The Dreamwalker's Path

1/ New York City, New York

Something wasn’t right.

Cavan could feel it in his bones. Something, and he wasn’t sure what, wasn’t the way he’d left it when he’d gone to rescue Lia from herself. Everything looked the same. The living room was the same run-down set of furniture he’d had for the last decade, his guitar was still nestled against the cushions of the couch, his CDs and videogames all stacked neatly on their shelves and in piles that lined either side of the television set. Everything was well dusted and in order. Even his ghast—the guardian spirit who sometimes took the form of a sleek Maine Coon tabby—was curled up on top of the couch and purring contently.

So what the hell was wrong? And then Cavan realized. “Where the hell did that boy go?”

The ghast opened one eye half way and meeped sleepily at him.

Cavan ran his hand through his hair. “What do you mean he left the apartment? He hasn’t let the apartment in days. Hell, he hasn’t left the apartment since he came to yell at me about changing the locks on him.”

“Mrow.” The ghast yawned and rolled off the couch. She landed daintily and moved toward him with the quick, tiny steps that befitted a proper lady-cat. Then she rubbed her face against Cavan’s jeans and mrow’d again, this time firmly.

Obligingly, Cavan picked up the ghast and went about fussing her. “You’re lucky I like you, Missy,” he told the cat as she craned her neck forward to rub her face against his jaw. “I won’t stroke just anyone for information.”

She chittered an indignant response and put her paw on his lips. “Merrow.”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Cavan repositioned the ghast cat’s form in his arms and he sat down on the couch so that he could better fuss the ghast to her liking. He’d provided safe-haven for a number of ghasts over his long life, but none was quite so cat-like or bossy as the Maine Coon. Of course, none had been with him for quite as long, either.

After ample ear rubs and chin scratchings had taken place, the ghast clambered from the couch and dainty-cat- stepped her way into another room.

Cavan waited for a moment to see if she’d come back or answer his question. A couple of seconds passed. Nothing happened.

“Hey, what the hell? You said you’d tell me where the kid went!”

His only response was a muffled, generic, “Meow,” from the other room.

“What do you mean ‘meow’?” he turned around, looking over the back of the couch to the back bedroom where the ghast had disapeared. “Don’t you ‘meow’ at me like you don’t know what I’m saying, you know exactly what I’m saying. Come back here and answer my question.”

Silence; then a soft, “Mrew?”

“Yes, you. Stop playing coy and tell me where the kid went so I know whether or not I have to worry about scraping him off the front of a bus or something.”

The ghast peeked around the corner of the door and meeped at him again.

Relief settled over the vampire. “Oh she did? Good. Maybe he won’t sound so pathetic the next time we talk.”

No response. The ghast must have gotten bored. Either that or she had found something to tidy—ghasts were notorious for their desire to tidy things, and the gods knew that there was usually plenty in the apartment that needed tidying.

With a sigh, Cavan stood up and headed toward the kitchen, since that’s where the ghast said Dahlia Temperance had spent most of her time talking to Sebastian.

Of the two psychic scents that Cavan could detect when he entered the kitchen, Sebastian’s was the most prominent, but it was also the easiest to ignore. Since Sebastian had been living in the apartment with him the last several months, his psychic presence had plenty of time to accumulate in their communal living areas (as Cavan liked to call them). But because it had been a slow accumulation, Cavan had also, a bit begrudgingly, become familiar enough with the scent of the younger vampire that he could now overlook Sebastian’s psychic presence without too much trouble on his part.

It was something that Cavan did his best not to think too much about. Like cats, most vampires older than a few centuries could share their living space, but most preferred to keep at least one place that he or she did not share with others. This apartment had been his and only his for almost thirty years, and while Cavan hardly minded the occasional visitor, the constant scent of another vampire—a younger male vampire at that—wracked Cavan’s nerves to no end. Even the fact that he and Sebastian shared a familial blood tie did not always keep Cavan from wanting to take less- than-human action to ensure that Sebastian knew he wasn’t welcome.

Today, having prepared himself for the fact that Sebastian’s scent would be strong in the kitchen of his apartment, and focused on searching for the fainter, but no less familiar psychic residue of Dahlia Temperance, Cavan was almost able to overlook the younger vampire.

