The Last Dream Keeper Page 25

“Yeah, I didn’t think too much of it at first, but then when I mentioned it to Mom,” Darrah said, shaking her head, “she seemed to immediately intuit that it was important.”

  The back door leading to the mudroom opened and Melisande, hair mussed and complexion ruddy, stepped through into the kitchen, holding a small wicker basket in her arms. Dev heard the back door close and then Thomas was there beside her tiny mother, his hand on her shoulder. He grinned at Dev and then let his eyes drift to Darrah, giving her a small nod.

  “This is Thomas. An old friend,” Melisande said to Darrah, blushing. “This is my second eldest, Darrah.”

  “Pleased to meet you. You are as lovely as your mother and sisters.” Thomas intoned, reaching out and plucking Darrah’s hand from the table in order to kiss it.

  Darrah raised an eyebrow at Dev, who shrugged. She would let her sister come to her own conclusions about the stranger.

  “We’ve got the yew and the belladonna,” Melisande said, setting the red-cloth-covered basket on the table and patting Darrah’s shoulder. “Any word from Daphne?”

  “Soon,” Dev said.

  This seemed to reassure Melisande, and she set about uncovering the basket and placing its contents onto the table. She’d taken a number of corked vials from Arrabelle’s large antique apothecary cabinets and a small black iron cauldron. Dev wondered how unhappy Arrabelle would be when she got home to find that her stuff had been unceremoniously rifled through.

  “All dangerous stuff, so please be careful, my dears,” Melisande said, removing the final item from the basket: a pair of industrial-strength rubber gloves. “Use the gloves. Even a few seconds on the skin would be enough to make you seriously ill.”

  Dev and Darrah shared a look—they didn’t need to be talked to like they were small children. They’d both had experience in these things.

  Now I remember why I was so happy my parents decided to buy the Airstream, Dev thought, amused.

  “We should get started, Melisande,” Thomas said, pushing his hair out of his eyes and then smiling at Dev and Darrah. “Maybe Delilah would join us, as well?”

  Dev sighed and turned off the eye of the stove, setting the heavy metal lid on the stockpot.

  “I’ll get her and we’ll meet you outside,” Dev said.

  * * *

  “We call those beyond us into being.”

  The yew was pungent and warm, but so damn toxic they had to burn it outside. Even being near the smoke made Dev uncomfortable—but it was a necessary evil.

  Darrah and Delilah had walked widdershins around the Victorian three times, placing black candles along the foundations of the house. Each of the candles—taken from Dev’s own stores in the attic—had been dipped up to their wick in pig’s blood, an item Dev had gotten at one of the local carnicerias on Sunset. The man behind the counter had looked at her funny when she’d asked for a gallon of pig’s blood, but he’d obliged her odd request without comment.

  She was pretty sure he’d experienced weirder demands.

  “We call up all the women of the Montrose line who have passed on . . . we have called up Hessika and Eleanora, two of our blood sisters who have chosen to walk the dreams of humankind . . .”

  They stood in a circle around the tall black marble-and-bronze brazier that held the burning yew wood. Rarely was Dev’s brazier used for its true purpose—in fact, until that afternoon, it had been a makeshift birdbath that Marji and Ginny liked to decorate with tree branches and sparkly odds and ends they’d found, thinking this helped attract the birds. As Melisande spoke, the fire grew in size and strength—yew was known for the intensity of its burn—and the smoke began to form a straight column that shot up into the air but did not disperse with the wind.

  “Take each other’s hands,” Melisande said, catching each of her daughters’ eyes, in turn.

  The three of them did as their mother asked. Dev looked at her two sisters, surprised at how strongly they resembled each other.

  We truly come from the same place—even if our coloring differs, so many of the features are the same, Dev mused, taking Delilah’s fingers in her left hand and Thomas’s in her right.

