The Last Dream Keeper (23 page)

“We love you!” Darrah and Delilah called over their shoulders, their voices melding into one as the five women flew, single file, out of the house and into the darkness of the evening.

“Leave me alone!” Dev yelled at whoever was holding her back, the tightness around her chest making her cough—

“Dev, stop it. It's me.”

She opened her eyes and she was outside, lying on her back in the grass. The acrid stink of burning things filled her nostrils and she began to cough wildly, her whole body convulsing.

“Babe, you're okay,” Freddy said, and his face loomed over hers.

“My family,” she cried, in between gasps of air.

But Freddy's face was stricken.

“It was you. I could only get you.” And he began to cry.

Dev wanted to reach out and comfort him, but her own heart was breaking. She pushed herself onto her elbows, found that she was in the across-the-street neighbors' yard, and that her own house—the Victorian that had been in the Montrose family for over a century—was a funeral pyre of burning timber.

“Oh, lord, no . . .” she cried, and she felt Freddy's arms wrap around her shoulders, squeezing her tight.

“I'm so sorry, baby,” he whispered in her ear, his voice choked with sobs.

The girls.

It was a whispery voice—one she could not place.

Where are your girls?

Dev pushed Freddy away and climbed to her feet.

“Where are Marji and Ginny?” she almost screamed at Freddy, who looked askance.

“They . . . they're over there with Thomas,” Freddy said, pointing behind them.

“No!!” Dev screamed as she followed Freddy's gaze.

Thomas stood underneath their neighbors' weeping willow tree, a hand on each of her daughters' shoulders. Both girls appeared to be asleep on their feet.

No,
Dev thought.
He can't have my babies.

“Don't worry,” Thomas called out to Dev and Freddy. “We're just going on a little trip to the dreamlands. They'll be safe there. No one bad will hurt them.”

“No!” Dev cried. “You bastard! What have you done?”

“It wasn't me,” Thomas said, a look of utter despair on his face. “I would never have hurt your family . . .”

“I'll kill you,” Dev screamed, and ran toward him—but Thomas snapped his fingers and the three of them disappeared right before her eyes.

Dev fell to her knees, a scream of anguish filling her ears . . . and it took her a moment to understand that the sound was coming from her own mouth.

T
hey wanted to be free. They were singing, begging Lizbeth to let them return to the world and become one with her so that she might spread
the word
. The word that magic was real and that the witches were coming to take their due.

There were so many different voices and timbres and tones all playing at the same time; it was like listening to a symphony without a conductor: all cacophony and discord. She tried to separate them out, but it was a near impossible task. Instead, she turned to Daniela, her eyes pleading for help.

“They need us to let them go.”

Daniela, who'd looked like death warmed over, leaned against the doorway, eyes wide with curiosity despite her utter exhaustion.

“We should leave them alone. They're obviously here like this for a reason . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“They've been trapped here. Someone wanted them hidden away, so that their magic couldn't be recycled back into the world in death.”

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the rock wall.

Lizbeth had hurt Daniela terribly—and she had this strange idea she'd done the same thing to Lyse . . . if only she could remember. But large chunks of her memory were missing.

“You have the weirdest look on your face,” Daniela said, her eyes open again. “What were you just thinking?”

It was apparent from her concerned expression that she'd been staring at Lizbeth for a while and Lizbeth had been oblivious.

“Nothing. Just that we have to free them,” she said, indicating the vials surrounding them. “They're here against their will. So many Dream Keepers. Trapped to prevent them from continuing on to the next phase of their soul's journey.”

Daniela's face brightened and she looked more alive than she had in the last few hours, restored by the energy from whatever realization she'd just had.

“They're here to stop the transmigration of their souls. I bet it's why no more Dream Keepers are being born, because their energy is trapped here on Earth. It knocks things out of balance on a cosmic level.”

“But—” Lizbeth began.

“No
but
s,” Daniela replied, grinning like a starving hyena about to eat its very first good meal in days. “These guys have been here for a long time. We need to let them go.”

She reached out and grabbed the vial closest to her. Lizbeth expected her to uncork it, but instead, Daniela smashed it to the ground.

“Yes!” Daniela cried, as a cloud of pure green energy burst from the broken vial and shot toward Lizbeth, slamming into her chest. Lizbeth felt no pain when it happened, but one of the singing voices got louder than the others for a moment before slowly fading away.

She smiled—the soul's parting song had been a beautiful one.

“It worked,” Lizbeth said, nodding her head in excitement. “It rejoiced. I heard it.”