When he found a good enough impression of his grandniece’s mind, he gripped it, and with a gentle tug to determine the direction, followed the path it left until it linked his mind with hers.

Cavan could feel the slight vibration of the handlebars of Dahlia Temperance’s motorcycle, a faint impression of the weight of her helmet and the wind tearing at the light fabric of her blouse. For a moment, Cavan forgot why he had reached for her, and he itched to go down to the garage and get his own bike. She wasn’t too far away. He could catch up easily and they could take a quick trip upstate to the lake that she liked so much...

When I was a little girl, a teacher told me that doing that was a cheap, lazy trick, Dahlia Temperance’s voice filtered through his mind on a wry undercurrent. He wondered if she’d picked up on his thoughts about him joining her. If she did, she gave no indication. But she did strengthen their mind to mind connection by holding her end of the psychic line.

Her comment made Cavan grin. He knew that Dahlia Temperance wouldn’t be able to see him smile, per say, but she would be able to feel it. Strange, I remember a little girl once telling me that it was silly to waste time taking six steps when you could get the same place in two.

I was a very clever child. The soft impression of her laughter tugged at him, and his smile deepened.

You were your mother’s child, if nothing else.

Yes, she agreed.

The wind died down, and the bike rolled to a stop. Cavan received the vague impression of a red traffic light.

The presence of another mind pushing gently against their link made Cavan frown. The nudge had been questioning; Sebastian must have realized that his mother had established a mind to mind connection with someone and nudged her to ask who it was—the same as anyone might do, if a companion was talking on the phone with someone that he thought he knew.

The sensation brought him back to why he’d reached for Dahlia Temperance to begin with. You got the kid out of the apartment, I see.

Mm. She shifted her weight and punched the bike’s accelerator as the light turned. It was fairly easy, surprisingly; I had a vision about the Dreamwalker which interested him greatly. If I believed in coincidence, I would say his response was a convenient one.

That Dahlia Temperance had a vision was nothing out of the ordinary. That she had one regarding Ophelia, especially given the outcome of her last vision that included the Dreamwalker, piqued Cavan’s interest.

But he felt Dahlia Temperance round a corner at an intersection he hadn’t expected her to take, so he replaced one question with another. Where are you going?

Bartleby’s, the reply was short, distracted as Dahlia Temperance weaved her way between a couple of cars.

Frowning, Cavan reached into his pocket and pulled out his lighter. He flicked it a few times, a little impatiently, wanting to reach for a cigarette. But Dahlia Temperance would refuse to talk to him mind to mind if he was smoking. She didn’t like the taste of his brand of cigarettes. Why the hell are you going to Bartleby’s?

He’s knows things.

Sweetheart, he’s a farm pixie with a book shop. What could he possibly know that you need to talk to him for?

Dahlia Temperance tsked and sent a small jolt of disapproval through their connection along with a sensation that felt suspiciously like a bite. He’s well read, and he’s been around for quite a long time. He doesn’t have the same capacity or repertoire as other supernatural creatures, but he has some knowledge that most others don’t have, and so we’re going to see him. A pause. You may meet us there, if you’d like.

Cavan flicked his lighter again. Maybe.

You’re too easily disgruntled, Cavan. I know what I’m doing.

Cavan began to respond, but movement on the back of Dahlia Temperance’s bike caught his attention. He felt the impression of someone leaning over the vampiress’s shoulder and saying something. He couldn’t hear the words, but he recognized the intonation.

For a moment, Cavan felt a different, almost animal, annoyance that Sebastian was riding the same bike as Dahlia Temperance.

That’s not fair, Cavan; he doesn’t have his own bike, and his sight has diminished rapidly in these last few weeks. He couldn’t ride his own bike even if he did have one.

Irritation deepening, Cavan pulled far enough out of the connection that only their words would be conveyed.

There was an unspoken rule that when speaking mind to mind you ignored the emotions that weren’t verbally conveyed, but Dahlia Temperance was first and foremost a mother, and Cavan wasn’t surprised that she breached etiquette to defend her child. By pulling away, he saved himself the annoyance of dealing with the little bits of Sebastian that would undoubtedly continue to filter through a closer connection, and save Dahlia Temperance the trouble of arguing with him about something that he couldn’t help.

