by Amber Benson
“And you didn’t tell me or Dev or Lizbeth this because . . . ?” Arrabelle asked—and there was no anger in her words, just confusion.
Daniela continued to answer for Eleanora.
“Dev already knows”—Arrabelle’s mouth dropped open in surprise—“and that wasn’t Eleanora’s call. Things were becoming difficult in our world. It’s hard to know who to trust these days. There’ve been disappearances, and murders . . . I’m sorry that I didn’t trust you, Arrabelle. Forgive me.”
Daniela’s eyes were filled with a sadness that only Eleanora understood.
“Yeah, you not trusting me stings, obviously, and I know you will both apologize more fully to me later,” Arrabelle said. “But ego aside . . . how is this not common knowledge? There’s been no word about any of this from the Greater Council—”
“Because they don’t want to believe it’s really happening,” Daniela said. “The Flood is coming and the idiots are just ignoring it—or worse.”
“It’s not bad here yet,” Daniela continued, “but in other places, less civilized countries, covens are being uprooted or destroyed.”
“By whom? Who’s doing it?” Arrabelle asked.
“They call themselves The Flood, but no one has any idea who they are,” Daniela said.
Arrabelle looked dazed as she tried to take in everything Daniela was saying.
“Okay, The Flood, fine.” Arrabelle nodded. “And you’re here to protect the last Dream Keeper?”
“Yes,” Daniela said, exasperated, her voice raspy from too much talking. “And I’m not saying it again.”
“Well, at least I understand why you’ve been so hell-bent on getting Lyse into the coven,” Arrabelle said, turning back to Eleanora. “If she’s the last Dream Keeper—”
“Lyse isn’t the last Dream Keeper, Arrabelle,” Daniela said, interrupting her.
“Lizbeth is,” Eleanora said.
* * *
Eleanora thought Arrabelle took the news well. At least, as well as could be expected given the situation. After she’d gone, Eleanora sat with Daniela in the bedroom, the two of them watching through the window as the sun crested the hillside and morning broke open like the yolk of an egg. She wished she could hold Daniela’s hand—as much to comfort herself as the girl—but without the leather gloves to protect her, Eleanora was too scared to try.
“You look terrible, you know,” Daniela said, after a long silence. “You should really slow the hell down.”
“I’m fine—” Eleanora protested, but Daniela held up a hand.
“No response requested. It was just a piece of advice. But you should go and get some sleep. It’s almost six.”
Eleanora shrugged, though she couldn’t argue with Daniela’s assessment. She felt nauseated and was so damn tired she could barely keep her eyes open.
“I will go get some sleep,” Eleanora said, dragging her chair even closer to the side of the bed. “I promise, but first, tell me what you felt when you touched your attacker.”
Daniela let her head flop back onto the pillows.
“Of course, you would pick up on that, wouldn’t you?” Daniela said, and sighed. Then she changed the subject. “There’s so much more going on than you even know. What I told Arrabelle tonight is just the tip of the iceberg. I don’t want to frighten you, but there have been rumors . . . of modern-day witch hunts. Stuff not unlike what we know happened in the Dark Ages, or in the Americas with the Puritans.”
This was news to Eleanora. There hadn’t been anything like what Daniela was describing in more than a hundred years.
“Arrabelle’s right. Why haven’t the covens been warned about this?” Eleanora asked. Daniela shook her head.
“My mother tried, but you know how that ended.”
Eleanora watched as silent tears fell down Daniela’s cheeks.
“Eleanora?” Daniela asked, her voice cracking with emotion.
“Yes?”
“I felt nothing.”
“Nothing?” Eleanora repeated, not sure what Daniela meant.
“The man who attacked me,” she whispered. “I looked into his soul.”
She paused, and for the first time Eleanora felt real fear behind Daniela’s words.
“There was nothing there.”
* * *
Eleanora slept fitfully and woke up too early, the sunlight streaming through the living room windows almost as bad as an alarm clock. She rolled over, aching with the hot/cold, pins/needles sensation you get when your foot “falls asleep”—only the feeling had taken over her entire body.
“My God,” she moaned, trying to sit up but not having the energy to make it happen.
She fell back onto the couch, the pillow she’d borrowed from Lyse’s empty bed a soft cloud she couldn’t seem to escape. After exerting so much effort to sit up, and then failing, it felt heavenly to just lie there, unmoving, eyes closed against the dappled, morning light.
I have to get up, she thought. It’s not an option to lie here all day.
She took a deep breath and reached out with a trembling hand, grabbing hold of the back of the couch and using it to leverage herself into a sitting position. Just this small effort caused her to break out in a cold sweat. She wiped her face with the inside of her nightgown, then let the neckline drop back into place, the wet fabric chilling the heated flesh of her chest.
The triumph of getting herself into a sitting position gave her a little energy, and she used it to scoot herself forward on the seat of the couch. She looked over at the alarm clock she’d brought with her from the bedroom and sighed.
Not even ten yet, she thought. Too damn early.
She felt her forehead with the back of her hand.
And I have a goddamned fever, to boot.
