Chapter Twenty-Five

 

The rain starts just outside of Albuquerque. By the time I pass the Santa Fe exit, it’s coming down in sheets and the colored flashes have merged with the rainy swoosh of windshield wipers. Ever since I turned onto Route 591, the sparks have been fewer and farther between. I have no idea what this means, but every bone in my body hums like a plucked guitar string. Brian and Lucas are here.

When I pass the big brown sign that says I’m entering the Santa Fe National Forest, I pull over to call Una. There’s only one bar on my phone, here at the edge of civilization, and her voice echoes like she’s in an empty gym. She reports no change in Mom, which I guess is a good thing.

“Are you okay?” Una’s concern penetrates the drumming of rain on the truck.

“So far. I’m turning onto Route 102 now. Where does it go? On this map it just… ends.” Fortified by some beef jerky, I roll down the window a few inches and let the cool, rain-washed air roll over me and sink into my pores while I look over the map.

“It follows that ridge for a while, then runs into 475, which loops back down to Santa Fe,” she explains.

“Any place where Jackson Connor might be buying a cabin?”

“There’s a few cabins way up near the ski lodge, but nothing along that ridge you’re on. Everything behind you is Tesuque land, and the land to the north belongs to the Nambe Pueblo.” Her words become garbled, and the call drops.

Time to get moving. The storm is getting worse, and I have a long way to go.

Two miles after I turn onto Forest Route 102, the pavement gives way to a rollercoaster of gravel and mud, cutting my speed in half. I drive another half mile, then bring the truck to a crunching halt. The rushing waters of an arroyo have breached its embankment, cutting off the road with an instant river twenty feet wide. How deep the swirling brown foam is, there’s no way to tell—true desert landscaping. If I try to cross it, I could be washed over the side of the ridge into the canyon below.

I shift into reverse. If I go back to that last fork, maybe I can go up higher and cross this arroyo at a better spot.

A bouncy, grinding quarter mile higher, the road is even narrower and more twisted. Under the trees it’s as gloomy as twilight, but the rain is deflected a little. I get out to look at the arroyo, and it’s not any better than it was below. The truck can go no further.

Dark, heavy cloud banks are clotting around the mountains, and the wind picks up, hammering the rain through the trees. There’s a saying here in the desert: If you don’t like the weather, just wait ten minutes and it will change. I decide to take the universe up on that offer and wait it out in the truck, where it’s safe.

But there’s another reason I can’t go on. The little blue and gold fireflies that brought me here are gone. That primal tug urging me forward has fallen to a low-level hum. I know they’re here, but where?

Fear bubbles up and The Knot whispers, This is just great. You’re halfway up a mountain with no idea where to go or what to do next. For all you know, they’re both drugged. You’ll never be able to find them without the lights.

Drugged.

“That’s it,” I say aloud. If Brian’s drugged, that’s like he’s asleep. That means I can try to get into his dreams again and take him to safety. But how? There’s no way I can just close my eyes and insta-sleep right now.

There’s only one way. I’ll have to dreamwalk awake.

But how? How do you get into someone’s dreams when they’re not even asleep? This must be what Dad meant all along, but I have no idea how to do it. And what happened when I knew what to do? Total, epic disaster. Hopefully it will be different this time; maybe I’ll be stronger if I’m awake.

None of that even matters at this point, because there is no other choice.

I slip the jacket on and settle back into the seat, closing my eyes.

Breathe.

In about two minutes, I’m warm and heavy, and I can barely feel the seat. As the sound of the storm fades away and darkness closes in, The Knot rises up again, but I squash it down. I already know what it’s going to say, and I’m not listening. Today’s possible trifecta of failure is clear:

1. It might not work.

2. This time, Dad won’t be able to help.

And—ding-ding-ding—for the bonus:

3. If I get stuck there, Jackson Connor will have all three of us.

 

This time, I pass through the web of stars faster than ever before. They are only a blink of light as thin as a soap bubble.

The sweeping ridge of majestic pines rises above me into the endless starry sky, but the light is different now. It’s not the usual sunset, or the long rays of late summer afternoon, either—it’s an odd layering of light and color with mountains from both places. I can’t see the truck or the ridge, but I can feel the seat beneath me and the sound of the storm is there, but far below me.