The safest bet was to ignore the comment and continue the conversation they’d been having, so he said, All right, D.T., I’ll bite. What did you see?

She responded by barreling into his mind hard enough to physically jar him. His lighter bounced off the table and skidded across the floor, but for a brief moment, he was locked in place.

Instead of telling him her vision, as he’d anticipated, she was dumping it into his brain. Images filled his mind in the jumbled mess that she had first seen them in.

A door, tall, strong, with iron supports—

—sharp teeth, gnashing bright white in darkness—

—Lia running banging on the door—

—teeth, fangs, nails like razors slicing through flesh—

—the door, solid, a small room, closing in, small space, the walls pressing against broken skin, dirt mingled with blood—

—She was screaming, screaming and she couldn’t stop. Hands held her down, long, bony hands, nails pressing into her like needles, her voice broke, but her panic mounted as something lurched from the darkness and—

Cavan pulled back, closed his mind, broke the connection. It was bad enough that Dahlia Temperance had dumped the damned vision into his mind. She knew he had absolutely no talent for precognition and knew that a raw vision would give him a headache. But she hadn’t even warned him...

He took a ragged breath and pressed his palms to his temples. “Fuck me.”

A few moments passed before his heartbeat began to slow. He took another deep breath.

There was a timid tug at his mind.

For a moment, Cavan wanted to ignore it, but it was a persistent tug, so he let her back in. I’m over two thousand fucking years old, D.T. I don’t need shit like that dumped into my brain without warning.

I’m sorry; it was faster.

Well fucking hell, honey, a little warning next time would do me wonders.

Dahlia Temperance sent another soft apology down the line.

Are you meeting us at Bartleby’s?

Cavan rubbed the inside upper corner of his right eye socket. His blind eye throbbed like someone had punched him. I’ve got to take care of the fact that my brain is oozing out of my ears.

Another apology.

How’d the kid take the vision?

I didn’t show him. I only told him that the girl was in danger.

As per fucking usual. Any idea what that thing is?

No. I thought I recognized it, but the more I try to think of how or where—

—the more it slips away?

Mm, yes. Like a dream.

Like a dream.

The words sloshed around his waterbed of a brain in a leisurely fashion for a few moments and then:

Gah, fuck me...It’s probably the same damn thing killing the witches.

A wordless question followed.

Never mind. I’ll fill you in later—just let the kid know that at least it isn’t too damn complicated.

Should we not go to Bartleby’s? She’d strengthened the connection again and he could feel the bike slow under her as she pulled off the side of an empty road.

No, go. See if you can figure out what it is. Save me some time of doing it later. Do me a favor, though, and make sure that the kid is prepared, all right?

Prepared for what?

With one last begrudging pinch of his nose, Cavan reached down and fumbled for his lighter. I’m bringing Ophelia to New York.

2/Bartleby’s Books, Maine

Bartleby’s Books wasn’t so much a bookshop as it was a large, two-story house which had been gutted and remodeled so that the entire bottom floor was a shop while the upper floor retained some semblance of a living space. It was right in the center of the main street in one of the smallest towns in Maine, and although it didn’t have the most sought after collection of books, it was the only book store for nearly twenty miles, and was very often packed with adults who had nothing better to do on their days off than to congregate at the only shop in town that was open for business every single day, no matter the weather.

It was supposed to be a six and a half hour drive to Bartleby’s, and Dahlia Temperance had made it in just under five. Even so, By the time Sebastian and Dahlia Temperance had rolled to a stop in front of the book store, most of the lights on the main street had been turned off for the evening, and most of the customers from Bartleby’s Books had wandered out of the shop with their purchases or loans for the day.

That the streets were mostly deserted was a small mercy, or so Sebastian told himself, because no one was there to witness the awkward way that he swung his leg over the bike and staggered slightly. “Ow, ow...”

Dahlia Temperance pulled her helmet off of her head and smoothed out her jaw-length hair. She barely glanced over at him. “What are you ow-ing about now?”

“I’m not used to riding motorcycles for so long; I’m a little stiff is all.”

“Oh.”

