affection extremely important to Daniela.

  “Sorry,” she said, and blew her nose. “I just . . . it’s still difficult, you know?”

  Desmond nodded.

  “I miss her, too,” he said, and beckoned the waiter over to their table, so that Daniela could have a few moments to collect herself.

  The young waiter yawned, then pulled out his pad of paper expectantly.

  “You need to eat,” Desmond said to Daniela. “You look worn out.” He turned to the waiter: “Two omelets, bacon, hash browns, and toast. Coffee for me. That’s all, please.”

  Dismissed, the waiter skulked away like a dog with its tail between its legs. Daniela laughed.

  “I don’t know why everyone is always so intimidated by you. You’re the sweetest man I know.”

  An omnipresent fixture in her adolescence, Desmond was like the father she’d never known. He was the person she went to when she fought with her mother, or when she needed to talk about something private . . . something no one else would understand. He was a great listener, and he never judged her—not even when she came out to him. He merely shook his head and said: “Of course. I’ve known this about you for a very long time.”

  If he didn’t have her heart before that moment, he had it forever after.

  * * *

  As they ate, she told him everything, and all the emotions that had been trapped inside came rushing out.

  “And then when the call came, I didn’t know what to do,” Daniela said, absently stirring her coffee with a battered aluminum spoon. “It didn’t seem real. I couldn’t process it, and I was stuck here in L.A., a part of a coven that didn’t know me or trust me. I felt so lost. The only saving grace was Eleanora. She and Mom had been friends for ages, and I remembered her from when I was little. So she wasn’t a stranger, at least.”

  Desmond set his fork down and pushed his plate away, finished with his meal. Daniela didn’t think he looked well. He seemed exhausted, and the way he pushed his food around his plate, barely tasting any of it, gave her the impression that there was something wrong.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been babbling at you this whole time. How are you? I feel like I haven’t really talked to you in such a long time.” They hadn’t spent any real time together since right after her mother’s memorial service—and she’d been in such a daze, barely been functioning.

  “I’m the one who should apologize,” Desmond replied, sitting back into his seat. “There’s been so much to do in your mother’s absence . . . but I should’ve come sooner, regardless.”

  “Well, you’re here now,” Daniela said, pushing the eggs to the side of the plate, where they disappeared into a wall of uneaten ketchup and hash browns.

  “Just so you know, I was part of the splinter group your mother created to find and protect the last Dream Keeper. I’m pleased she saw fit to bring you into our confidence,” Desmond said, and smiled. “Of all the people in my life, I consider you to be my family, Daniela. That I can trust you and work with you as a peer has been one of my greatest joys. Thank you for your honesty in all things.”

  Daniela returned his smile. “Well, I figured you couldn’t be frank with me until I was frank with you. How could you have known my mother had brought me into her confidence?”

  “She spoke of doing so,” Desmond said. “But then . . .”

  He chose not to mention Marie-Faith’s death again.

  “She told me about the hybrids, but not what it was The Flood wanted with them,” Daniela said, shattering the silence that hung between them.

  Daniela watched as the sun began to coast over the horizon. It wasn’t as dark outside as it had been and she felt exposed, worried that maybe one of her blood sisters would walk past the large plate-glass window. See her betrayal.

  “That is something we don’t really know ourselves,” Desmond said, and sighed. “Well, I do know one thing. Your logic is sound. Not letting the Dream Keeper out of your sight is key. Now tell me what your plans are. I have people around the world ready to do your bidding at a moment’s notice.”

  “We need to let the Council know that The Flood isn’t just coming. It’s here. We need to prepare—”

  Desmond interrupted her, waving his hands to stop the flow of words.

  “If only it were so easy. There are people on the Council who’d throw you out on your ear if you even suggested that. They believe nothing terrible could ever touch them, and they have no interest in someone like you, or your mother, crying wolf and upsetting the status quo.”

  “It’s not true. We’ve been attacked with magic a number of times,” Daniela protested. “And something or someone is out there burning witches . . . making monsters to do their bidding.”

  Once again, Desmond held up his hand for her to stop.

  “Listen to yourself. You sound hysterical . . . though I know you’re being anything but—”

  “I don’t think—” she tried to interject, but Desmond was still talking.

  “—and remember how impenetrable the Council is, especially the high council: The more facts you collect, the more information you obtain, the easier it will be to convert the naysayers. That’s all I’m saying to you.”

  Even though Daniela knew Desmond was just trying to make a point, she didn’t like being referred to as “hysterical.” She’d seen how difficult her mother’s job had been. Getting anyone to agree on anything was an almost impossible task. And the Greater Council was not just one group of women governing their world, but a series of committees that each, in their own right, possessed a level of power.