I am effervescent, as if my molecules have all shivered loose and could simply scatter like dandelion fluff in the wind. I rise up effortlessly, weightless, surrounded by my own purple glow. I turn toward the mountains, ready. There are no pictures to merge, no visions to lock together, no spinning of time and space. There is only one direction: Brian.

-Brian. Where are you?

The words rise up, bubbles of royal purple, and the stars drop out of the deep sapphire sky. They spiral around me, twinkling gold and green, and then stretch out into a trail over the ridge. I follow them, skimming my fingers along the glimmering web of droplets, up and over the mountains. For a brief moment, I can see my ocean under the enormous moon.

As I enter a thick bank of clouds, his voice emerges from all around me: -Help me, Vivi, help!

I feel him from every direction at once, and I know I’ll be standing on his dream web any second now. -I’m coming, B, hang on!

I feel myself materializing on the web, and my feet are touching something, but the cloud bank is still there. I can hardly see, but I definitely don’t see a city of prisms. I take a step forward. Feel the crunch of gravel. A cold, salty wind whistles through unseen trees, and somewhere in the fog, seagulls shout their raucous laugh. When I take another step, I run smack into a wall. A cold, granite wall… My heart sinks when I realize Brian isn’t trapped in his own dream.

He’s trapped in Jackson Connor’s.

I’ve been here before. I know what lies around each corner—and what’s probably watching with beady blue eyes from above. I press my back against the fortress, but I can barely feel it. The purple incandescence shaped like my body has almost no weight. The fog thins a little, and I can make out the three narrow windows to my right. The archers’ windows, Lucas said. There are no other entrances to this fortress, so I face the wall, tap the ground with my toes and bounce up, remembering the sweet warmth of his grasp on my ankle.

As I glide over to the edge of the first opening, a single yellow firefly zigzags past me, rising and dancing farther down the wall. I only glance in as I pass the deserted library, but I slow down at the second window. I want to see this scene again. I want to see my Dad. After last night, I may never find him again. Even if this is someone else’s memory, even if he can’t see me, this is still Dad’s face moving in the shadows, and still his smile.

The firelight flickers the same way it has for twenty years. The men are laughing and talking, but it sounds like they are under water. Joseph Wolfsong leans against a big rock with his long legs stretched out, crossing them exactly the way Lucas does. Perched on the rock behind him is a Dad-shaped shadow. The glow of his cigar catches the curve of his cheek and brow, his white teeth. I know he can’t hear me; this is a memory from long before I was born, but I can’t help it, and my heart silently whispers, I love you, Dad.

In the movies, this is where he would pause and look around—maybe in my direction—as if he’d heard his name in a crowd, or near a swarm of buzzing cicadas. But this isn’t the movies, and he just sits there smoking, wearing my jacket while I wear his.

My eyes fall on young Jackson Connor. Jim Cooper. He has already lit that cigarette and is standing up. He is not laughing anymore. His eyes are narrowed, blazing with reflected firelight.

He is looking right at me.

Oh, shit.

I snap back out of view, blood thundering in my ears. Shit, shit, shit! Did Connor really see me, deep in a twenty-year-old memory, or was he just looking in my direction? I have no time to wonder or be scared. I have a mission, and I have to do something.

Even if it’s wrong?

Suspended in midair by the window, I realize—no, I decide—it won’t be wrong. Connor may be a dreamwalker after all, but Dad said no one he ever worked with learned as fast as I did. No one. That would include Connor, wouldn’t it? He couldn’t keep Lucas and me out, and he couldn’t force that blue-eyed raven hallucination to stick. He couldn’t keep me out today, even if he did see me—because Jackson Connor is trapped by his own dreams, his own memories. He’s a prisoner in his own fortress.

I inhale deeply, feeling the power surge through me like electrical sparks, and my incandescence glows brighter because I know.

I am stronger than Jackson Connor. I can go wherever I want, do whatever I want, and he can do nothing about it.

I am a Dreamwalker.