He raised an eyebrow at his mother. “Oh? Just ‘oh,’?”

She shrugged. “Well from the way you’re hobbling around, I thought you were going to say your butt went numb.”

His mother, the guardian of poise and dignity under every circumstance.

“No,” he muttered darkly. Though now that she mentioned it, it did feel like he’d lost a bit of feeling back there.

Trying not to be too annoyed by her snickering, Sebastian followed her up the steps of the shop and through the door.

They were immediately confronted by a large wall covered by shelves, each ladened with books. The shelves curved around what appeared to be a stair case leading to the upper levels. To the right was a large sitting area where a few people still lingered, talking quietly or reading. To the left was yet another display of books and several free- standing shelves.

There was a door in the back corner of the room which looked like it lead to another selection (which Sebastian assumed would be the fiction section judging by the large black and white sign that hung over the doorway and said “FICTION” in large, hand painted letters that were large enough for even his blurred vision to read).

Dahlia Temperance slipped by the first display and headed toward the left. Along the wall, facing the staircase, and in perfect view of both the sitting area and the second display (labeled “POPULAR SELECTIONS”), a large counter, also weighed down with books, was labeled “CHECK OUT.”

At first, it didn’t look like there was anyone there, and then quite unexpectedly, a pair of dark rimmed, coke bottle glasses appeared from between two piles of books and peeked over the counter at them. They looked, for all the world, like they were attached to nothing but the air, and Sebastian realized his eyes were playing up again, and the blur that should have been the man’s face was the yellow- green sheen of an aura.

“Well and well! Dahlia Temperance Jaeger!” A nearly disembodied voice wheezed, “How nice of you to come see little, unimportant me! I’m boiling over with exci—oh golly gosh, not you again.” He frowned fiercely in Sebastian’s direction, and, confused, the vampire turned around in the hopes that someone unpleasant looking might be standing behind him.

No such luck. Apparently he’d done something to offend the glasses.

He looked doubtfully at his mother. There was a slight look of confusion on the vampiress’s face, but it was almost immediately followed by what must have been some level of understanding because she said soothingly, “Ah, no, Bartleby, darling, this is my son, Sebastian Jaeger.”

The glasses bobbed out of sight. A moment later they reappeared, this time bringing with them a man that Sebastian could only describe as a collection of shapes. The man seemed to position himself on a stool or chair of some kind—it was hard to tell because the books blocked Sebastian’s view—and he rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses.

“Oh I beg your pardon, Sebastian Jaeger! You look horrendously like that overgrown bully that your dear mother brings around! Of course, now that I know that you are you and he is he, I can see the difference. Yes, your cheek bones are a little higher and you have your mother’s mouth.”

“My nose hasn’t been broken quite as many times, either,” Sebastian muttered, shifting his weight as the shop keeper eyeballed him and chirruped onward.

“Not yet.” Dahlia Temperance patted his arm like she was consoling him. Somehow, he thought, she had missed the point.

“Bartleby,” Dahlia Temperance began again, “We’re looking for a bit of information that might help me with a—” she paused as a young couple approached and announced they were ready to check out. Bartleby scrambled to the other end of the counter and pulled out a very large ledger and a lock box. After a quick exchange of cash and receipts, Bartleby replaced the lock box and the ledger in their not- so-secret hiding place on the shelf behind the counter and scuttled back over to where Dahlia Temperance and Sebastian stood.

“Didn’t we buy you a proper cash register and a credit card reader?” Dahlia Temperance raised her eyebrow a little.

“Oh, well, yes, yes I suppose you did, except electronics don’t like me very much, you know,” he lowered his voice slightly and said for Sebastian’s benefit, “It’s my mother’s blood. Will o’ the wisp magic and machinery just don’t mix well. And you know I do like my lock box and ledger. Been using both since the day I opened.” He scrubbed a hand through hair that already stood on end and hiccoughed. “Anyhow you were saying about information?”

However Dahlia Temperance felt at the idea of having spent good money on two very expensive machines when neither were being used, she continued on as though they hadn’t been interrupted at all. “I had a vision about a friend of the family; I saw a particular kind of demon in it which I’ve never seen before. I was wondering if we could brows your Other Books.” She cast a glance at the wall behind the counter.

