It was the Spell of Bedazzlement.
With the alchemist’s shield no longer protecting them, the sparkles struck Rupert Lawson, as he was pulling out a second Kalesei Astari. He dropped the large red quartz and began walking in circles, muttering to himself.
“Dreaming!” Zoë shouted. “Whatever just hit that joker, he’s dreaming! Quick, everyone! Grab my hand! Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter Seven:
The Vultures, the Wolf, and Mrs. March
The seven of them grabbed one another’s hands and ran. Lucky breathed fire on a second golden spear before wrapping around Sigfried. Zoë took three running steps forward. The others followed, cheering. Mist surrounded them. As it parted, their cheers died away.
Around them spread a thick forest of twisted evergreens. Ahead rose the largest tree Rachel had ever seen. She had thought the Roanoke Tree, where her friend the Elf lived, was enormous. That was nothing compared to this tree. Its trunk was so thick that it looked like a massive wall of rough bark. It went on, to the left and to the right, as far as the eye could see. But not up. After a few hundred feet, it ended in a jagged broken point that jutted toward the gray sky like the tip of a skyscraper. The rest of the tree had fallen and lay across the landscape, a rounded mountain range stretching beyond the horizon.
Beside the broken tree lay the corpse of an enormous deer—truly enormous, as massive as Roanoke Island. Crows and vultures, larger than horses, picked at its flesh. Beside the deer growled an equally large white-blue wolf. Next to this first beast lay the corpse of a black wolf. The throat of the second wolf had been torn out by what looked suspiciously like wolf-teeth.
In the way of dreams, Rachel understood that the white wolf had killed the black one, but that it regretted this. A sense of inevitability clung to the scene, as if fate had decreed these events, and they could not have been otherwise.
There was no odor of decay. The forest smelled of lilacs, and soft shakuhachi music played in the background. Both were entirely incongruous with the sights around them.
Rachel shivered.
Zoë limped slowly, one hand on her stomach. She winced as she rotated her injured shoulder. Behind her came the princess and Joy, both coughing. Xandra, who followed after Joy, held the arm of Valerie, who looked pale but resolved, the goose still clutched tightly in her arms. Blood dripped down her upper back, where the barghest had ripped her pajamas away and bitten her. Lucky was wrapped around both her and Sigfried. Rachel was at the back of the line, one hand holding Siggy’s, the other clutching her broom.
“So, the Spell of Bedazzlement makes people dream?” murmured Xandra. “That’s very useful to know, if you are planning to travel by dreamway.”
“Very!” agreed Rachel.
She shivered, her clothing still damp.
Joy blinked twice. Her eyelids drooped, and her face was pale. “Um. Let’s go home.”
“Not that easy.” Zoë held up her free hand in “halt” gesture. “I can only go to places people are actively dreaming about. No one here is dreaming of America, much less Roanoke. The only dreams I see are either meaningless baby-nap dreams, or they are not very pleasant.”
“So…we can’t go home unless someone in Transylvania dreams of New York?” Siggy scowled. “We’ll be here forever.”
“It’s not all that bad.” Zoë shrugged. “We just need someone to dream of a place closer to home, and then find another dream of a place even closer, et cetera. Until we get back. That’s how I usually travel. Of course, I don’t normally cross the Atlantic.”
“Even easier than that,” Rachel stated. “If we can find a dream of a place with a public glass house, we can go back down to the waking world and make our way from one travel glass to another back to school.”
“What about you, Princess?” Joy asked. “Can you get us home? The way you were going to bring us to Magical Australia?”
Nastasia shook her head. Her pale locks shimmered, even in the dark forest of dream. “I can only go to the place a person is from. No one here is ‘from’ Roanoke. Rachel and Mr. Smith are from England. You are from Ohio. Zoë, Xandra, and Valerie are all from other worlds.”
“I am?” Xandra murmured in surprise.
“That won’t help, then,” Zoë murmured. She looked around, taking a step away from the giant trunk. “But we…need to go!”
Atop the corpses, three vultures turned their wrinkled heads and stared at the students. The white wolf the size of an island rose and took a stiff-legged step toward them, growling.
