The Waking Dreamer (9 page)

Keiran raised his glass again and smiled when Mrs. Carmichael returned. Piled in heaping quantities were poached eggs, pork sausages and bacon, laverbread—a type of boiled seaweed mixed with bacon fat and rolled in oatmeal into a gooey paste—and fresh, steamed mussels, which Keiran indicated were a substitution because Mrs. Carmichael was never satisfied with the days-old cockles sold in the marketplace.

“Tuck in,” Keiran said as he began to eat.

Emmett didn’t hesitate, appreciating the tart, conflicting assortment of tastes and the satisfying fullness within his stomach.

Blissful expressions were exchanged as each enjoyed their meal. Emmett discovered that with a minimal amount of food already in his stomach, he was more ravenously hungry than before.

“How’re you managing the laverbread?” Keiran asked.

“Could be worse,” Emmett answered, covering his half-full mouth. “It’s not monkey brains at Pankot Palace.”

“Sorry?”

Emmett waved a hand as if batting a fly away. “Ignore me. It’s my gimmick. Just tune me out like everyone else.”

“And your gimmick would be?” Keiran asked, setting his knife and fork down and giving Emmett his full attention.

“Turn real life into a movie.”

“Oh, well, I’ve seen fewer films than television shows. Not something we had much money for growing up, mind. But I think it could be quite fun being in a movie.”

“Yeah, they’d love you, Marty Stu,” Emmett said, wiping his mouth as he set his fork down. “They’d either cast an American to play you or an Australian soap star with a clunky American accent. No male leads with foreign accents. And definitely
not
a British accent. Brits can only play gay robots or villains.
Especially
villains. You can thank Alan Rickman for that. Everyone’s still chasing the legacy of Hans Gruber.”

Keiran looked genuinely conflicted. “I’m unsure how I’d feel about an American playing me. No offense.”

“As opposed to a Welsh actor with an impossible-to-spell name? No offense.”

“Ta.”

Emmett took another bite, surprised by Keiran’s interest in Emmett’s safe conversation zone.

“So who would play you, Emmett? I assume you’re in this movie, too, seeing as how you’re the star of it at the moment.”

Emmett hurriedly finished what he was chewing. “I’ve got this. I’ve thought about this for a long time. Casting an actor to play me in a movie based on my life. First, he’d have to be an edgy actor who hates the studio system but takes the occasional commercial role to pay the bills. He’ll have done one really stand-out indie role the critics loved. Preferably a Jim Jarmusch movie so he can introduce me. The suits would object and say he couldn’t carry the lead. And the nerds would rage on their vlogs about how miscast he was because, well, that’s what we do.”

“So who would this be?”

“I change every few months or so. Ezra Miller is my current pick, but my friend Nancy wants Dave Franco. Her obsession with those brothers is unsettling.”

“You’ve certainly thought this through,” Keiran said.

“Yeah, well, spoiler alert: I don’t have much to talk about besides movies.”

“You can catch me up on all I’ve been missing, then,” Keiran replied. Had Emmett read those words by text message, he’d have read sarcasm in them. Keiran’s face, however, was genuine warmth and sincerity.

When they finished eating a short time later, Emmett felt the drowsiness that comes from a full, satisfied stomach. Keiran reached into his pocket and withdrew a pair of twenty-dollar bills, and without waiting for the check, placed them down on the back of the counter.

“Thanks,” Emmett said, to which Keiran clapped him again on the shoulder.

Seeing them rising from their chairs, Mrs. Carmichael hurried over and gathered Keiran into a great hug.

“Shall I wrap something up for you to take with, love?” she was asking Keiran as he held his own hands over his stomach in protest.

“I don’t think I could manage another bite. Emmett?”

“No, thank you. It was really good.”

“Well, all right then, you take care now, love,” she said as she kissed Keiran on both cheeks. Mrs. Carmichael then leaned over and pulled Emmett into a similar embrace. She smelled sweet like gingerbread, and her roundness was comforting.

She whispered so close to his ear that he was certain no one else would hear them over the noise and bustle. “I know that shocked look in your eyes, love, like you’re seeing the world for the first time. Pay no mind. Keep your heart open and don’t lose sight of your friends.” She kissed his cheek and released him, rushing off down the opposite side of the counter to a pair of waiting diners with bills to pay.

Emmett looked at Keiran, who was standing patiently waiting for him to exit. “And now fed, let us find Amala and what trouble we all might get into together.”

CHAPTER 8

Emmett matched Keiran’s leisurely pace heading to the car.

“So how much does Mrs. Carmichael know?”

“Her husband was killed several years ago by Revenants. She’s intuitive enough to guess that there’s more going on than what little we had told her. But she’s a special person, and I like having her around.”

“Does she know about your reworkin’
The Wicker Man
?” When Keiran’s face registered confusion, Emmett quickly added: “The Druid and Bard stuff?”