She needed to get up, have some pot tincture and a few of Arrabelle’s potions, and then take a shower.
Act like everything is normal and it will be, she thought. It’s as simple as telling your body to move.
She was struck by a flash from the night before, the cry of a newborn infant echoing in her subconscious. The pain of remembering her children’s births knocked against her heart, begging to be let in, but she pushed it away. Ignoring it as best she could, she took a deep breath and told her body to move its ass. She hoisted herself onto her feet and swayed a little, her body like jelly, but strength of will kept her from sitting back down.
One foot in front of the other.
One small step for man.
One giant leap for mankind.
These were the odd phrases filtering through her head as she forced her feet to move. It was slow going at first, but with each subsequent step, she regained a little more energy—and when she got to the kitchen, she almost felt human. Almost.
She dug through the cabinet and found the bottles she wanted, setting them up in a row on the kitchen counter. Their glass containers reflected back the sunlight shining in through the kitchen window.
It was going to be a beautiful day.
She poured herself a glass of water from the tap and added it to the lineup.
She didn’t know if Lyse was home yet, and frankly it was none of her business. She just hoped Lyse had had a good time. She deserved to be happy in love, and Eleanora wasn’t going to tease her about Weir or ask for any details. Not unless Lyse wanted to share.
“Hello, lovely,” she said as she picked up the pot tincture and unscrewed the top.
She placed a few drops under her tongue and didn’t have to wait long for the nausea to dissipate. She followed this with two of Arrabelle’s potions—made especially for her—then washed the lot down with the glass of tap water.
She heard the back door open as she put the empty glass in the sink. She looked up to find Lyse in the doorway, limping on her right foot.
“Good night?” Eleanora aske
d.
Lyse got a sheepish look on her face and blushed.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” she said. “I mean, about staying out all night.”
“None of my business,” Eleanora said, amused at seeing Lyse so embarrassed.
“I fell,” Lyse said, looking down at her leg. “And I needed a bandage, and there was this guy. Who kind of helped . . .”
She seemed to realize she was babbling and clammed up.
“Interesting,” Eleanora said, nodding.
“Okay, this is embarrassing. I’m just gonna stop talking,” Lyse growled, and blushed even more.
“Well, I’m going to take a shower.” Eleanora put the glass bottles back in the cabinet and closed the door.
“Okay,” Lyse said, leaning against the kitchen counter that separated them. “So, uh, I think you might know this guy? His name’s Weir?”
“Lizbeth’s brother?” Eleanora asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“Uhm, yeah,” Lyse said, drumming her fingertips against the Formica countertop. “You like him? I mean, you think he’s all right?”
Eleanora thought about her answer for a long moment, then nodded.
“I think he’s great.”
“Me, too.” Lyse grinned. “And I know what you’re thinking in that naughty mind of yours, but we didn’t . . . you know. We could’ve, but I didn’t want to.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself—”
Lyse waved the words away.
“We just talked all night. And it was nice. To feel like someone—a guy—was really listening to me.”
Eleanora nodded—and though she hadn’t given much thought to male/female relationships in the last few years, she recognized Lyse’s need to be understood. It was a thing every human being craved and very few ever found.
Eleanora included.
She smiled at Lyse.
“I’m glad, Bear. You deserve the best. No matter what—you must always remember that.”
Then Eleanora turned and walked down the hallway, leaving Lyse alone in the kitchen to bask in the warming glow of newfound love.
Lyse
Lyse was slipping a clean shirt on when she heard a voice calling to her.
“Hello? Anyone up?”
She poked her head out the bedroom door but didn’t see anyone in the hallway.
“Yes, hello?” Lyse said. “I’m up. Who’s there?”
She walked down the hall, peering through the doorway that led to Eleanora’s room, and found Daniela sitting up in the bed, her bright pink head propped on a mound of pillows.
“Hi,” Lyse said, uncertainly.
But in her head, she thought: Why is Daniela in Eleanora’s bed?
“You have the funniest look on your face.”
“I’m just . . .” Lyse stopped herself from adding the word surprised. “Well, it’s been kind of a strange twenty-four hours.”
“You’re blushing,” Daniela said.
“Oh, yeah, well, I don’t know,” Lyse said, looking away to hide her embarrassment.
Daniela raised an eyebrow.
“From the look on your face, I’d say it was a very interesting night.” Daniela laughed. “Hey, is Eleanora awake? I thought I heard her moving around.”
“She’s up. I ran into her earlier puttering around the kitchen. I think she was getting stoned.”
“Ha!” Daniela laughed again. “Sounds about right. She acts like she’s only been doing it since the doc prescribed her that medical marijuana card, but I hear tell she and my mom used to be total hippies in the sixties.”
“Wait, where did you hear that?”
“My mom. And, I mean, they lived here. In hippie-dippie Los Angeles. In this place.” Daniela raised her arms to indicate the house. “My mother and Eleanora were blood sisters together in the Echo Park coven.”
Lyse frowned.
“I had no idea.”
“How could you?” Daniela replied. “Eleanora wouldn’t have said anything. She hardly ever talks about the past.”