I look over the edge of the window. Connor is still squinting in my direction, his head cocked as if he’s listening for something. Fine, because I have something to say. I rise and breathe in, expanding to fill the narrow slot. He doesn’t seem to see me, but he senses something. He takes a step backwards, and the tiniest ripple of fear rolls across his eyes. The words resonate from my whole body in a swirl of purple thunder.

-I’m taking Brian back, and you can’t stop me. You can’t have him and you can’t have Mom. You can’t have Dad, either. You stole my family, but I’m taking them all back!

Jackson Connor stands frozen in the firelight, as if a church bell has rung and he’s the only one who heard it.

Brave words can’t stop the clock. Time is slipping away, and I can’t stick around to see if he heard me. The firefly darts frantically around the third window. Something pulls me, deep under my ribs. I let it reel me to the last opening.

-I’m here, I’m here!

Is that Brian’s voice or mine?

I peer into the gloom of the third window. The sweet grass candle is burned down to its last inch. In the darker-than-darkness, the sleeping woman lies very still, barely breathing. Long, familiar wavy hair is tumbling over the side of the bed into the last glimmer of candlelight. No, please no, not… I’m so fixed on the hair, I almost miss the small shadow shivering on the end of the narrow bed, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth.

Brian.

It doesn’t seem like anything wider than my head will fit through the opening, but when I lean in, my body compresses itself and pops through, like a slippery, amethyst grape. I fly to the bed, and what I’ve known all along closes my throat: the sleeping woman is Mom.

The tug wraps around my spine, and a whisper of salt air glides through the tiny room. The candle sputters a little, reminding me that time is slipping away, and Jackson Connor knows I’m here.

I reach out and pluck Brian’s cold hand away from his knee, holding it as tightly as I can with both of my hands. He stops rocking and lifts his head. His eyes are closed, but his mouth opens and a whisper escapes.

-Vivi? I can’t see you.

-I’m here, Brian. I’m going to get you out, but you have to open your eyes. Can you feel my hands?

-Yes, I feel them. They’re warm.

Our hands start to tingle and merge like they did at the top of his dream web. The glow that is me ignites his hand and spreads down to his elbow like a living watercolor. By the time it reaches his shoulder, he is lit from within, swirls of yellow spun with bright green. His eyelids struggle to open.

-Hold on tight, Brian. Look at our hands and focus. Push harder than you ever have in your whole life.

He clenches his teeth and his grip on my hand tightens. His dream-lit body goes very still and warmth courses through him. His eyes open slowly, blinking at our clasped hands. He leaps to his feet and clings to me.

-Vivi! I called you just like you said.! It’s bad, it’s really bad. Look at Mom! Jackson Connor made her sleep.

Tears shimmer down his cheeks. The candle wobbles in the growing breeze, and my shoulder blades tighten against the force pulling us out.

-Come on, we have to wake her up. I take her left hand in my right. Hurry! Grab her other hand and squeeze hard. Whatever happens, don’t let go.

Brian bolts to the other side and grabs Mom’s right hand, completing the circle. Her hands are icy, but they begin to glow faintly.

-Mom, wake up! It’s us. Open your eyes. Brian shouts, and I shout along with him.

-Mom, I’m here! I’ve got Brian. We have to get out!

The lightest squeeze warms my fingers, and her eyelids flutter. The cold breeze in the tiny room spins upward like a dust devil—and riding on that wind, the sinister smell of burning oil. Jackson Connor has found us.

-Mom, open your eyes. Hurry! I scream as the candle sputters one last time and goes out, plunging the room into darkness.

The total blackness disorients me for a moment. I can’t even see the window, but I know where it is by the invisible rope around my rib cage trying to pull me out. Then the faintest outline of our hands appears—barely there, but all three of us joined together. The oil fire smell rolls around the room like a living thing languidly closing in on its prey.

-Hey B, you all right?

-Yeah. I can barely hear him, and his voice is shaking. I want to go home.

-Me too. Just told on tight. We’re almost out of here, buddy.

-You’d better hurry, Vivian. Mom’s voice is low, but clear and solid in the rising wind.