“Okay, that’s scary!” Joy swallowed, stepping back as far as she could without letting go of the hands of those beside her. “I think…” She began coughing and could not continue.
“Quick, this way!” Zoë limped quickly toward the only curling curtain of mist.
They went as fast as they could, all moving together. When they reached the eddies of the mist, there was only a single dream diorama. It showed a dark, spooky wood filled with the glint of staring eyes. Something deathly pale moved behind the trees.
“That’s a nightmare. We don’t want to go there!” Zoë glanced nervously over her shoulder at the carrion birds.
“We don’t want to stay here, either,” Xandra replied, equally nervously.
“I think we can take ’em, don’t you Lucky?” Sigfried announced.
“Of course, Boss,” the dragon answered loyally. “How tough can dreams be?”
Zoë asked sarcastically, “You’re going to fight them without letting go of anyone?”
“Oh.” Sigfried looked at his girlfriend and her goose-father and frowned. “Maybe the princess should take us to Magical Australia. I mean that would be better than this, right? How did you get back last time?”
“Valerie,” Rachel said suddenly. “Snap your flash! Maybe the dreamer will dream of a sunny place.”
“That is a splendid idea,” cried Nastasia. After a fit of coughing, she added, “Did not you say that the poor dreamer was suffering a nightmare? We will be doing the person a favor!”
“I can’t,” Valerie objected. “I’m holding a goose!”
“I can!” Lucky declared. He reached around with his talons and picked up the camera resting on Valerie’s hip. After a bit of awkwardness, the camera clicked. A brilliant flash of light illuminated the landscape.
The wolf and the vultures drew back. Then the birds let out raucous cries, and the wolf howled. The eerie sound of it made Rachel’s blood freeze. The vultures launched into the air swooping forward, and the wolf stepped forward, toward the students. Ahead of them, however, the spooky forest nightmare had changed into a sunny beach.
“Quick!” Zoë cried. “That blue water is the Mediterranean! Maybe it’s the Riviera! Come on! And—by all you hold dear—don’t anyone let go!”
They ran.
Zoë dashed into the dream of sun and blue sparkling water as quickly as her limp would allow her to move. The others followed. She took three steps. Her silver sandals glowed like moonlight. The broken tree, the two gigantic corpses, the pursuing carrion birds, and the rushing white wolf vanished.
They stood on a grassy hillside, gazing down at islands sparkling on a blue, blue sea. Nearby, a spring flowed from an opening in the hillside. The rushing waters danced merrily, chiming like music. In the distance stood an amphitheater. Ten women lounged on its marble steps. Nine of them were tall and bronzed and draped in white. One held a comedy mask; another a tragedy mask. A third balanced a bronze globe on her palm. A fourth strummed a golden lyre.
“The Muses,” Rachel whispered hoarsely, gawking at the tall, elegant women, all of whom stared back at the Roanoke students with interest.
“Dream wardens. Not real goddesses,” drawled Zoë, adding, “Not the Riviera, then. The Aegean. We’re in Greece.”
“Which one is the Muse of Snark?” quipped Joy, giddy with relief. “All you sarcastic girls should thank her. My sister Faith, too. Faith’s the snarky O’Keefe.”
“Thank
her or curse her,” Xandra snarked beneath her hood.
Over by the amphitheater, the tenth woman rose and padded toward them on bare feet. She moved with the grace of a panther. She was shorter than the muses and dressed in a black cat-suit that clung to her like a second skin, glistening over her curves as she moved. Siggy made a high-pitched sound and then studiously turned his head away.
Valerie’s face was covered by a light sheen of sweat, but she muttered, “I could use some of that snark inspiration about now.”
As the woman drew closer, the princess called out in surprise, “Mrs. March?”
“Wait,” Zoë whispered as the woman crossed the hillside toward them, “you mean that’s the Grand Inquisitor’s wife. The Cassandra March?”
Rachel nodded wordlessly. They were right. It was the wife of Rachel’s father’s boss.
Valerie stopped glaring at Sigfried and gazed at the approaching newcomer with great interest. “Isn’t she the only conjured person ever to become real?”
Rachel nodded again.
Joy giggled. “I heard she was a courtesan before her husband married her.”
Rachel nodded wordlessly for a third time.