“It's inside you,” Daniela said, her voice full of wonderment.

“Yes, they are going with me to help me spread
the word
. After that, they will be free.”

“Then what the hell are we waiting for?” Daniela asked, plucking another vial from its nook in the wall. “Let's set these babies free.”

And, together, the two of them began the arduous task of setting the Dream Keepers free. They worked in tandem, grabbing handfuls of the vials and smashing them to the ground, working until there wasn't a single one left.

Lizbeth saw Daniela pluck a slender pink vial from one of the last crevices and slyly slip it into her pocket. She assumed the vial contained the last essence of Marie-Faith Altonelli, Daniela's mother, and so she held her tongue.

*   *   *

The sense of purpose that had infused Daniela while they were destroying the vials had all but left her now. Her face was wan and her neon-hued hair hung limply around her cheeks. Lizbeth also noticed that her friend's right eye was dilated, making her features appear asymmetrical.

“Are you sure you should be walking?” Lizbeth asked.

They'd searched the room that held the vials—actually Lizbeth had searched and Daniela had rested—but they'd found no means of escaping the underground prison. Finally, in a moment of frustration, Lizbeth had slammed her fist down on one of the outcroppings of rock, and, without warning, the wooden doorframe began to glow.

“The runes,” Daniela said, letting out a long sigh. “I'm an idiot.”

She crawled to her feet and ran her hands along the glowing symbols, pressing one here and another there.

“What're you doing?” Lizbeth asked.

Daniela turned her head and smiled back at her, continuing to press on the glowing runes.

“Well, unlike Arrabelle, I don't read runes well enough to write a sentence, so I'm just gonna keep pressing on these guys until something happens.”

As if the Goddess had heard her words, there was a sharp
click
and then the back wall of the room slid open like a gaping maw.

“Wow,” Lizbeth said, her mouth falling open in shock.

“You can say that again,” Daniela murmured, pleased as punch.

They hadn't needed to be encouraged further to follow the gentle upward slope of the dimly lit corridor.

They were in luck. Someone had been there recently, lighting the white tallow candles inside the medieval, black iron candleholders placed intermittently along the walls. In this half-light, Lizbeth could see Daniela flagging, could sense the high amount of energy she was exerting just to put one foot in front of the other. It would be a miracle if they got topside before Daniela collapsed.

“How much farther?” Daniela asked, the physical strain of walking uphill taking her breath away.

“I don't know,” Lizbeth said. “But it can't be too terribly far. At least, I hope—”

Lizbeth heard a low wheezing gurgle and then the sound of Daniela's body hitting the ground. She didn't need to turn around to know what had happened: Daniela had fainted. She retraced her footsteps, surprised to discover how far behind her Daniela had fallen as they'd been walking.

“Dammit,” Lizbeth said as she knelt down beside Daniela's unconscious body.

She didn't know what to do. She was terrified to touch her friend but even more terrified not to help her. Lizbeth had the worst feeling that if she left Daniela in this corridor, she would die—and there was no way in hell she was letting that happen.

Lizbeth sat down on the rough rock floor, her long legs
aching from too much physical exertion. She was exhausted and too confused to know what the best course of action should be.

“Well, it's either utterly destroy you, or save your life,” Lizbeth said out loud—though she knew Daniela could not hear her.

She climbed to her feet and took a deep breath. Fear coursed through her body like adrenaline. For the first time ever, Lizbeth was glad she was tall. Her height and weight were the only things that made what she was about to do even possible.

I'm sorry, Daniela.

She squatted down beside her friend and rolled her over onto her stomach, then hooked her hands underneath Daniela's armpits. With a tremendous grunt, she lifted the smaller woman onto her feet.

“You sure weigh a lot for being so small,” Lizbeth said, gritting her teeth as she took another deep breath and, using all of her strength, hoisted her friend up and over her shoulder.

She exhaled loudly, her thighs burning, as she raised herself to a standing position, holding Daniela in a modified fireman's carry. She felt the world tip to the side, all the blood rushing from her head to her feet, but she fought the urge to pass out. After a few seconds, the vertigo eased and she was able to think clearly again.

Time to get us out of here,
she thought, and with the heavy burden of her friend's life in her hands, Lizbeth headed out into an uncertain world.

*   *   *

They'd been nearer to the end of the corridor than she'd realized and, after about ten more minutes of walking, they'd emerged from semidarkness into the bowels of a defunct fountain that had been built over one of the many exits from the catacombs. She'd hefted Daniela through the small trapdoor in the bottom of the fountain and then pulled herself
through—to the consternation of an elderly gardener who had pointed his rake at Lizbeth and hissed a stream of Italian invective at her.

