Dream On

  Not a bad idea. “As a matter of fact, I’m not so fond of spying on other people.” I could sound condescending myself if necessary. Even in pajamas. “How about you? What are you doing here yourself? Paying a visit to your old friend the demon? What was his name again? Something beginning with L. Sounded like more water on the sauna stove in Finnish. Lelula? Lilalu? Luleli?”

  That was really funny—löylyä actually does mean “pour more water on the sauna stove,” as I knew from a nice Finn called Matti who was friends with Lottie when we were in Utrecht. He taught us any number of things that we didn’t really need to say in Finnish. But Arthur wasn’t laughing anymore.

  “Oh, I remember,” I said slowly. “Of course, the demon wasn’t real. Just an invention of Anabel’s.”

  “Anabel,” repeated Arthur, and he sounded as if saying her name hurt him physically, “Anabel is sick.”

  “You don’t say!” I replied as callously as possible. I mean, was I supposed to feel sorry for Anabel? When she’d lured me into a trap and hit me over the head with an iron torch holder? Never mind that after that she’d tied me up so that she could cut my carotid artery at her leisure. The stupid thing was that I did feel sorry for her. As we now knew, Anabel had spent the first years of her life with a weird sect that worshipped demons, along with her mother, who had committed suicide later in a psychiatric hospital. No wonder Anabel herself was totally mental.

  Arthur was inspecting me attentively, as if he could read my thoughts. I swallowed and tried to look extra grim. All I needed now was Arthur thinking I could understand his ex-girlfriend. Or him, come to that. Although—well, he had loved Anabel, and everyone knows what crazy things you can do when you’re in love. And now she was in a psychiatric hospital herself, his friends weren’t speaking to him, and he wasn’t captain of the basketball team anymore. Poor Ar—no, stop that! The hell with poor Arthur! Next thing I knew, I’d be feeling guilty about breaking his jaw.

  “She did some bad things, but…” Arthur hesitated for a moment, and once again I felt a surge of sympathy. “But she didn’t write that book herself.”

  He meant the grubby old notebook where Anabel had found her rituals for conjuring up demons. The book had been burned on the night when Arthur and Anabel had lured me to the Hamiltons’ family vault in the cemetery, intending to free Anabel’s imaginary demon from the underworld with the help of my own far-from-imaginary blood.

  Whether Anabel was traumatized or not, her knife would have killed me if Henry and Grayson hadn’t turned up in the nick of time. So that was quite enough sympathy and understanding, thank you.

  “True. Someone just as nutty as Anabel wrote the book,” I said firmly.

  “Could be,” admitted Arthur, and he said no more for a second or so. Then he made a gesture that managed to be helpless and arrogant at the same time as it took in the whole corridor. “So how do you explain all this, then?”

  I’d asked myself the same question often enough. I shrugged my shoulders as casually as I could. “Well, how can I be here in London and talk to my grandma in Boston at the same time? How come the garage door will open if I press a button while I’m still a mile away? How can people visit each other in their dreams? So far as I’m concerned, to be honest, those are all phenomena I can’t explain. But just because I don’t understand them, it doesn’t mean they have to be the work of demons. There’s a scientific explanation for everything.”

  Now Arthur had his superior smile back. “Oh, is there? Think what you like if it makes you feel better, Liv Silver. My regards to Henry.”

  “Thanks, and mine to the demon Lilliburlero when you next see him,” I snapped back with my most hostile enemy-general expression as I turned to walk away. “I must be going. See you sometime—I’m afraid.”

  Arthur nodded. “Yes, I guess that can’t be avoided.” And he added under his breath, “But be careful, Liv. We’re not alone in these corridors.”

  I resisted the temptation to turn around and tell him what he could do with his pretended concern and/or concealed threats, and I marched away, well knowing that he was watching me, probably with his eyes fixed on my polka-dot pajama bottoms. For a moment I was tempted to make a more elegant departure by turning into a jaguar, even at this late stage, but there was always the danger that once again it wouldn’t work, and I’d be scurrying away as a silly little kitten, so I didn’t run the risk.

  And where the hell was Henry? He was never around when you needed him.

