Free Dreamquake: Book Two of the Dreamhunter Duet by Elizabeth Knox Page B

penumbra, which I might say may be tiny but is as black and deep as a well.”
    “You slept with Plasir?”
    “Yes, dear. Out in the woods too.”
    Chorley took deep breaths.
    “Only a master dream can erase a master dream,” Grace said. “I was lucky. Plasir already had Secret Room. He went In on St. Lazarus’s Eve, apparently. He told me that St. Lazarus’s Day is a good day for him to go dreamhunting since no one wants his performances on family holidays.” Grace smirked. “Anyway, I checked the intentions book before I caught the coach from Doorhandle. Plasir did go In shortly before midnight, almost as though he wanted an alibi.”
    “You can’t seriously think Plasir had anything to do with the nightmare? With his parlor-sized penumbra?”
    “I don’t know what I think.” Grace emptied the soup cup and started on the toast and coffee. She told Chorley she wanted him to come to Summerfort with her. “You’ll enjoy Secret Room.” She looked at him, cool. “You should be grateful that I want you to come. You must know I’m angry with you.”
    Chorley nodded. Then he smiled. And it was a smile not of gratitude or reassurance but of plain happiness. “And I bet you could do with some really good news,” he said.

10
     
    AURA LEFT THE TEMPLE AFTER FIVE DAYS. SHE PROMISED NOT TO SLEEP ON THE TRAIN. SHE WAS ACCOMPANIED BY the nuns who had looked after her, and by Father Roy, who said—once they’d boarded the train and closed the door of their compartment—that they were going with her only as far as Westport.
    “This is an express, isn’t it?” Laura said. “I had hoped we’d stop at Aunt Marta’s.”
    “Your aunt has been included in every decision made on your behalf,” said Father Roy. “She knows where you’re going.” He watched the girl withdraw into a corner of the seat, then into the folds of her black winter coat. She looked like some animal backing into its burrow.
    Shortly before the express passed Marta Hame’s stop, Laura got up and went out into the corridor.
    Father Roy observed her.
    She stood, her cheek laid on the window, and watched the stop come up. Her eyes were fixed on a hill near Marta Hame’s house, a hill with a crest of black pines. Laura stared as the hill loomed, then flicked a glance at the compartment. Her eyes were bright and furtive. She left the window and hurried away along the jostling carriage.
    Father Roy jumped up, threw open the compartment door,and ran after her. She was at the end of the carriage, hauling with her whole weight on the red-painted handle of the emergency brake—which, fortunately, had not been designed with a child’s strength in mind.
    Father Roy threw himself at Laura and tore her away from the handle. She turned on him, hitting him with her fists.
    The sisters appeared and helped him subdue her as gently as they could. As they hustled her back into the compartment, her head turned to follow the sight of that hill, sliding from window to window, then retreating along the track.
    They closed the compartment door and sat her down.
    “I have to see him,” she said.
    “You will be allowed to write to your friends. So long as you’re careful what you say,” Father Roy told her. He thought, “And we will read your letters. And perhaps discover who is in this with you. Whose strength you’re looking to now. Who the
real
Lazarus is.”

II
Foreigner’s North
     

1
     
    OUR WEEKS AFTER THE RAINBOW OPERA RIOT, SANDY MASON RECEIVED A LETTER. ITS ENVELOPE WAS POSTMARKED “Westport Central Post Office.” The letter was sent care of Mrs. Lilley at Sandy’s boardinghouse in Doorhandle, and he had to retrieve it under the watchful eye of his landlady’s daughters.
    The Lilley girls had a constant parade of young and homesick dreamhunters pass under their noses. They were choosy about whom they would pay special attention to, offer treats, and flirt with. Alexander Mason, at nineteen, already had one good dream registered in his name.