The Last Dream Keeper Page 4

  Daniela felt Lyse’s return before she saw her.

  “She’s not,” Lyse said, coming to stand beside Daniela. “Fucking with you.”

  The crudeness was obviously for Daniela’s benefit.

  We haven’t spent a whole lot of time together, Daniela thought, but she’s already got my number.

  “I didn’t know any of this before I came back to be with Eleanora when she got sick,” Lyse continued. “They just sprang it on me, too.”

  “What are you talking about?” Weir asked, eyes narrowing.

  “That there’s more going on here than you know,” Daniela added. “And I wanted you to be aware of this before we run into anything out of the ordinary—”

  “I’m confused here,” Weir said, turning to Lyse. “You say you may or may not have killed someone, but you don’t know?”

  From the look on Lyse’s face, it was obvious she was embarrassed.

  Killing someone or not killing someone—would seem pretty black-and-white to Weir, Daniela thought. But when you stepped into the world of the covens . . . well, all bets were off.

  “And you—” His eyes fixed on Daniela. “You just drop ‘I’m a witch’ on me, totally out of the blue like it’s nothing?”

  “I just wanted you to be prepared—”

  Weir shook his head.

  “Are you guys on drugs?”

  “Weir,” Lyse said, reaching out to touch his arm—but he pulled out of her grasp. “I know it sounds crazy to you, but it’s real. I swear it. I didn’t believe it at first, either. Eleanora raised me like you’ve raised Lizbeth, and I had no idea she was the head of a coven of witches—”

  Weir’s eyes narrowed further, and, seeing the change in his expression, Lyse stopped speaking.

  “I’m not talking about this right now,” Weir said, tone prickly. “I can’t even . . .”

  He turned away from them, his words trailing off. His body language let them know he was done with the conversation.

  “I just want to find my sister,” he added, not looking at either of them. “I don’t care what you guys do on your own time. I just want LB safe.”

  Denial is strong in this one, Daniela thought, channeling her inner Yoda. It was easier to ignore the obvious than to change your perception of how the world worked.

  She didn’t blame Weir for not wanting to dig deeper into the conversation. She knew being forced to deal with the supernatural could make normal human beings switch off. They weren’t interested in facing things that went beyond their realm of comprehension. Were eager, in fact, to put magic, and all the weird stuff that went along with it, into a nice little box and chuck it out the window, enjoying the supernatural only when they experienced it in the guise of “entertainment”—like in a movie or book.

  “Me, too,” Lyse said. “I want to find Lizbeth. Anything else we can talk about later.”

  Daniela nodded her agreement, relieved Weir hadn’t had a complete and total freak-out—and she was more than ready to let him live in denial, if it kept him from losing his shit.

  Why does everyone hate change so goddamned much? Daniela wondered as she followed Lyse and Weir down the stairs leading into the park.

  There was no answer from the powers that be—and she wasn’t about to stir things up.

  Not until they found Lizbeth.

  * * *

  The park was quiet. There were only a few intrepid hikers and dog walkers on the path, so they were able to keep a steady pace as they made their way down the dirt trail that took them deeper into the heart of the park. Daniela was in the lead, Lyse and Weir neck and neck behind her. Above them, the clouds amassed like a murder of angry crows, dark feathered and full of menace. It was going to rain again—which was good for the drought-starved state of California, but it worried the hell out of Daniela.

  It feels like someone’s tampering with the atmosphere, she thought—her empathic abilities had always made her very sensitive to magic use. Drawing out the darkness and making the air heavy with rain.

  Normally Daniela didn’t give in to negative thinking, but every day there seemed to be more to worry about . . . and then there was the blood moon on the horizon. Daniela had never been a fan of these total lunar eclipses—and this year there’d already been two of them—but with the third only days away, and all the bad things happening here and abroad, it made Daniela nervous. The blood moon was bad business, and its influence made people behave strangely, the world getting even crazier—if that was possible—than usual.