  6

  SO AS NOT to give myself away to Arthur by walking back the way I’d come, I marched as purposefully as possible farther along the corridor, and then turned off it again to be right out of his field of vision in the unlikely event that he was still keeping an eye on me. Then, to be on the safe side, I repeated the maneuver again. When I finally stopped and took a surreptitious look around, none of the other doors struck me as in the least familiar. Where on earth had I ended up? I’d never before strayed so far from my own corridor. Maybe I should have made chalk marks on the walls to be sure of finding my way back. I felt goose bumps rising on my arms, but I forced myself to wait a little longer. Then I turned around, and three minutes later, I was cautiously peering down the corridor where I had met Arthur. Not that there was any trace of him now. No trace of Henry either.

  I remembered Arthur’s warning. So what if I wasn’t alone here? This was worse; I was lonesome as they come, not a soul I knew in sight.

  I quickly set off on the way back, half expecting the damn corridors in this maze to change direction—after all, you never knew here—but thank goodness they stayed where they were. Not so very much later, with a sigh of relief, I turned into the corridor where my own door lay.

  There was still no sign of Henry. Now what? Did I stand around waiting for him, or stand him up so that at least I could get a bit of sleep? No, I’d made up my mind to talk to him, and I wasn’t going to let another night go by.

  With my own door less than forty yards away, I felt safe enough to try turning into a jaguar again. You never knew, practice might make perfect. Sad to say, I couldn’t concentrate properly, so once again it went wrong. My pajama bottoms now had a jaguar pattern, but that was all. Oh, and I saw a tail too. Oops! I waggled my behind a bit, giggling. It wasn’t a bad jaguar tail, but I’d better get rid of it. However, before I could do that, someone put his arm around my shoulders from behind.

  “Making yourself beautiful just for me?”

  Henry. Now, of all times.

  I hated it when he came quietly up behind me. And I hated myself for not hearing him. Who knew how long he’d been watching me while I fooled around with my jaguar tail?

  He drew me close, and I almost went weak at the knees, it felt so good. So familiar, and right, and as if there weren’t any problems at all.

  “Where’ve you been?” I tried to put a little distance between us, but I failed miserably. “I met Arthur just now. On my own.” I hoped that last bit came out in a suitably accusing tone.

  Henry covered the top of my head with kisses. That felt good, too, I’m afraid. In between, he murmured, “What a good thing my beautiful, clever girlfriend can do kung fu in a tight spot. And you’d have everyone scared to death with that cheetah tail, anyway. So what did Arthur say?”

  “Jaguar,” I corrected him. “It’s supposed to be a jaguar tail. And Arthur didn’t say much, just made a couple of cryptic remarks. And of course he didn’t laugh at my jokes. Do you know what löylyä means in Finnish?”

  Henry laughed and took my face between his hands. “Kiss me?” he suggested with a gleam in his gray eyes.

  “No!” I pushed him away from me. Talking, no making out, that was my new mantra. Although right now it seemed to me a pretty stupid mantra.

  However, that was no help with all the questions I had.

  For instance, Where were you going in such a hurry just now? Or How come we’ve never met at your house? Are you serious when you say you love me, and if so, why don’t you
tell me what’s weighing on your mind? How is it that Grayson and Emily know something about your mother and her problems? And what was the idea of giving me that beckoning Japanese cat?

  None of them passed my lips. Instead I asked, “How did Secrecy know what happened in the school toilets at Berkeley?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Honestly, Liv, you don’t want to worry what that silly cow writes about you.”

  “But that’s the point. She wouldn’t write about things that she can’t really know, unless…” I stopped.

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless someone told her about them.”

  “That makes sense,” said Henry, shrugging again.

  “Does it? But I haven’t told anyone but you, Henry.” It came out much more seriously than I intended, maybe a little too dramatically. “So…” I bit my lower lip.

  For a moment Henry looked puzzled, and then his eyes widened. “Are you saying that I’m hand in glove with Secrecy?”

  I didn’t answer that. I just chewed my lip as eloquently as I could manage.