  She still wasn’t sure about the strange man, but she’d watched him with her mother these past few hours, and there was such tenderness between them, a feeling of connectedness that made Dev feel better about him. He was here, helping them to raise the spirits of their ancestors, and he didn’t seem to mind at all that a bunch of women were bossing him around and telling him what to do.

  As soon as Melisande took Darrah’s hand and closed the circle, the smoke became invisible. At first, Dev thought it was a trick of the light, but then she realized it was truly transparent—and the smell had changed, too. There was a darker, loamier scent in the air and she quickly recognized it for what it was: the stink of the grave.

  “It’s working, my fair ladies,” Thomas murmured, smiling at each of the women. For the first time, Dev began to feel the excitement of what was about to happen. “When they come, and they will come as they did in my world, we will be ready.”

  “We’ve done what we can,” Melisande said as they released each other’s hands.

  Dev’s palms felt sweaty, and she wiped them on her skirt. She’d been nervous without realizing it and had probably been squeezing everyone’s hands way too hard.

  “We’ll need the girls, though, for everything to work correctly,” Thomas said as they turned to go inside.

  It was an offhand comment, but Dev froze. No one had said a word about this to her.

  She frowned, turning to her mother.

  “We need all of the Montrose women, Devandra,” Melisande said.

  Suddenly, the backyard—a place that had always been a safe harbor for Dev—had been desanctified. The floss tree with its magical chandelier of sparkling candlelight that she and Freddy had rigged up one summer morning when she was pregnant with Ginny now seemed malevolent in the darkening afternoon light. The Mucho Man Cave was empty and shuttered, as if nothing light or gay might be hidden inside. Everything had taken on a surreal, sinister quality and Dev wasn’t sure if it was the spell at work . . . or if it had come about when Thomas had asked for her daughters.

  “I don’t want them here, Mom,” Dev said. “It’s not safe. You didn’t see what happened before. What Hessika and Eleanora did to protect them. It was terrifying and he”—she pointed at Thomas—“was the instigator of that. So, I’m sorry if I don’t feel comfortable with this . . .”

  No one had gone inside. Her sisters were watching the conversation with unease. But when Dev was done speaking, Darrah placed a hand on her arm:

  “Dev, if I didn’t have boys . . . if my sons were daughters, you know I’d have them here right now.”

  Darrah was the one person in the world that Dev could not argue with. Darrah had no ulterior motives, no need to manipulate or confuse. If she believed it was important—necessary even—for Marji and Ginny to be there, then Dev had to submit to Thomas’s will.

  “Call Freddy,” Darrah said. “Tell him to come home with the girls. It’s safer here, anyway. I promise you that Delilah and I will do whatever it takes to protect them.”

  Dev cast her eyes to Delilah’s face and saw that what Darrah said was true. That her sisters would move heaven and earth to make sure her daughters remained unharmed.

  “Okay,” Dev said. “I’ll call him.”

  “And Daphne will be here soon,” Melisande said, smiling at Thomas. “We’ll have a full complement then.”

  As much as she wanted to believe that everything would be all right, her mother’s words sent a chill up Dev’s spine. With a real sense of disquiet, she took out her phone and texted Freddy, telling him to come home . . . and to bring the girls with him.

  * * *

  The moment she stepped foot into the house, Dev knew that things were very, very different
. For one thing, the interior of the house was darker than she’d ever seen it—and she realized that there was not just one reality contained inside the Victorian, but many. Electric lights were laid over gas lamps, furniture was in one place, yet if you blinked, it would magically reappear in another spot. The rooms shimmered as different varieties of wallpaper fought for supremacy on the walls, as carpets changed color and patterns when you blinked—and the most surreal part of it all . . . the ghostly images of every Montrose woman who had ever lived in the house were there, lounging around the rooms.

  They stared at Dev and her mother and sisters but did not speak. They did not appear to notice Thomas’s existence, which Dev appreciated. She was starting to really resent his presence among her family.

  “This is amazing,” Delilah said, reaching out and trying to touch one of the living room walls. As soon her fingers made contact, the wall stopped shimmering and the wallpaper from their reality appeared. When she pulled her hand away, the oscillations between the different realities/times began again.