  She wished her mother were still alive. Marie-Faith Altonelli would know how to handle everything. She was by far the most formidable human being Daniela had ever known. Her mother didn’t let a little thing like fear stop her from doing what needed to be done—and Daniela wished she were more like the slender woman with the olive skin and hooded eyes . . . eyes that saw everything, belying their sleepy appearance.

  Daniela felt a ping of magical energy and knew they were near the grove of ancient eucalyptus trees where the coven met and performed their rituals. Through the influence of spell-casting, the grove was impossible to find unless you knew what you were looking for. Long ago the Echo Park coven had chosen it for its remote locale, but as the city of Los Angeles had grown up around it, the grove had lost its isolated quality, forcing the blood sisters to use spells and charms to keep the trees hidden from prying eyes.

  Daniela had felt an affinity for the sacred grove from the first moment she’d laid eyes on it. There was something wild about the place, a feeling of raw power in the air. So many blood sisters had used their talents here that the trees no longer just existed in the physical world. The grove had become a clearinghouse of psychic and magical energy extending far beyond the earthly plane.

  “We’re close,” Daniela said, turning to look at Lyse and Weir as they moved away from the magic encircling the grove.

  Weir nodded and tried to smile back, but Daniela could see the strain on his face. She knew he saw himself as more of a parent than a big brother. Deciding to save Lizbeth from a life of institutionalization made him feel responsible for her continued well-being.

  “It’ll be okay,” Daniela heard Lyse say to Weir. “I’m sure she’s up there.”

  Daniela knew Lizbeth had not enjoyed a great childhood.

  Weir’s father didn’t like having a daughter “on the spectrum,” thought it reflected badly on his genetic line. After Lizbeth’s mother divorced him, he distanced himself from their child. He’d had nothing further to do with Lizbeth until her mother died, and then, as her legal guardian, he’d had her institutionalized.

  She was barely functioning already—the trauma of losing her mother had been a terrible blow to the little girl—and the shock of being sent away to such a cold and inhumane place had pushed her inward. And it was there, alone in that facility, where she’d become locked inside herself, mute and unable to connect to the outside world.

  Then Weir had come to rescue her.

  He’d petitioned the courts to make him her guardian and her entire world had changed. Under his constant care, she’d come out of her shell and started interacting with other people via notepad and pen. She’d come a long way in the intervening years, but she still couldn’t speak—an affliction her doctors believed was purely psychological.

  “I haven’t thought about the Dragon in years,” Lyse said. “God, I used to go up there and spend hours reading books and writing bad poetry in my journal.”

  The Dragon was actually an outcropping of rocks local vandals had spray-painted with graffiti, making it resemble the head of a massive reptile. Daniela thought it looked more like the basilisk from the Harry Potter movies than a dragon, but she seemed to be alone in her opinion.

  “Why would she be going there?” Lyse asked Weir, as a drop of rain hit her on the nose.

  “I don’t know,” Weir said, crossing
his arms over his chest. “She was hell-bent on getting up there last night, and then she had one of her episodes. I had to take her home after that.”

  “Well, whatever the reason,” Daniela said, looking at the sky and not liking what she saw, “I just hope she’s up there.”

  They remained silent as they made their way through the trees, hiking deeper into the woods. A drop of rain hit Daniela’s arm, and when she looked up again, the clouds had grown even darker.

  “It’s really gonna pour,” Lyse said, following Daniela’s gaze heavenward.

  Daniela nodded, picking up her pace. She jogged through the trees until she found the trail she was looking for and veered onto it.

  They passed an elderly couple walking a German shepherd, and she gave them a wave. She’d seen them out in the park before, assumed they lived somewhere in the neighborhood, but they’d never exchanged names. It was one of the things she loved best about the Echo Park hills. You spent time outside, and even if you didn’t know someone’s name, they still smiled and said hello. It didn’t matter if they were old hippies, funky artist/musicians, or one of the slew of younger hipster families that had recently infiltrated the hood; everyone was reasonably nice to everyone else.

  They left the trail, striking off into the trees, and it was all uphill from there. Lyse had a little trouble with the incline, but Daniela was used to walking and spent more than a few mornings a week down at the Echo Park Pool.