The little man fumbled with his glasses. “Well yes, of course I would let you, except...well you see it is very late, ever so late, really. Almost time for me to close up. You know how important it is for me to close up promptly each evening.”

Sebastian didn’t know, but from the look on Dahlia Temperance’s face she knew very well how important it was.

She leaned over the counter and smiled at Bartleby. “I understand, but you know, we’ll be quiet as the quietest of mice, and I know that Cavan and Hannah will be very grateful that you let us stay passed closing. J & J will owe you a very big favor, the biggest favor that we’ve ever owed anyone, really.”

She smiled; Bartleby squirmed.

“Oh all right, but not a word after I say lights out, and I want you both gone-gone-gone by morning, do you understand? I can’t have you here overnight, I just c-can’t.”

Dahlia Temperance nodded earnestly. “Of course, Bartleby. We understand completely.”

He scrutinized them. “Well good; and just so you know, I’d never let you do this if it were Cavan Jaeger here with you, Ms. Dahlia Temperance.”

“That’s precisely why I didn’t bring him, Bartleby; I know how much he vexes you.” She tapped her nose and winked conspiratorially at Sebastian who had about as much insight to the situation as a goose had into alchemy.

Heaving what must be the most laborious sigh ever sighed by anyone, Bartleby waved them around the counter and stuck his thumb into a tiny hole in the wall. His tendons flexed in his thin hands as he wiggled his thumb around for a moment, and then with a small click something was pushed into place and Bartleby shouldered his way through a small door.

Dahlia Temperance fitted through the door easily, but the entryway was so short that Sebastian had to duck about a foot so that he didn’t hit his head on the frame. Luckily, the room on the other side was a normal sized room, and he was able to stand again as Bartleby scuttled around in the darkness and lit a few candles, each of which had been set in a brass sconce at even intervals on the walls.

“I never bothered to put electric lights in either, you can see. Never a reason when candles do just as well. Besides, it’s nice to have one room that doesn’t suss at my mother’s blood.” Bartleby stood in the center of the room and scrubbed his hair with both hands before he looked back at them eagerly. “It’s the best collection of verified material this side of the Atlantic.”

Dahlia Temperance smiled. “I remember; thank you, really, Bartleby.”

“Well and well,” the man pulled off his glasses and cleaned them with the tails of his shirt, blushing furiously. He looked flustered for a few moments longer before putting his glasses back on and saying, “Now you remember, not a word after I say lights out, and gone before the morning.”

“Of course Bartleby.” Dahlia Temperance cast Sebastian a look and Sebastian promised, too.

Satisfied, the little man nodded and tottered between the pair of them and out of the room. He closed the little door gently behind him, leaving the vampires alone in the candle light.

“He seems...nice.” It was all Sebastian could think to say.

“He’s lovely,” Dahlia Temperance said dreamily. “And highly OCD, so make sure you put everything back exactly as you found it.”

Sebastian stared at her. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not. He’ll go positively bonkers and never let us

back here again if we leave a mess.” “Explains why he dislikes Cavan.” “Sebastian...”

“Well the man can’t organize his way out of a paper bag.”

A few moments of silence was followed by a distracted snort. He wasn’t sure if she had decided what he’d said was funny or if it had caused her to think of something else that she found amusing, but Sebastian didn’t care.

“Should we start?” he asked softly? “We don’t’ have a lot of time.”

“You’re right,” Dahlia Temperance murmured, “we don’t.”

3/ The Archives, Sanctuary

Lyriel heaved a heavy sigh and closed the book he had been looking through. This was pointless. Worse than pointless, he thought as he looked at the boy who sat across from him with another large book on his lap. This is busywork.

He understood why the Hours hadn’t wanted Chapel cross over to the other plain to look for Emelye, but looking through books could only be satisfying for so long. And if he was having a hard time keeping his focus…

The boy’s head drooped slightly. He looked as though sleep might finally take him when a blue chameleon fairy crawled on top of the boy’s head and gave a deep, resonating burp.

The boy jerked awake and Lyriel wrinkled his nose. “Charming,” he found himself saying.

