My dream brought me to a bench by a small lake. Trees lined the shoreline, some of which I couldn't see since the edge of the water formed little coves. That disturbed me—too many places for the wrong kind of surprise to pop out. I didn't know if my strategy had worked, if I'd managed to invoke some part of the Collective Unconscious to meet Lawrence in. This place didn't look familiar, but I had that “oh, I know where this is” dream feeling. I needed to go with the dream's flow, and it would carry me where I needed.
I also reminded myself that, no matter what happened, I had to pay attention to details since they would hold the clues in this strange otherworld of symbolism and imagery.
Starting with the bench… The wood and wrought iron of the bench invoked an old public park aesthetic, and I sat on it and gazed over the water. I placed my hands on my lap and found I wore a blue flowered sundress and silver strapped sandals with chunky imitation wicker heels. All right, then, I was dressed for a date. Hopefully someone I wanted to see would come along.
That someone appeared momentarily. Lawrence walked out of a gap in the trees to my right, and I “remembered” that's where the parking area must have been. He wore khaki pants, a white linen button-down shirt open at the collar and rolled up to the elbows, and he carried a picnic basket, out of which stuck a baguette and the stem of a wine bottle.
Definitely old school date script.
“Reine!” He set the basket down and closed the distance between us in three long strides. I jumped into his arms, and he held me against him. “Where have you been? I've been worried sick about you.”
The question then became—was this truly him, or dream Lawrence doing what I expected of him? How could I find out?
I couldn't, and that turned into a frustration that piled on the others, a Jenga tower in my chest that could fall and clatter into a nervous breakdown at any moment. I would have to play along.
“I'm stuck in a time loop that's centered on a witch's cottage in the Scottish Highlands.”
My words didn't seem to dent his awareness. Damn. “What is this place?” He went to retrieve the picnic basket.
“I don't know. I was hoping you'd tell me.”
He looked around, and his customary frown line appeared between his brows. “It reminds me of a park I used to go to when I was in veterinary school. I haven't thought about it in years.”
“Did you bring girls there?”
He grinned. “No, I wasn't much for dating. Too obsessed about, you know…”
I spoke around the lump of sorrow in my throat. “Finding who killed your father.”
“Yes. I used to come here and think. Played through those memories over and over when studying got to be too much.”
“Only you would think of puzzling through your greatest trauma as a viable break activity.”
He shrugged, then looked at his wrist. “How much time do we have here?”
That was one clue. Instead of continuing our banter, he'd gotten back down to business. But again, was that what I expected or truly him?
“I don't know. It's hard to accurately infer the passage of time in this place.”
“The park?”
“The Collective Unconscious. Go ahead and unpack the picnic?”
He spread out the red checkered cloth, on which he placed more food and utensils than could have possibly fit in the basket had it been subject to normal laws of physics. The wine and glasses stood up without efforts to seek a flat enough spot for them, and everything looked fresh, including the Greek salad, which would have started to wilt as soon as the vinaigrette hit the leaves. The baguette maintained its form, and he also brought out different spreads including my favorite, roasted eggplant.
He uncorked the wine—or, more accurately, when he picked it up, the cork disappeared—and he poured two glasses of the clear golden liquid. Then he handed one to me.
“Here's to the Collective Unconscious, then. I keep forgetting this isn't a dream.”
“I don't, but I'm enjoying it.” I sipped the wine, which tasted as I would have expected, like a dry Riesling with notes of honey.
“But we need to talk, to figure out how to get you out of… What did you say? A time loop?” He rubbed his eyes. “I need to stay focused. But it's so hard.”
“Yes, a time loop or bubble. Same thing. Someone took the protection spell I cast over the cottage and twisted it—at least that's what Basil told me when I went to see him in Faerie.”
“You went to Faerie to talk to Troubadour before coming to see me?” He looked down to spoon some sort of cheese dip over a slice of bread, and I couldn't read the expression in his eyes.
“I had to, so I could see if there was an easy solution to the loop. I also had a warning from your mother before that.”
“In a dream?”
“Yes, she somehow managed to reach out to me. She warned me that a powerful enemy is in motion, and, oh! She also asked what a Cimex is. I thought he was in jail.”