  “Should we slow down?” Daniela asked, but Lyse shook her head.

  “Not on account of me. I’m fine. It’s just my stupid leg. I sliced it open and I thought it was better, but it’s just not.”

  Daniela hadn’t wanted to slow down and was glad Lyse didn’t want to, either.

  “It’s close. Not too far now,” Daniela said.

  Lyse nodded, her pale cheeks pink with exertion.

  “I know,” she said. “You never forget how to find a place like the Dragon.”

  “Do you see her?” Daniela asked as they rounded the bend and the Dragon came into view.

  The outcropping of gray rock extended out of the hillside like a Paleolithic monster. If anything, it was covered in more graffiti than the last time Daniela had seen it. There were the requisite gang tags—swooping lines of color representing the initials of the various East L.A. gangs—and then the more artistic endeavors, which included ghost-white eyeballs encapsulated inside teal-blue circles of electric color that made the Dragon appear as if it were staring right at you.

  “Lizbeth!” Weir yelled.

  Daniela followed his gaze up to the top of the Dragon, where Lizbeth lay stretched out across the rocks, her body inert, long russet hair covering her face.

  Weir took off, Lyse right there with him, her stride almost matching his own. Daniela watched as they scrambled across the rocks, clawing their way up the steep embankment that led to the top. Daniela let them go and doubled back, choosing to take the trail rather than climb up the stonier outcropping.

  She reached Lizbeth just before the others and was able to step in front of Weir, blocking his path.

  “Out of my way,” he said, moving past her.

  “Look at her—she’s not touching the ground!”

  Daniela’s words penetrated and Weir stopped in his tracks to stare down at his kid sister.

  “Don’t touch her,” Daniela continued. “I think she’s dreaming.”

  He looked back and forth between Daniela and Lizbeth’s prone body, uncertainty in his eyes.

  “Weir,” Lyse said, touching his arm. “Lizbeth is breathing—I can see her chest rising and falling—and she’s not in any obvious danger. Let Daniela go to her. She can help your sister in a way neither of us can.”

  Weir turned to Daniela for confirmation.

  “Let me try first,” Daniela said. “She’s having a different kind of ‘episode,’ but I can get to her. I can reach her.”

  Weir nodded, totally out of his element.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, you’ll let me do my thing? You won’t try to interfere?” Daniela prodded.

  Weir nodded his agreement.

  Daniela could see how hard this was for him. His instinct was to rush in and save Lizbeth, and giving over control of the situation to someone else was not in his nature. But given the surreal situation, he appeared to trust them enough to let them intercede.

  Daniela shot Lyse a look that said: Keep him occupied.

  Lyse nodded her understanding and wrapped her hand around Weir’s arm, pulling him closer to her.

  “Lizbeth?” Daniela said.

  And turning away from the others, she began to remove her black leather gloves one finger at a time.

  Lizbeth

  It had begun with a dream.

  All her life Lizbeth’s dreams had been more vivid, more alive than any of her waking hours, and this was still the case even when, for all intents and purposes, she was no longer a child.

  In this particular dreamtime adventure, the tall lady—Hessika, she was called in real life—came to visit her and they’d gone to Elysian Park, moving along the wooded trails like ghosts. The tall lady wanted to show her something special, something Eleanora had left behind for Lizbeth at the Dragon. Eleanora had done this because she knew it was the place Lizbeth loved best. So it was here Lizbeth must go and go quickly, the tall lady had impressed upon her, because the item had to be retrieved before anyone else could steal it away.

  Once upon a time, the tall lady had not visited Lizbeth often. But with Lyse’s arrival in Echo Park, the tall lady’s visits had become more regular, almost as if Lyse were their catalyst. So with the dreaming, the need to get to the Dragon began to grow—and then, regardless of the dream, the urge to find whatever was waiting for her there took on a life of its own. As if it were a living, breathing creature calling out to Lizbeth through the ether, demanding she come find it.