“Hey, if you don’t like it, then leave. I can’t help it. Ever since they took me off sugar I’ve been as gassy as a lamp.” The fairy settled into the boy’s hair and looked over his nose at the book. “Looks like some pretty boring stuff, kid. When are we going to have some fun?”

“We’re tryin’ to find Emelye,” the boy mumbled in a raspy voice, rubbing his eyes. “She’s prolly all alone and scared an’ stuff.”

“She’s a girl!” Twix lifted his hands in the air and waved them. “We don’t care about girls! We care about fun and eating bugs. And turds! We care about turds, too!”

Chapel shook his head. “I can’t just go off an’ play with you anymore. I got responsibilities now.”

The fairy made a rude noise and looked at Lyriel. “You’re turning my boy into an old man! I hope you’re satisfied.”

Lyriel could honestly say that he wasn’t.

Clearing his throat, the angel stood up and removed the book from the boy’s lap. “Chapel,” he said kindly, “you’ve done such a good job today. Why don’t you go play with your pixie friend for a little while?” he ran his hand affectionately through the boy’s hair.

“But Lyriel, I gotta help. You don’t understand!”

And to Lyriel’s astonishment, the boy started to cry. “It’s all my f-fault she’s g-gone!” Chapel said suddenly. “Ah-I saw her leave the temple an’ didn’t go a-after her!” A big snot bubble crept out of the boy’s nose and he wiped it away with his sleeve. “You tol’ me to look after her an’ make her welcome an’ I let her run away on her own!”

When the boy’s voice broke, Lyriel thought his heart was breaking with it.

The pixie was so surprised at the sudden onslaught of tears that he didn’t even protest when Lyriel picked him up off the boy’s head placed him on the coffee table between them. Then he slipped his hands under the boy’s arms and drew him into a tight hug.

Careful so as not to fall, Lyriel settled himself in his own chair, Chapel on his lap, and went about making soothing sounds. “Don’t cry, Chapel; it’s not your fault. All of the other volunteers ran away, too.” He ran his fingers through the boy’s hair and made small shushing noises while he thought of something else to say.

“You’ve done such a good job helping me look through all of these books to find her,” he whispered. “I’m sure that she knows you’re helping as much as you can.”

The boy only cried harder, and Lyriel realized that he didn’t know what to do or say to make Chapel feel better. So, the angel stayed quiet and only stroked the boy’s hair.

It seemed like a small eternity, but eventually the boy’s sobs diminished and were replaced with soft sniffles. Not much longer after that, the boy’s breathing became deep and even. He’d fallen asleep.

Lyriel looked at the fairy who had made himself at home in the cold dregs of Lyriel’s tea. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

The fairy blinked at him, slowly and out of sync. “You’re not talking to me now?”

“No. You’re a horrible person and I hate you.” The fairy disappeared into the cup and came up dripping. “You made my boy cry and I’ll never forgive you for it.” He crawled out of the cup and beat his wings to dry them.

“I will have to find a way to forge onward, then, I fear,” the angel said softly.

With an effort, he stood and brought Chapel to the small bed of blankets and pillows that Emelye had been sleeping in the last few days. He set the boy down and wrapped him up in blankets to keep him warm. Then he returned to the chairs and table and went about organizing the books they had gone through.

Not enough, of course. These were all the wrong volumes. Of course, for all he knew all of the books could be the wrong volumes. Emelye might have the potential to be an Hour, but she hadn’t accepted the position yet, and she was in no way tied to the fate of the city. For all he knew, their search was entirely pointless. They would find nothing, the city would fall apart, and its people would spill into linear time.

When the books were in some semblance of an order, he settled himself down in his chair again and looked up at the ceiling, rubbing his chest.

It hurt to breath, he realized. Like something was pulling on his heart, tugging it in two directions and twisting the pieces around each other.

“You look like someone pinched your face, man,” the pixie chirruped, climbing over the pile of books to eyeball Lyriel skeptically. “You gonna keel over dead?”

“No,” Lyriel laughed weakly. “Not at this moment, fortunately.”

“Well I wish you would. You made my boy cry.”

Lyriel took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Give it time, sprite; if Emelye isn’t back in Sanctuary in a few days, then I imagine that all you’ll need is time.”