-Mom! We chime together. Are you okay?

The wind is howling now, the oily serpent spiraling in closer.

-Get Brian out of here. I’ll be fine. Go! I can see the faint outline of her face now.

Her eyes are open, and I know that determined set of her mouth. There’s no arguing with it. My knees go weak with relief. She lets go of our hands and sits up, taking deep, even breaths, filling with swirls of watery light.

-But Jackson Connor—Mom, are you sure?

She stands and puts warm, strong hands on our shoulders. Droplets of pale yellow and lavender trail her movements.

-Don’t worry, I’ll see you in a little while. Just get him out. Now. Go!

We slip out through the window and into the dead of night, dropping lightly onto the path. Brian has a tight grip on my hand. Gravity is dragging me, but to where? The last time I left this world, Lucas was with me, I could see where we were going, and even then we just barely made it. I can’t see a thing now—not the trees, not the rolling hills, not even the ground we’re resting on. Only Brian’s faint glow.

Oh, Lucas, the desperate, silent plea surges through my veins, which way is out?

Before I can decide where to go, something large swoops down from above, rustling so close it almost touches my face. Feathers.

The raven.

-Don’t look up, I whisper. Unlike me, Brian always follows directions and immediately lowers his chin to his chest, peeking at me sideways.

Shhhooop! Shhhooop-shhhoop! Three sharp clicks on the gravel tell me it’s not only the raven chasing us. I groan silently. Archers. I press him back against the wall and slide to the left. The world starts to shift and drag, and my lungs feel like they’re full of water. The faintest curl of oily smoke worms its way past us. Panic closes my hand around Brian’s in an iron grip. This can’t be the end.

I manage to find my brother and wake up Mom, only to be pinned down by Jackson Connor’s oil-fire dream-archers? Frantic, I look everywhere for a hole in the coal-black heart of Jackson Connor’s dream world.

-Vivi?

-What?

-What’s that? He points to where I think the trees are.

A dozen neon blue sparks are darting back and forth. More and more come out of the inky darkness, doing figure eights until they are a swarm. They stop and form a glittering column, then tumble down and begin circling around again, strong and sure of where to go. A single blue light zips close to me, bringing the smell of soap and fresh limes.

The tension that has stretched me to the edge all day snaps like a rubber band, and I almost collapse with relief. Even this weightless dream-body feels lighter. He’s okay. He’s all right—and he’s here.

-Come on, let’s go. That’s Lucas, and he knows the way out!

-But what about them? Won’t they get us? Brian keeps his head down, but his anxious eyes roll up to where the archers are reloading, or whatever it is archers do.

-No, I don’t think so. This is just a dream; they can’t hurt you. But remember what I said: push as hard as you can and don’t let go of me, no matter what. And keep your eyes open!

We crouch low, then spring off the castle wall like a pair of swimmers, focusing on the cloud of tiny blue spangles. I desperately hope what I told him is true. It’s just a dream, and we can’t really get hurt.

Two seconds after we push off, the chilling rustle of wings followed by a slew of arrows speeds past us on the right. Another round misses us again, but something stings me in the leg, and a dull, wet throbbing drums my calf.

Only a dream, I insist silently, not the raven, not the archers, not real not real not real.

The darkness tilts and cracks apart, sliding into a cold, relentless whirlpool, sucking us out of Jackson Connor’s Dreamland. There is no up or down; it’s all directions at once, and the only thing keeping us from going under and spinning into oblivion is the zipline of blue lights guiding us over the trees to safety.

 

My Dreamland forest is quiet and warm, with late afternoon sunlight slanting through the trees. I lie on fragrant pine needles, feeling my body lose its fizziness and become solid again. Brian is asleep, wrapped in my arms and the soft leather that cradles us both. I slip my arms out and tuck the jacket around him.

-Brian, can you hear me?

He nods, eyes closed.

-You’re safe now. Don’t be afraid. Stay here until you wake up, okay?

-K. He nods again.

I look around for Lucas, but the only sign of him is a trio of blue lights fading quickly under the gardenias.

-Lucas?

I barely hear him as the lights fizzle out completely:

-Hurry.