The princess stated stiffly, “Gossip is unbecoming. Mrs. March is a family friend.”
The black clad figure moved toward them with cat-like grace. She came to a stop a few feet from where the eight of them stood.
“Hello, Nastasia.” Cassandra March’s gaze flickered over the others, resting for a moment on the goose. Her voice was so throaty, it almost purred. “Lady Rachel. Miss Black. I don’t believe I have met the rest of you, though no one could mistake Sigfried the Dragonslayer and his valiant dragon, Lucky.”
Siggy grinned and puffed himself up, looking very pleased. Valerie rolled her eyes.
Cassandra March’s eyes, which were very dark and ever so slightly tilted, were filled with laughter. Rachel had always liked her, and she could not help smiling back now, even though her heart was beating quickly. Mrs. March would tell her husband that she had seen them. Her husband, Cain March, the Grand Inquisitor, the head of all law enforcement for the World of the Wise, the man famous for using the Spell of True Recitation on anything and everything that moved—the spell to which Rachel was immune.
It was hard enough to hide her immunity from the Agents. She had no illusions that she could hide it from their boss. If the Grand Inquisitor found out, he would find another method of compelling her to tell the truth. To someone such as Rachel, who knew secrets that might destroy the world—secrets she had vowed to tell to only one person—this was a terrifying prospect.
Mrs. March surveyed them with amusement, her eyes resting on the goose. “If I touch one of you, will I become stuck, too?”
Rachel, Nastasia, Xandra, and Joy all laughed.
The others looked puzzled.
“Mrs. March, what brings you here?” asked the princess, struggling not to cough.
“I am dreaming,” Mrs. March smiled wryly. “My body’s asleep in my house—on our estate outside of Athens. I think the more interesting question is: what brings you here?”
Before anyone else could answer—and perhaps say something that it might be better if Cain March did not hear—Rachel blurted out, “There are four men at Beaumont Castle in Transylvania, Rupert Lawson and three others. They plan to sacrifice a baby to appease a demon named…”
Cassandra March threw up her hands. “Don’t say a demon’s name aloud!”
“Oh!” Rachel blinked.
Mrs. March knew what a demon was? Rachel had only learned this herself a few weeks ago—from the Raven. The word did not appear in any dictionary or encyclopedia.
What else did Mrs. March know?
“Thank you for telling me,” said Mrs. March. “I’ll wake up and tell my hus—”
Xandra Black’s head snapped backward. Though her lips did not move, a deep yet melodious voice spoke from her mouth.
“Cassandra Galatine March! We apologize for failing you. We warned the Romanov princess, but she would not heed us.”
Mrs. March’s dark eyes seemed even larger and darker. Her voice became very quiet, almost too soft and hoarse to hear. “Warned her…o-of what.”
“Not to touch your son. She has not yet mastered her wayfaring powers. She was drawn into Joshua’s past. He followed her back here. He now knows the way.”
“No,” whispered Mrs. March. She took an involuntary step backward. “My…daughter?”
“We can do no more.” Xandra’s head snapped forward again. She gasped and stumbled. Lucky’s head shot out and grabbed her robe with his teeth, just as she lost her hold on Valerie.
Rachel bit her own lip painfully. She did not know what it meant, but Mrs. March’s soft plea had cut through her heart like a razor. Rachel had been the one who urged Nastasia to disregard Xandra’s warning and touched Joshua. Whatever had upset Mrs. March was her fault.
What had she done?
“Nastasia.” Cassandra March stared at the princess, her face utterly devoid of color. “That creature that came into your dreams…what did he call himself?”
“The Lightbringer,” replied the princess, frowning slightly, as if she was uncertain whether or not she should be upset.
“No.” Mrs. March breathed again, her hand pressed against her breast. She made an odd noise, as if the mere act of drawing in breath were painful. “Not now. She’s not yet ready!”
“What is the trouble?” the princess asked with concern.
“This…Lightbringer. He once did my daughter a great harm. A terrible harm. Greater than you could possibly imagine.” Mrs. March’s gaze was distant, as if she were seeing events from long ago.
Rachel recalled Nastasia’s description of her vision of Joshua March. The Lightbringer had been torturing the young man upon a field of ice. If that was “merely” what her son had suffered, how much worse must it have been for her daughter?