  “I guess whatever belongs in our time will stay fixed in place as long as we’re in contact with it,” Darrah said, and she plopped down on the settee, putting her feet up on the old horsehair ottoman, pinning both pieces of furniture into permanency with her touch.

  “Where are Eleanora and Hessika?” Dev asked, searching the room for the two Dream Walkers.

  “They’re different than the others,” Thomas said, shrugging. “We can’t see them in this dimension.”

  Dev frowned.

  “Then why did we name them in our spell?” she asked.

  Melisande came to stand behind Thomas, her hand instinctively finding his.

  “We want them bound to the house, sweetheart. It’s the only way we can assure ourselves of their cooperation.”

  Dev hoped she’d misunderstood.

  “They’re here to help us, Mom,” she said. “We don’t need to coerce them or bind them to us.”

  Melisande brushed Dev’s worries aside.

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said. “It’s to help us keep everyone safe. That’s all.”

  Dev felt bristly after that, but she didn’t want to fight with her mom. They needed to stick together in these dark times. It was imperative that they presented a united front in the face of something as powerful as The Flood—because whatever it sought to do on Earth would not be for the betterment of mankind.

  “Maybe we should eat now,” Melisande said.

  Her mother was right. They’d all been up for hours and none of them had eaten a thing.

  “We’ll all feel better if we do that,” Thomas agreed, looking at Dev.

  Dev nodded.

  “I guess that’s my cue to go ladle out the soup,” she said, trying to mask her unhappiness underneath a chipper tone.

  “I’ll help you,” Delilah said, and she followed Dev into the kitchen, where someone, possibly Melisande, had already retrieved a stack of bowls and laid them on the counter.

  Dev realized that though the kitchen lights changed back and forth as they shuffled through the different realities, the kitchen itself remained very much the same in each time. Apparently, this room had not often been changed. Only the copper rack hanging from the ceiling above the center of the room appeared and disappeared. But that wasn’t so strange, seeing that it was something she and Freddy had added to the space a few years earlier.

  “He’s a weird guy,” Delilah whispered as soon as they were out of earshot. “I know you feel the same way. I can totally see it on your face. You’re not buying his schtick, either.”

  Dev let out a long sigh—she didn’t even know she’d been holding her breath. It was a relief that she wasn’t alone in her thoughts. That Delilah felt the same way she did about her mother’s friend.

  “There’s something odd about him,” Delilah continued. “Do you think we should say something to Mom?”

  “Ha,” Dev said, and snorted. “She’s so in love that she can’t see reality at the moment. I don’t think either of us saying anything disparaging about him is gonna help our cause.”

  Dev reached for the lid of the stockpot but paused when she saw that it was a little askew. She turned to Delilah.

  “Did you take the top off this pot? To stir it or something?”

  Delilah shook her head.

  “Do I look like I’d take the top off that thing and stir it?”

  Dev had to laugh. Cooking was definitely not Delilah’s forte.

  “It was probably Mom,” Delilah added. “She’s gotta be in charge of everything. As usual.”

  Dev laughed. It was so true. The Montrose women came by their bossiness honestly.

  “You speak the truth,” Dev said, and she removed the lid and placed it on the counter. She opened the drawer next to the sink and plucked a copper ladle from inside, dishing up the soup as Delilah held out the ceramic bowls to be filled.

  “It’s nice having us all together under one roof,” Delilah said, reaching for another bowl.

  “Never thought I’d hear such a sentimental sentence come out of your mouth.”

  Delilah laughed and set the second bowl down on the counter.

  “I’ve always been in the Montrose shadow, Devandra,” she said, and Dev knew her younger sister was speaking seriously now. “I had to get as far away as I could so I wouldn’t get lost.”

  There was a sad truth behind the statement.

  “I didn’t know that.”

  Delilah shrugged, as if to say: How could you?