  The high council—where her mother had been installed until her untimely death—was like the Supreme Court, taking the opinions of the other committees, weighing them against one another, and coming to a final decision on the matter. Desmond was a member of the Autonomous Committee—an objective group of scholars and academics who didn’t possess magic, but who acted in an advisory capacity to the high council. These men and women were highly important to the blood sisters but were not of them.

  Desmond had spent enough time among the covens to know how they maneuvered and what would and wouldn’t fly. As much as she hated to admit it, he was probably right.

  “So how do we proceed, then?”

  “You follow the Dream Keeper, see what she discovers in Italy, and then you bring everything to me. Together, we can go to the high council and make our stand . . .” He leaned forward in his seat, rheumy eyes alive with excitement. “If they believe us, then the rest of the committees will be more inclined to do so, as well.”

  He sat back again, having said his piece.

  “I’m not as energetic as I once was,” he said, closing his eyes. “It’s almost too much for an old man.”

  Daniela wanted to reach out and touch him, reassure him he wasn’t old—but she didn’t want to lie to him. It would be a first in their relationship. Desmond had always inspired the truth from her. Instead, she chose to remain silent.

  “I’ll have people on t
he ground in Rome. They’ll stay in the shadows, but they’ll be there if you need them. Or if something goes wrong.”

  He was looking at her now, waiting for an answer.

  She nodded.

  “I know you can take care of yourself, but these are dark times and you’re going to need all the help you can get to protect Lyse—”

  “You mean, Lizbeth . . . ?” Daniela said, correcting him.

  Desmond shook his head, trying to clear it.

  “Of course, that’s what I mean,” he sighed, deep frown lines creasing the skin around his mouth. “Between the two of us, my mind isn’t what it once was . . . it’s not terrible . . . yet.”

  He stopped there, taking a deep breath, and Daniela’s heart fluttered in her chest. Fear, as cold and mercenary as a vise, squeezed at her insides. She didn’t think she could listen to what he was about to tell her.

  “I didn’t want to tell you like this,” he said, looking down at the tabletop, unwilling to meet her gaze.

  No. No. No. This can’t be happening, Daniela thought. I can’t lose you, too.

  “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  She couldn’t help herself. The words came out in a rush, her fear a living thing inside her.

  “It’s Alzheimer’s. There’s nothing that can be done. I’ve known for a while, but the disease is progressing faster than the doctors expected.”

  Daniela’s face fell. It was like being kicked in the gut. She dropped her head, cupping her face in between her hands, and began to rock back and forth in her seat.

  “Stop it,” Desmond said, his voice stern. “I don’t need you to fall apart on me. I want the opposite. I want what’s happening to my brain forgotten and for you to do the job that your mother gave you.”

  Daniela nodded, fighting back tears.

  “Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

  She said the words out loud but had no idea if she’d be able to stand by them. This news was devastating: The last link to “family” was fading away right before her eyes.

  “I think it’s time for us to go,” Desmond said, throwing a hundred-dollar bill down on the table and climbing to his feet.

  Daniela followed suit, dragging herself from the booth, her legs unsteady beneath her. She rested a gloved hand on the Naugahyde seat and steadied herself.

  “Oh, I forgot to ask you something . . .”

  Desmond, who was already moving toward the front entrance, turned back around.

  “Yes?”

  “Does the name Temistocles mean anything to you?”

  For a moment, Daniela thought she saw a flash of recognition in Desmond’s eyes, but it was so fleeting she couldn’t be sure she hadn’t just imagined it. He made a show of thinking about the question for a moment and then shook his head.

  “Outside of an historical context?” he asked, a curious frown on his face.

  Daniela nodded her head.

  “Then the answer is no.”

  * * *

  Daniela woke up as the plane began its descent into the Leonardo da Vinci–Fiumicino International Airport in Rome. She’d watched a few mindless films, and then she must’ve just passed out because she didn’t remember falling asleep.

  “We’re here,” Lyse said, her head turned toward the window, watching the abstract geometric patterns slowly resolve into the trappings of the human world.

  “Good,” Daniela said, stretching in her seat.

  “You were unconscious for hours,” Lyse said. “I was jealous. I never sleep well on planes.”

  Daniela shrugged, the nasty taste of cotton mouth making her wish she had some water.

  “Any word from the kids?” Daniela asked as she pulled a pack of spearmint gum from her pocket and popped a stick into her mouth.

  Lyse shook her head.

  “Weir slept. Lizbeth read through the journals I brought.”

  Lyse had removed Hessika’s Dream Journals from their hiding place in Eleanora’s closet and presented them to Lizbeth at the airport. Like the notebook Lizbeth had retrieved from the dreamlands, the Dream Journals appeared blank to anyone who did not possess a Dream Keeper’s talents.

  “Ah, more knowledge she may or may not share with us,” Daniela mumbled.

  Lyse shot her a disapproving glance.

  “Please don’t do that. We need to close ranks, not cause more rifts.”

  Daniela sighed.

  “All right. Team effort from now on,” she said.