  Which was how she’d ended up in Elysian Park, moving through the woods as fast as her feet could carry her. The scarf she’d wrapped around her throat, a pale peach knitted thing Dev had given her as an eighteenth-birthday gift, was not enough to keep her warm. She wished she’d had the forethought to bring a jacket; the overalls and flannel she had on did little to warm her body now that the clouds had covered the sun and were threatening a downpour.

  Lizbeth had easily found her way to the Dragon, her long-legged stride helping her cover ground quickly. But when she’d gotten there, she’d realized she had no idea what she was looking for. She’d stood beneath the Dragon’s sleepy-eyed gaze, scanning the ground around her. Nothing had caught her attention. Whatever Eleanora had left behind for her, she could be assured it was well hidden. The former master of the Echo Park coven was nothing if not thorough.

  If I were a secret thing, where would I be? Lizbeth had wondered as she’d climbed up the incline, her sneakers gripping the rock, helping her not to slip on the loose stones as she’d worked her way up to the Dragon’s head. Finally her fingers had found purchase on the edge of the cliff and she was able to pull herself up and over the precipice. Crawling to her feet, she’d brushed away the dirt that coated her hands like chalk.

  She’d looked around, hoping she’d see things differently from another, loftier vantage point. But the woods were just woods. Full of trees with heavy branches held up toward the sun, and doe-brown dirt trails leading into the brush before disappearing entirely.

  There had been nothing new in the park, nothing special clamoring for Lizbeth’s attention.

  She’d been mad at herself for being so stupid and not asking the tall lady to give her a clue. At the very least, a hint that would’ve guided her in the right direction.

  If only she were asleep, she could’ve dreamed of the tall lady and asked—

  Like the strong dark scent of the coffee Weir liked to brew in the mornings, an idea had car
omed through Lizbeth’s brain and jolted her awake. Why couldn’t she be asleep right now?

  The answer was simple: She could be.

  * * *

  Lizbeth lay down on the rock, letting the heat rise up through the stone to warm her body. Soon she felt the Sandman’s pull, his lulling presence pushing her into sleep as the daylight disappeared.

  I’m falling. I can feel it, she thought, having a strange out-of-body moment before everything began to slip away from her. Her thoughts, cognizance of her own body, the chill of the air as it whipped across her . . . all of it ceased to exist for Lizbeth as she began to drift far, far away . . .

  Only she wasn’t far away. She was there. At the Dragon—and she was still inside her body.

  Time to get up, she thought, and then, almost without meaning to, she was sitting. Only her body didn’t come with her. She swiveled onto her hip and looked behind her. Her body, hair spread around her head like a slash of reddish-brown blood, lay sprawled on the ground, lips and skin blue as a corpse.

  Lizbeth was used to this kind of thing, so instead of being frightened, she calmly climbed to her knees and looked around. Everything was the same. The trees, the dirt, the trails, the gray sky—nothing had changed. She began to wonder if she’d fallen asleep for nothing. The only difference she noticed was that she no longer felt chilly. In other dreams, she’d been cold as ice, but here, in this particular one, that was not the case.

  I’ll be right back, she thought to her unconscious body, and stood up. Her legs felt a little wobbly underneath her, but she ignored the sensation. It was a dream and her legs did what she wanted them to do. She began to move around the top of the rock outcropping, searching for the secret thing Eleanora had hidden under the Dragon’s watchful gaze.

  Her lifeless body stayed exactly where it was.

  “Hello?” Lizbeth called out, but her voice died on her lips.

  Of course, she thought. Even in this dream—like all the other times I’ve explored the dreamlands—I’m mute.

  She walked over to the edge of the Dragon’s nose—or where its nose would be if it were a real dragon—and that was when everything shifted. It was like a tiny earthquake concentrated on the spot where she was standing, rolled through the ground, and took her legs out from underneath her. She fell forward, her face slamming into the ground. The impact of delicate skin on sharpened rock should’ve hurt like hell. There should’ve been bones cracking, blood flowing everywhere . . . but there wasn’t.