“They let him out considering he wasn't acting of his own volition, even though his emotions drove him.” He sliced a piece of bread and handed it to me. “And he wasted no time in cutting me off from the CPDC and putting me on a 'mandatory bereavement leave' so I could attend to Kestrel.”
“How is she?” A guilt mole wriggled in my chest every time I thought about how I'd kept Kestrel from saving her adoptive father, even though the consequences would have been so much worse.
“She's hanging in there.” His expression softened slightly. “She kidded and laughed today. It was good to see.” Then he closed his eyes, and that line appeared again. “Have you ever heard of an organization called the Normals?”
“No. What's that?”
“They help supernatural creatures to 'assimilate' into human society.” He snorted. “It's circular, isn't it? Considering the variation in human society and how there's no true normal. They tried to recruit her, and she seemed open to it.”
Something in the air shifted, and a chill gust of air ruffled my hair. The cheese and cracker, which had formerly been bread, disappeared. Dark clouds gathered over the lake, and the wind picked up.
Sir Raleigh appeared, and he ran toward me, meowing. I gathered him up, and I could at least tell he was his real self.
“What is it?” Lawrence stood. “We should get to shelter.” He shook his head. “I mean, can you change it?”
“I think the date script is encouraging us to have a wet clothing contest, and then huddle together under the picnic blanket in the small shelter over there.” Indeed, a covered picnic area had appeared among the trees to the left.
Large drops pelted down, and the food and wine disappeared. Lawrence gathered up the picnic blanket, and we ran for the shelter. By the time we got there, we had both been soaked through, but we laughed.
What had we been talking about? The memory of the conversation fled like wisps of fog, especially after Lawrence wrapped me in the picnic blanket and then plucked a piece of grass from my hair. He smiled at me, and I tilted my head back to receive his kiss.
That confirmed it was him, especially as the kisses grew more urgent, and I perched on one of the tables. He ran his hand up my leg and under my dress, and his other hand found my waist and then the zipper at the back of the sundress, which he unzipped. I slid my hands up his hard abs and pecs, and his shirt disappeared.
A sharp pain in my left ankle made me break the kiss with an “ow!” Sir Raleigh had reached up and caught the back of my shin in his mouth, not biting hard enough to break skin, but it got my attention.
“This is a dream. I mean, it needs to not be a dream.” I pushed Lawrence away, and Raleigh let go.
Lawrence blinked a couple of times, and then nodded. “Yes, we need to figure out how to get you out of that time loop and who's driving all of this. Did Basil give you any idea who may have altered your spell?”
“Only someone with similar magic to mine, which means any light Fae.”
“What about your mother?”
Irritation flared through my gut at the suggestion, and I snapped, “I don't know. And even if it was her, I wouldn't have any idea how to go about finding her.”
“Hey,” he said and lifted my chin so my gaze met his. “I know it's hard to think about, but you have to acknowledge the possibility. And it fits her style, working behind the scenes.”
“I know, but that makes the problem harder to solve. Oh, and the Order of the Silver Arrow is somehow involved, too.”
“The vargamore's organization?”
“That's them.” I related the journey into Prague and how I'd almost been trapped. “But then the trip ended. No matter where I go, I end up back at the cottage.”
“I wish you would end up with me.”
“Me, too.”
He hugged me to him, and I relished the rain-soaked stone scent of his skin. The rain itself pitted the surface of the lake and made a romantic clatter on the metal roof. Before I knew it, we were kissing again, and I didn't object when my dress disappeared. His hands cupped my breasts, and I wrapped my legs around his butt. Without our kiss breaking, the scene shifted to the two of us being naked and wrapped in the picnic cloth on the table. He kissed down my neck and took one of my nipples in his mouth, and electric shocks of pleasure mixed with need coursed through me. Our lovemaking proceeded with dream speed, and soon we both climaxed.
When we finished, a gray tail swiped over my face, and I glanced up to see Sir Raleigh looking down with feline disapproval.
A roaring sensation overtook the rain, and although Lawrence held me, the dream faded. Before it did, he asked, “Would a dimension-walker be able to help?”
“It's worth a try!” I shouted into the darkness.