“H-he did not know we were here,” Mrs. March continued. “He thought we were dead. Please, Nastasia, if you can possibly help it—Do not do anything that might bring my daughter to his attention. I beg you!”
Nastasia nodded grimly, chagrined. “I promise. If it is within my power, I shall not.”
“Very good. Thank you.” Mrs. March’s face suddenly looked entirely calm. She gave them a charming smile.
Rachel also appeared calm. Inside, she reeled with astonishment. In an instant, Mrs. March had changed from tremendously upset to cheerful. But Rachel’s eyes had been drawn to the woman’s fingers. For just a moment, before her body relaxed, her pinky had gone rigid.
A memory hardly twelve hours old leapt to the forefront of Rachel’s thoughts: her sister Sandra, undercover as a member of Veltdammerung, receiving instructions from Mortimer Egg to kill Rachel and her friends. Sandra’s face had been utterly calm—and her pinky entirely rigid.
Cassandra March was dissembling. She was not merely hiding her expression, as normal people sometimes did. She was using the exact same technique for hiding her emotions that Rachel and Sandra had learned from their mother. But, as her family’s little saying went: No Griffin Girl can fool a Griffin Girl.
Mrs. March could not fool her either.
Rachel wet her lips, gazing at the Grand Inquisitor’s wife. Mrs. March was beautiful. It was not hard to believe she had been a courtesan before her marriage. She had a perfect golden tan and those exotic, slightly-tilted eyes that had catapulted more than one model or actress to stardom—eyes just like Sandra’s. If Mrs. March was an ordinary person, Rachel might wonder if their families were related.
But Cassandra March had been conjured.
What did that say about Rachel’s mother’s family?
“So, you hang out with the muses?” Valerie’s reporter instincts came to the fore, despite her debilitated condition. “That’s exciting. How did you come to meet them? Does it help you with speech writing? Who writes Mr. March’s speeches?”
“I told you, they’re not the
real muses,” Zoë replied, bored. “They’re dream wardens.”
“Dream wardens. Of course,” said Cassandra March. Only with her perfect memory Rachel caught the amusement that flashed across Mrs. March’s face before it disappeared behind her mask of calm. “They couldn’t be real. No real gods or angels are allowed on this world.”
Rachel’s lips parted in wonder yet again. She murmured to herself. “Is that why the Raven was arguing with the Comfort Lion my first day of school?”
“Lion? What Lion?” Mrs. March’s face had gone utterly still. Yet, to Rachel, her dark eyes betrayed a tremendous alertness and something else. Not fear. Awe? Hope? It was like looking into the eyes of a drowning person who had suddenly glimpsed a ship under full sail upon the horizon.
“My roommate Kitten’s familiar,” explained Rachel.
“Oh.” Mrs. March deflated, as if the ship in her sights had resolved into clouds. She looked away, muttering, “Can’t be the same one.”
Rachel wanted to ask her to elaborate, but the princess spoke first.
“Mrs. March, we need to get home.” Nastasia coughed. “Might you know if there is a glass hall nearby?”
“Wait, didn’t you say you’re asleep?” interrupted Zoë. “So, you’re a lucid dreamer? Any chance you could dream about New York?”
“You mean like this?” Cassandra March tipped her head back and spread her arms.
Mist rose, and the landscape changed around them. The amphitheater remained in the distance, but now they stood on the docks of Roanoke Island. Before them rose the steps leading to Bannerman’s Castle. Through the archway above lay the path that led to Roanoke Academy. To their right, the green and yellow ferry, the Pollepel II, was moored at the dock.
Zoë looked around, her grin slowly widening. “This is perfect! We’re home! Let’s go!”
She limped up the stairs. Mist rose around her silver sandals, which glowed like moonlight. The others followed. As Rachel was last in line, she had a moment to examine her surroundings. Unlike the other dreamscapes, this image of Roanoke was crisp and clear. Rachel glanced rapidly back and forth, gauging the spacing of the poles on the docks, the distance between the stairs, between boulders and trees. She compared the image with her memory.
Rachel and the Many-Splendored Dreamland (The Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 3) Page 9