  Henry’s eyes widened a little farther. “Oh—unless maybe you think I could actually be Secrecy myself?” And although he was obviously struggling not to, he burst out laughing. His laughter came spilling and gurgling out of him in his own typical way, and unfortunately it was infectious. I felt the corners of my mouth beginning to twitch. Henry leaned forward to kiss me. “You’re so sweet! I love you, Liv! I love you so much.”

  Then we didn’t say anything else for some time, while I sent that silly mantra off to Nirvana, or wherever mantras go when you’ve finished with them.

  Until … yes, until we heard the laughter. Someone else’s laughter. Like something out of an old horror movie, deep and echoing, with a good deal of craziness in it. It was rolling down the corridors toward us, so much of a cliché that I didn’t feel at all afraid as I moved away from Henry’s arms to look for the cause of it. If this was Arthur’s way of proving that we weren’t alone here, it didn’t work very well.

  Far down the corridor, we saw a figure that seemed to grow a little as we stared at it.

  “What’s that supposed to be?” asked Henry.

  I didn’t know either. For a moment I thought of the demon, but at the same time I felt sure that a demon would never go around wearing a cloak and a slouch hat, if only for fear of looking ridiculous. Or was I right? The figure in the slouch hat—judging by its outline and the depth of its voice, it was a man—laughed again, this time really rumbling laughter, and the echo was thrown back and forth from wall to wall of the corridor.

  I was torn both ways. I was curious to find out who this character was and what he wanted. After all, I was still dreaming, and furthermore, Henry was standing right beside me. So what could go really wrong? On the other hand, a little voice inside me whispered that it would be a good idea to make for the wide blue yonder.

  However, it wasn’t until the man was only a few doors away and began to speak—“Who are you who venture to roam in the haunts of Senator Tod Nord?”—that I decided to listen to the little inner voice. Tod, which in German means “death,” didn’t sound good.

  “Senator Tod Nord?” repeated Henry as I seized his arm and tried to haul him away. The figure wasn’t far from our doors now.

  “Did he say Nord? As in north?” Henry was still looking back behind us. “Is that some kind of zip code or what?”

  “Could you put off finding out to another time?” I cried.

  “Wait! What do you make of this?” Unfortunately Senator Tod decided to follow us, while declaiming something that made no sense at all. “Rodents at rondo!”

  For some reason, that seemed to interest Henry enormously. “Rondo?” He was reluctant to let me lead him on. “What do you mean?”

  I couldn’t believe it! Now he was stopping to have a conversation with this character! Didn’t he know that the best way to deal with lunatics is to ignore them? I wouldn’t be surprised if the man behind us produced a scythe from under his cloak any moment now, to suit his first name.

  Once again he laughed his deranged laugh. And this time it really scared me.

  “Don’t just stand there!” I hissed at Henry, who was slowing down no matter how I tried to hurry him.

  There! Grayson’s door was ahead of us. It looked the same as ever, a perfect copy of our front door at home, painted white, with plant containers outside it and the chubby stone statue known as Frightful Freddy barring our way. A place to take refuge! “Wait—stranded on root!” cried Senator Tod, or at least that was all I could seem to make out in the confusion of the moment. Not for the world was I going to do as he said and wait, that was for sure.

  I just hoped Grayson, like me, hadn’t changed his safety precautions. If he had, then Senator Tod Nord was going to grab us. I bent down to Freddy and whispered, “Ydderf, Ydderf, Ydderf” into his ear (he had the head of an eagle, so it wasn’t easy to make out just where his ear was supposed to be, but I didn’t have time for such details now). “And hurry up about it! There’s someone after us!”

  “You may come in,” squeaked Freddy, sounding slightly insulted, as I flung the door open, pushed Henry through it, and let it slam before the character in the slouch hat could catch up.

  “That was a close thing!” I gasped.

  Henry didn’t reply. My hand went out to him and met empty air.

  “Henry? This isn’t funny!” Horrified, I looked around. But there wasn’t a sign of Henry anywhere.

  7

  “EXPLAIN AEROBIC ADB production in human cells with regard to a gross equation with the balance of ADB contained in them.”