  Lyse smiled at her.

  “Thank you.”

  * * *

  Their pensione was tucked away from the center of the city in one of the quieter, more residential quarters of Rome. Once it had been a single-family home—a mansion, really, with Doric columns on the portico and the classical, clean lines of a Roman villa—but those days were long gone. Its latest owners had sectioned off the massive interior space into a number of charming, sun-drenched rooms, each one taken up by two single beds and a rococo desk and chair.

  Lizbeth and Weir were bunked in one room; Lyse and Daniela would take over another. But they didn’t stay long enough to enjoy their new surroundings. They dropped their stuff off and headed out again with little delay, only making a pit stop at a small café to get paninis and coffee.

  Daniela had insisted they move quickly, so they’d hopped in a cab and headed for the Villa Nomentana, the international home of the high council—and the very place where her mother had spent the last few months of her life.

  * * *

  “Drop us here, please,” Daniela said to their driver, and the four of them piled out of the taxi. They were at a busy intersection, and Daniela threw the man far more euros than necessary before waving him on his way.

  She and Lyse had decided not to take any unnecessary risks, not wanting to alert anyone to their presence here in the city. Which was why they’d chosen to get out of the cab a few blocks away from the villa, among the crumbling old buildings and tiny shops of the Trieste district.

  The afternoon sunlight beat down on their heads as they wove their way through a sidewalk filled with pedestrians—and Daniela wondered what the local Italians thought of them.

  With our American accents and backpacks, we must look like the worst kind of tourists, she mused. Weir busy scanning the crowd like he’s expecting to be pickpocketed at any moment, Lizbeth off in some fantasy land of her own making, Lyse’s whole body as tight as a drumhead.

  Lizbeth and Weir had been strangely silent since their arrival in Rome, and Daniela tried not to let her suspicions about that silence influence how she behaved. She knew Lyse was right—creating an atmosphere of distrust wouldn’t be good for anyone—but it didn’t mean she ignored her gut feelings. She just put them aside for the moment—though they always remained within easy reach.

  It was warmer than usual for October, and Daniela began to sweat as they walked the remaining blocks to the Villa Nomentana. She’d spent some time in the city while her mother was in residence with the high council, and she had a basic understanding of the layout of the area around the villa. She just wished she knew a way to get to the catacombs without having to enter the grounds.

  “We’ll just be tourists,” Daniela said as they turned off the crowded sidewalk, leaving the terra-cotta-colored buildings and high stone walls to cross to the other side of the street. “We’ll walk around the grounds, looking as normal as possible. And we stick together, don’t split up—we’re safer as a group.”

  “Sure,” Weir said, but his tone was unconvincing. He pulled his backpack up higher on his shoulders and let his gaze drift away—almost as if he were too embarrassed by the obviousness of his lie to look her in the eye.

  I’m gonna have my work cut out for me, Daniela thought. They reached the end of the sidewalk, and the rough stone wall separating the park from the street gave way to a wrought-iron g
ate that led into the villa’s manicured grounds. The high council only used the main building, which was separate from the rest of the grounds. Those were open to the public and many tourists could be found inside its gates, snapping pictures and enjoying the bounty of its gardens.

  It was an impressive piece of real estate. Sprawling lawns, cultivated Italianate gardens leading to marble-sculpted fountains, and Roman statuary intermixed with verdant shrubbery and luscious floral beds in neon-hued pinks, yellows, and reds. The four of them followed the dirt path through rows of statuary of mythic Roman gods and goddesses, their human musculature—long-limbed bodies, rounded bellies and breasts, massive hands and feet—sculpted from aging white marble. A large oval fountain sat in front of the gated entrance into the main villa, and all along its sparkling aqua pool, water burst in fanlike arcs from urns held by lounging water nymphs, their budded breasts and curving hips making them appear wanton and lazy in the heat of the afternoon.

  “It’s so beautiful here,” Lizbeth said, spinning in place so she could get a three-hundred-sixty-degree view.

  At that moment, she resembled a teenager again—only one whose wistful eyes had seen far too much suffering for such a short lifetime. Daniela found herself feeling sorry for the girl. Daniela knew what it was to be different. To be physically unable to connect to other people because reaching out was impossible.

  Now she began to feel guilty for being so suspicious of the girl.

  “Where do we go from here?” Lyse asked, brushing her thick black bangs out of her face.

  “This way,” Daniela said, taking a deep breath. “This is where we access the catacombs.”

  Devandra

  Melisande and Delilah Montrose arrived with the dawn, the ring of the doorbell dragging Dev from the warmth of her bed. She threw on her chenille robe and headed downstairs.

  “Mama?” A sleepy voice called out in the darkness, and Dev stopped at the head of the stairs.

  Marji stood in her bedroom doorway, hair unkempt and eyes still half-closed with sleep. She yawned, raising a hand to cover her mouth.