She'd ignored him, sliding Daniela's unconscious body back over her shoulder, and carrying her friend through the villa's gardens while a handful of tourists stared after them. She didn't stop to try to find Weir—cursing her idiocy for being too timid to own a cell phone. She promised herself she would find her brother later. But she knew he was smart and tough and that he could take care of himself.

At the entrance to the gardens, she somehow flagged down a taxi, scaring the man half to death with her wild shouting for a “
hospitali
”—because she had no idea how you actually pronounced the Italian word for
hospital
. He'd seemed to understand what she'd wanted and had driven accordingly. Luckily, she had some euros in her pocket and was able to pay the man his fare when they got to the hospital entrance.

With a frown, the nut-brown man waved away her cash and instead helped her carry Daniela through the sliding glass doors and into the waiting arms of a cadre of stone-faced nurses and doctors. They'd put Daniela on a gurney and taken her away, leaving Lizbeth alone in the middle of the whitewashed hall.

The taxicab driver was still there waiting by the entrance when Lizbeth stumbled back out of the hospital. She looked up at him.

“ATM,” she asked, pleased that now she'd finally be able to tell Weir she'd used a cash machine without freaking out. “And then to the airport after, please.”

She held up her arms, letting them tip up and down as she tried to simulate the wings of an airplane. The driver nodded, once again seeming to understand what she wanted, and opened the back door for her. He seemed entranced by her presence, almost unwilling to let her out of his sight. She smiled at him and he blushed, removing his cap in a gesture of respect.

“Thank you,” she said, and slid into the car, the door closing softly behind her. The vinyl was warm to the touch as she settled into her seat. She closed her eyes, exhaustion settling over her like a shroud. She let her thoughts drift as they drove away from the hospital, her mind flying over many miles to a far-off locale in the middle of the former Soviet Union. A place called the Republic of Georgia. Here, there rose a towering pillar of red rock hewn from the guts of the Earth itself. This was part of the information Francesca had burned into her brain back at the villa in Rome. This, she knew, was where she would fulfill her destiny and spread
the word
.

She just needed to get there.

Unbeknownst to her, a long black limousine followed closely behind the taxi, marking her every move.

*   *   *

When her flight from Rome arrived at the Tbilisi Airport in Georgia, she was surprised at how modern everything looked. She didn't know what she'd expected, exactly, but this was a welcome surprise. She made her way through the crowd going to collect their baggage and headed for the exit. She'd barely made it through the sliding glass doors when a woman approached her, grasping at her wrist. Not with any aggression, just wanting to get Lizbeth's attention.

“We've been waiting for you,” the woman said, smiling up at Lizbeth. Her British accent was tinged with South London. She was a head shorter than Lizbeth and had a frosted blond pageboy underneath a fedora and the kind of soft, white skin that smelled of talcum powder. “Few of us who received the word from Marie-Faith a long while ago, that is. We knew when you'd be coming and so we've been waiting and watching the airports and bus stations here these last few weeks. Hoping we'd be the ones to find you first.”

Lizbeth let the woman pull her away from the crowd and lead her over to a small red Ford minibus that was idling
nearby. She could see that inside the minibus were more ladies kitted out against the blustery October night in light beige trench coats and dark sweaters. Lizbeth almost laughed when she saw they were
all
wearing fedoras.

It's as if they think they're in a spy novel,
Lizbeth thought—but instead she said:

“How did you know who to look for?”

“Your aura. Could see it a mile away,” the woman leading her said, smiling again to reveal yellow smoker's teeth. “We all could. Now come along, you. It's only getting colder and darker—and the blood moon won't wait for no one.”

She stopped midstride and held out her hand.

“Sorry, that's rude of me. I'm Patsy Louise Kendrick”—Lizbeth couldn't help but shake Patsy's hand—“and that there's a minibus full of my Slough coven.”

So Lizbeth had gotten into the little red minibus full of very chatty British women. They'd used the whole two-hour-forty-eight-minute ride to regale her with stories of how much Slough was changing, and how one day soon it might be a part of London proper instead of a less desirable suburb. As they talked, Lizbeth let her gaze stray to the minibus window. It was so dark out that she had a hard time seeing the landscape as it passed her by, but here and there she could make out quaint little villages, isolated houses and farms, and long stretches of empty green.