  At first I thought Senator Tod had slipped into Grayson’s dream, confused ravings and all, but the speaker had been Grayson’s biology teacher, Mr. Bridgewater. We were in a classroom in Frognal Academy, where Grayson was sitting at a table on his own, in front of four teachers, looking rather pale. Obviously this was some kind of exam.

  “Aerobic ATP production, do you mean?” asked Grayson, casting me a glance of annoyance.

  “ADB,” Mr. Bridgewater corrected him, and Grayson turned even paler.

  There were a few chairs for onlookers by the wall, and I tiptoed over and sat down beside Emily, carefully coiling my jaguar tail up beside me.

  I didn’t know whether to be worried about Henry or cross with him, but mainly I felt cross. Maybe he had simply turned into a breath of air. He could do that sort of thing. Or maybe he had woken. Whichever it was, I didn’t much care for being left here on my own. Especially as I thought he really ought to have taken that guy in the slouch hat more seriously.

  “How’s Grayson doing?” I whispered to Emily.

  Emily put a finger to her lips. “Shh. Other people are trying to learn something!” My jaguar tail twitched with annoyance. Even in Grayson’s dreams, Emily was a terrible spoilsport.

  “ATP is produced by…,” Grayson began, but Mr. Bridgewater interrupted him. “Not ATP. ADB! Don’t try to get out of it by changing the subject, Grayson!”

  “But … but it really is ATP. Adenosine triphosphate. I’ve learned all about ATP and its uses. Would you like me to give you a rundown on…?” Grayson sounded desperate now.

  “Young man, that’s very laudable, but today we are examining you on ADB,” said the examiner next to Mr. Bridgewater. “So carry on, please, we don’t have all day.”

  “ADB … ADB … Aaaaaadeeeeebeeee…” Grayson ran his hand through his short fair hair.

  Poor boy. He still had those dreadful dreams of failure. I longed to intervene, but then he might have realized that he was only dreaming and—even worse—that I’d slipped into his dream without permission. No, it was better for me to keep my head down and slip out again as soon as the air was clear.

  “I’m afraid I’m not up to date with ADB,” Grayson finally said.

  Beside me, Emily sniffed. “Typical,” she said, not even under her breath. Grayson promptly looked at us. His expression was so unhappy that
my heart lurched sympathetically. I gave him an encouraging smile. Sad to say, I had no idea what ATP was, or ADB either, or I might have been able to help him.

  “So you’re not up to date with ADB?” repeated Mr. Bridgewater, exchanging sorrowful glances with his colleagues. “Well, think it over again.… What could it mean?”

  Ancient daft Bridgewater. Apes devour bananas. Alternative drippy baboon …

  Grayson sighed. “I really don’t know.” He added pitifully, “What is it, then?”

  “Oh, good heavens!” The stout woman teacher to Mr. Bridgewater’s left shook her head pityingly. “ADB—Anti-diet-butter! Everyone knows that!”

  “Anti-diet-butter?” Grayson stared at her incredulously. “What’s anti-diet-butter supposed to produce in human cells? And what does it have to do with biology, anyway?”

  He was so right. This really was the silliest dream of all time. Anti-diet-butter—couldn’t Grayson’s unconscious mind come up with anything better?

  “Impertinent into the bargain!” The stout woman clicked her tongue and turned to her colleagues. “Well, I for one can’t waste any more of my time on this candidate. As I said before, I fear we can’t pass him.”

  “I’m afraid I feel the same,” said Mr. Bridgewater. “I’m very sorry, Grayson, but you’ve failed this exam.”

  Grayson looked as if he might burst into tears. “But … but…,” he whispered desperately.

  “I said all along you ought to study more,” said Emily sternly, with a touch of satisfaction in her voice. “Not so much partying and basketball. You should think more about your future!”

  I was about to contradict her when everything around us suddenly turned pitch dark. The ground gave way beneath my feet, and I fell into a gaping void.

  Grayson had woken, and I did the same, to find myself in bed with a thudding heart.

  Gasping, I sat up—I hated it when this happened. It was a terrifying feeling to fall into the dark, as if oxygen would be in short supply there and I’d choke to death as I plunged into space—I was sure dying must feel just like that.