“Ah, yes. Well, most families of Revenant victims don’t really
want
to know the truth. It would drive them mad, or worse, into vigilantes. It’s easier to think that it was the work of a serial rapist; anything to give them some sense of closure.”

“Because serial rapists are better than monsters?”

“You can imprison serial rapists.”

Emmett nodded at the logic. “If I were them, I probably wouldn’t want to know.”

“You wouldn’t?”

He shook his head. “That the world was populated by unimaginable darkness? Unlikely. First rule of a David Fincher film: Don’t ask what’s in the box.”

Emmett was certain by Keiran’s face that he only understood part of that analogy.

“Some believe. Some can’t. And some are unwilling to accept an obviously false explanation, but aren’t quite ready to know everything,” Keiran said.

“Like Mrs. Carmichael?”

“Like Mrs. Carmichael.” Keiran nodded.

“Like me,” Emmett chuckled.

“Don’t discount your strength, Emmett. That you’re alive is evidence of this.” Keiran’s face was uncharacteristically serious, and it looked as if he were wrestling with what to say next. “Emmett, have you ever heard voices?”

“Unexpected, much?” Emmett responded.

“Voices, Emmett. A voice in the wilderness leading you away from home, telling you to follow an animal. Or whispers in the sound of falling rain calling you back to the ocean?”

Emmett thought briefly of his life’s dreams but shook his head. “I’ve never heard voices before,” he answered truthfully, and it was a measure of Keiran’s serious expression that Emmett responded without his usual snark. “Why?”

“The Children of the Earth are special, Emmett. Druids hear the call of animals, or Wisdoms, often when they venture closer to forests. Bards hear the Song in the rain and waters. It may happen at any age, though it is most common in adolescence. Because you had left Houston for Florida and resisted the Rot—something normally only a Druid or Bard could do—it seemed reasonable that you might have heard the Song and gone out in search of answers.”

“No voices. I just needed to hit the reset button on life.”

Emmett wondered if the entire trip away from Silvan Dea—the drive, the late lunch, and now the stroll—had just been an opportunity to ask the question in a neutral, non-mystical setting.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not special.”

Keiran shook his head. “No, you must be. Your coloring—your aura—is different. Amala said so. Even Paulo noticed it.”

Emmett’s heart dropped, and he was uncertain why. His face flushed as Keiran stared at him, and though he had to force himself not to look away, Emmett found neither jealousy nor competition in his expression. Only wonder. And confusion.

“As it is, the sun is setting, and we should be heading back soon. Have a seat and wait for me here. I’d like to speak to Mrs. Carmichael before we leave.”

Emmett sat down and shook his head, the abruptness of Keiran’s shift in conversation jarring. He watched Keiran disappear back inside
Hiraeth
. Whether it was the heavy meal or his physical exhaustion from the Rot, he could not help but yawn.

The horizon darkened with the setting sun. Fifteen minutes passed since Keiran had left. Emmett wondered if he had decided to leave him now that he had confirmed Emmett wasn’t a fellow monster hunter.

Emmett nearly jumped with surprise when he turned his head and saw a child standing silently to his right. It was a little girl with light blond hair and blue eyes dressed in what looked like a Bugs Bunny costume and holding a basket with both hands.

“Oh, you scared me,” Emmett smiled. He had no experience with kids and was never clear how to talk to them.

“Are you ready, E?” she tugged at his arm.

Emmett looked around for the child’s parents and saw no one. The evening had grown bitterly cold and wet with a scattered drizzle. It was no place for a child alone.

Turning back to ask the girl her name, Emmett saw she had already run off. He could see the flopping ears bouncing on her head as she plunged in and out of darkness running underneath the few streetlamps.

“Wait!” he yelled, running after her.

“Come on!” she called out excitedly ahead.

The girl rounded the corner and disappeared. Only the rare beams of distant traffic reflected in closed storefront windows allowed Emmett to finally catch sight of her. He broke into a fast sprint, turning to follow her down a narrow one-way alley.

“Wait!” Emmett struggled to say, panting and shaking his head. He doubled over for a moment coughing, steadying himself against a trashcan.

The girl was standing at the far end of the alley, looking up at the tall brick buildings on three sides of her. Emmett caught his breath and began walking slowly toward her, hopeful the kid had calmed enough to allow him to lead her to an open store and call her parents or the police.

As Emmett drew close, the girl turned around and smiled wide at him. “I want to go trick-or-treating! You promised mom you’d take me!”

Emmett was about to sputter something when he heard a whistle behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the shadows of several figures sauntering down the alleyway dressed in black with hoods covering their faces.

“Hey there, little lady,” one of the figures leered. The others were fanning out to block the alley’s exit.

Somewhere in Emmett’s stomach, the bottom fell out. There were twelve figures total behind the lead. Emmett heard the urgent warnings from that quiet voice within each person.
Run!