  “And I probably wouldn’t have told you back then, anyway,” she replied, shrugging. “Even if you had asked.”

  It’s funny how strange times bring out the confidences we should’ve shared long ago, Dev thought, and put the ladle down. She pushed away from the stove and took her younger sister’s wrists, pulling her in close.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you more when we were kids,” she began, but Delilah shook her head.

  “Please, don’t,” she said, and sighed. “That’s not why I said it. For you to pity me. I’ve made my peace with it and that’s that. It’s fine.”

  Dev bit her lip and nodded.

  “Okay, yeah. I get it. I’m just . . . glad that you’re telling me now. I love you and I don’t want us to be so removed from each other anymore.”

  Delilah smiled.

  “I appreciate that. Which is why I wanted to talk to you about something . . .”

  She paused.

  “Anything.”

  “I . . .” Delilah’s eyes slid to the side—a holdover from when she was a little girl and was too shy to ask for something she really wanted. “I want to come home. Back here with you. I know you’d need to talk to Freddy and—”

  “Yes,” Dev squealed, interrupting her. “That would be wonderful. I would love it. Freddy would love it. The girls would be beside themselves.”

  Delilah shook her head, surprise written across her face.

  “Really?” she said, eyes narrowing in disbelief. “You’re serious.”

  Dev threw up her hands.

  “Of course, I’m serious. It’s a done deal. Whatever, whenever you want or need—you’re part of the family.”

  “Okay,” her sister said, still looking a little shocked. “If you’re sure . . . ?”

  “One hundred percent,” Dev replied. “We’d love to have you. You can stay in the guest room downstairs. It’s perfect.”

  With that settled, Dev grabbed Delilah in a bear hug and squeezed her tight.

  “I’m so excited,” she whispered in her sister’s ear.

  “Me, too,” Delilah replied, returning Dev’s enthusiasm.

  She released her sister from the embrace, having to stop herself from reaching out and stroking Delilah’s head as if she were one of her daughters. Delilah, shying
away from being mothered by her eldest sister, ducked out of further reach and backstepped over to the round oak table with the yellow damask tablecloth. The tablecloth was another item, along with the copper pot rack and the small appliances on the counter, that kept flickering in and out of existence as it fought for supremacy with a red gingham one and cornflower blue one.

  “Shall I set the table, then?” Delilah asked, already reaching toward what used to be the cutlery drawer when this was their mother’s kitchen. Dev shook her head.

  “Two drawers over and, yes, please.”

  The sisters worked in harmony, the room shifting in and out of time like a carnival house of mirrors. While Dev ladled the last of the soup into the bowls, Delilah brought them to the table, where she’d already laid out soup spoons and napkins—and both sisters tried to ignore the pinwheel effect of color and patterns going on around them.

  “I’ll go get them,” Delilah said, leaving Dev alone in the kitchen.

  As soon as Delilah was gone, Dev’s stomach began to rumble. She really hadn’t eaten anything all day and she was starving. She picked up the ladle and swallowed a huge mouthful, not caring if she burned her tongue. The soup tasted sweeter than she’d expected, but it was still delicious. Or maybe that’s just my hunger talking, she thought.

  Behind her, Dev could hear the others enter the room and take their places at the table, or, at least, it sounded like that was what was happening. She could’ve sworn she heard the scraping of chair legs as seats were pushed back from table . . . but when she turned around, there was no one in the room with her.

  That’s not right, she thought, frowning. I know I heard something.

  But there was only an empty table staring back at her, its tablecloth shifting from gingham to yellow to blue so quickly that it was hard for her to focus on it. The whirling of the different fabrics abruptly sped up, and as much as she wanted to drag her eyes away from the frenzied cotillion of colors, she could not.

  Stop it, she thought. Stop it.

  She fought whatever force was trying to hijack her brain. Screamed at her body to do as she wished, her world spinning out of control—and with the greatest of effort, she was finally able to drag her eyelids shut.