“I can imagine why,” Lyse said. “I think she had a pretty shitty one.”
“But then she found the coven. And from what my mother said, the time they spent with Hessika in Echo Park were some of the best years of both of their lives.”
“I wish she’d told me some of this stuff before,” Lyse said.
“Well, do you believe it now?” Daniela asked. “Because if you don’t believe any of this now, as an adult, do you really think you would’ve been open to it as a teenager?”
This was food for thought.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Daniela continued. “You’re still not sure if any of this is real.”
“I don’t know what I believe,” Lyse said, leaning against the doorjamb.
“I think you have to follow your heart,” Daniela replied. “Do what feels right.”
Lyse turned at the sound of the back door slamming shut.
“Hold on. I think I’m gonna go see if I can catch her.”
Lyse took off, giving Daniela a wave as she jogged down the hallway.
But she found the kitchen empty save for Eleanora’s water glass, which was drying in the sink.
Lyse opened the back door and looked outside.
“Eleanora?”
She stepped out onto the deck and called Eleanora’s name again—with no response. She walked to the front of the house, but Eleanora wasn’t there, either. Nor was she on the arched bridge, or the stairs leading to the street. Lyse followed the deck around to the far side of the house where Eleanora’s garden was planted. The neat rows of beets, endive, carrots, artichokes, and cauliflower were bursting with color from yesterday’s rain—but there was no sign of her great-aunt.
Lyse jogged down to the street, and even though it was late on a Saturday morning, she found no signs of human life, just empty asphalt and sidewalks wet with dew.
“Eleanora!?” she called, though she knew it was pointless.
“Eleanora!”
After a few minutes of standing on the sidewalk, she gave up and went back inside. There was no reason to wait for someone who wasn’t there.
* * *
“I’m heading over to Dev’s,” Daniela said when she came into the kitchen. “Join me? If you feel like going out, that is.”
Lyse was sitting at the round oak table, in the middle of her second cup of coffee. She’d used the stovetop espresso maker, and the influx of caffeine had helped to shake off her exhaustion—at least temporarily.
“Yeah?” Lyse said, looking up from the magazine she was reading. An old copy of Scientific American that she’d foraged from Eleanora’s bathroom. “You think Eleanora will be there?”
Daniela poured herself some espresso and took the seat across from Lyse.
“Maybe. Though after the rough night we had, I’m surprised she’s not still sleeping,” Daniela said, taking a sip from her mug, and making a face. “Needs cream.”
She went over to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of half-and-half.
“Rough night?”
“A little trouble at my house,” Daniela said. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
“So, what’s happening at Dev’s house, then?” Lyse asked, deciding not to press Daniela on the other subject.
“Well, Dev’s an amazing cook, and she and her partner, Freddy, do this brunch thing at their Echo Park Weekend Bar. The whole neighborhood is usually there. Free food,” Daniela said, trying to get a peek at the cover of the magazine Lyse was reading. She held it up so Daniela could see. “Scientific American, eh?”
“Eleanora’s ‘light’ bathroom reading,” Lyse said. “Hey, no gloves today?”
“Yeah, that’s part of the whole ‘rough night’ thing,” Daniela said, looking at her bare hands. “I gotta
make a pit stop at my place to get another pair.”
“Cool,” Lyse said, nodding.
“I can totally see it in your eyes—”
“My eyes?” Lyse said.
“You’re so curious, and you can barely restrain yourself from asking—”
“Asking about what?”
Daniela waggled her fingers at Lyse.
“The story of the gloves,” Daniela said, reaching for the creamer and pouring half the carton into her mug before taking a sip. “Much better.”
“I’m a coffee addict, and I spend a lot of time in coffee shops,” Lyse said, resting her elbows on the tabletop and staring at Daniela. “But I’ve never seen anyone use that much creamer. Ever.”
Daniela laughed.
“Love the caffeine buzz, hate the actual coffee.”
“So, why the gloves, then?” Lyse asked, taking the bait.
“More fun magic-related stuff,” Daniela said. “Can you handle it?”
“Sure. Hit me.”
“Well, I’m an empath,” Daniela said. She waited for a response. “Okay, you don’t have a problem with that. Good. Because what I do is a little bit like seeing into someone’s soul.”
She laughed as Lyse leaned back in her chair, putting space between them.
“Don’t worry, I’m not an outright mind reader. I need to be touching you with my bare hands in order to see what you’re thinking and feeling.”
Lyse sat back up in her chair.
“Sorry.”
“No worries, I totally get it,” Daniela said. “It freaks me out and I’m the one who can do it.”
“So the gloves protect people from you?” Lyse asked, and Daniela shook her head.
“Other way around, actually. My brain overloads when I use my gift, and I have a seizure—too many of them and my brain gets fried. Permanently.”
“Holy shit,” Lyse said, frowning.
“So I try to wear the gloves at all times.”
“If I see someone wearing leather gloves on a hot summer day, that equals empath?” Lyse asked, but Daniela shook her head.
“Not always,” Daniela said. “There aren’t that many of us out there. And there are even fewer ones like me.”