Emmett’s hand instinctively went behind him, feeling the little girl draw close. He looked up either side of the alley, finding no doors or windows. The figures seemed to be laughing at his searching for escape, the lead one now drawing close enough that Emmett could see the wire-rimmed glasses he wore over passionless brown eyes.

“You wanna play tonight?” he taunted, eliciting more chuckles from those behind him. Emmett could smell the heavy alcohol and tobacco seeping through the man’s pores. The man cocked his head to one side and appraised Emmett like an animal readied for slaughter.

“I thought we’d have to settle for a runaway,” he slurred, licking his lips. “But fate gives us two well-fed beauties.”

Emmett’s body tensed as he prepared to lunge. But the lead man threw a heavy hook across his jaw, stars exploding in his vision as he painfully fell down to the ground. There was a muffled scream as the others swooped down upon the little girl, covering her mouth even as her costume was easily ripped from her body.

“Let the older one watch. Despair can be the most potent offering,” the lead’s voice drawled. Emmett tried to call out for help, his breath stolen by a chokehold from one of his captors. He struggled vainly against several strong hands that pulled him up and forced his head toward the alley’s corner where two dainty legs trembled underneath a pack of feasting animals.

The lead man raised his hands and grunted guttural sounds. Over the rolling thunder, Emmett heard a low roar in his ears. He thought it was the adrenaline rushing through his body, but the roar grew so suddenly that he felt his ears popping from the pressure. His attackers seemed enraptured by the sound, their faces twisted in feral visages of exaggerated pleasure.

When Emmett thought his ears would bleed from the pressure, it suddenly receded, replaced with the attackers’ labored breathing. The older man fell to his knees, his arms still held out wide as he lifted his head up toward a corner area where two of the buildings met in the rear of the alley.

A pair of red eyes appeared in the shadowy corner and beneath the eyes an exaggerated grinning mouth. The eyes looked down at the unfolding horror, the adults excitedly ravaging the now-unmoving girl. The eyes then looked upon the kneeling man, who by now was offering whispered exaltations upon the shadowy presence.

Your obeisance is acknowledged.
The voice was an explosion of disharmonious, conflicting sounds in Emmett’s mind, and he buckled under its weight.

“We seek your favor, Old One,” the kneeling man said with trembling hands raised above his head.

I require a living offering
, the voice responded as its red eyes turned to the unmoving child who, even in apparent death, was still being violated.

“We have another!” the kneeling man proclaimed, pivoting on his knees to turn around and point at Emmett.

Emmett struggled again to free himself, but his captor’s chokehold only tightened around his neck as the red eyes lingered on Emmett.

That is not … wait … let me see the eyes
, the voice commanded.

Emmett felt the chokehold increase, and it was the loss of air that stopped him from moving. The red eyes bore down into his.

Mother will hide you, but I will always find you
, the voice mocked.

“Is our sacrifice acceptable, Old One? Shall I shed blood for you?” the kneeling man asked. He removed a serrated knife from his back pocket and advanced toward Emmett.

The capricious, violent grin widened even greater than before as the red eyes narrowed.
There is only one thing you could ever do to truly appease me … monkey.

The kneeling man’s expression registered confusion. He began to turn back toward the red eyes when a gloved hand appeared from the shadows beneath the mouth and made a backhand shooing gesture. As one, all of Emmett’s attackers were lifted upward by some unseen force and violently thrown backward at the surrounding buildings, their heads twisted completely around.

Emmett felt the grip loosen around his neck. Crumpled bodies and pooling blood along the rain-soaked alleyway surrounded him. The red eyes and unnatural, wide grin stared back at him from the shadows.

Do you remember the unending rains that drove the Master’s children underground?

The shadows unfurled around the red eyes and poured out across the alleyway, rolling over the unmoving bodies and toward Emmett. Thunder roared louder overhead as the red eyes drew closer.

Do you hear the call of your Master?

The shadows were upon Emmett, slithering up his body. The gloved hands reached out toward his face to touch him, and Emmett burst into a terrible scream so loud that he could wake the entire world from its slumber.

“Nooooooo!”

There was sudden and complete darkness.

A dull, dizzying thump against his head, followed by queasy uncertainty, and Emmett felt something—some
one
—gently caressing his face. He blinked the blurriness in his vision away, recoiling from a dark, featureless shape looming over him.

“Emmett, you’re okay.” The voice was familiar. It was Amala.

He blinked again, and the pier came into focus. In the soft glow of the slow-setting winter sun, he was sitting still on the bench where Keiran had left him. Families were passing him. Shops were still open. Amala was kneeling before him.

“Just breathe, Emmett.”

His pulse was still racing. He felt as if he were just waking from a dream. Yet never before had he dreamt and not known that he was dreaming. He always knew.

He looked into Amala’s eyes, and it was not the surreal expression from his dreams. Nor was it the intimate one in the cave. It was panic.

“Emmett, have the waking dreams begun yet? Have the red eyes returned?”