The rest of her questions were met with silence. By the time she located her sneakers and buckled herself into the car, Isobel was off in a world of her own.
Isobel Maylor often talked to herself. Today was no exception, and the words spilled out rapid-fire as she drove, her hands waving a graceful and expressive counterpoint. Vivian guessed that this grandfather might be one of her mother’s imaginary friends and began watching for a phone booth from which she might dial the magical 911 if they happened to get lost or stranded.
Several hours later, the car stopped in a patch of gravel
at the end of a tree-lined lane. A wizened old man popped out onto the porch before the dust had time to settle.
Vivian stared at him. He was real, all right, even though he did look like a gnome out of a picture book. He stood there, the door open behind him, while Isobel stepped out of the car, her shiny black heels sinking into the dust. Vivian followed.
“Isobel,” the old man said. He stood perfectly still. “And Vivian. At last. It’s about time we met.”
Isobel walked past him without a hug or even a touch on the arm, into an open area with a kitchen and sitting room, Vivian trailing behind. “Go in the other room and stay until I call you,” Isobel ordered, gesturing toward a closed door.
Vivian’s eyes turned to the old man, and he nodded. “Do as your mother says, child. Only the next room, mind. Do not go through the green door.”
She complied at once, more than happy to escape; the tension between the two sizzled and popped with a complex vibration that trembled her insides.
An ordinary wooden door opened to her shove, admitting her to a small room with a couch and a stack of books piled unevenly on a rickety coffee table. At the far side of this room was the forbidden green door. Vivian, having been warned about the door, found herself immediately drawn to it, but she only gave it a long look before plunking down on the couch. She sorted through the pile of books and picked up a fat paperback. The cover attracted her, a picture of a knight on horseback, waving a bright sword. But flipping through the pages she found only unfamiliar words, without even a sprinkling of
was
,
and
, or
the
. She was proud of her newfound ability to read, and angry that this book shut her out.
The voices from the other room grew loud and distracting.
“Take me back,” her mother said.
And her grandfather’s voice, sad now, she thought. “No, Izzie, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can! You took me away, all those long years ago, and everything’s been wrong since then.”
“You don’t understand the danger, child.”
“Give me the globes then, and I’ll find my own way. You said they would be mine, and then you took them away, too.”
“I had to. I regret it deeply. They gave you the dream sickness, Isobel. It isn’t safe.”
“If you loved me at all, you would give them back to me!” Vivian knew all too well the rising of her mother’s voice. It meant blood. There would be another trip to the mysterious hospital for Isobel, and the aunts and uncles for Vivian. Whatever it was her mother wanted, Vivian wished the grandfather would just give it to her.
Her eyes kept turning to the green door, only a few steps away from where she sat. On the other side of the door she wouldn’t be able to hear them shouting.
Her grandfather had told her not to.
Loud sobs decided her. She hated listening to her mother cry.
Still, one hand on the doorknob, she paused, knowing disobedience had consequences.
Her grandfather’s voice again. “The reason I did what I did is because I love you, Izzie. You must understand. I was wrong to go against the rules—”
“I hate you! My life is a gaping hole, and it’s your fault. I loved him, and you dragged me away. You gave me the globes, and then you took them from me. Let me go back. I was whole there…”
Vivian slid through the green door and shut out the voices behind her.
Standing with her back to the closed door, she looked around the room. An odd assortment of objects spilled off shelves and onto the floor. Kind of like the Goodwill store, but not as neat.
A gray cat emerged from behind a shelf and wound around her ankles. Squatting on the floor, she rubbed its soft fur and it purred, butting its head against her hands. When the cat got up and stalked off with its tail in the air, she
followed. Down a narrow aisle, careful not to touch anything. Past shelves full of books with cracked leather bindings. They smelled old and interesting, and she felt that they wanted her to open them. It frightened her to think that the books might want something, and she left them very much alone.
Farther in, she found a whirling creation of balls and wire that stood as tall as she. Here she stopped, mesmerized. Watching carefully, for a long time, she thought she could see how to move things to change the pattern. But once again, she moved on without touching.
She found weird cuckoo clocks and other things that ticked and whirred; sand glasses with different colors of sand streaming at varying speeds through the glass; a collection of carved wooden masks. She walked by all of them, stopping to look but not ever truly tempted to touch, still following the cat.
And then, at the far end of the room, sitting alone on a rough wooden shelf beneath the only window, she found the wooden box. It glowed in a ray of sunlight, satin smooth, worn with age. There were carvings on the lid—two dragons, their necks intertwined, wings widespread.
Vivian instantly coveted the box. It was made for secrets: small enough for her hands to carry, big enough to hold treasures. A tiny brass key was set in the lock.
Her mother’s voice was louder now, shrieking, the words muffled by walls.
One quick peek inside the box. Nobody would ever know.
The cat sat down by her feet and licked a paw as her fingers turned the key and opened the lid.
Little balls of clear glass nestled into a crimson velvet lining, all different sizes, like marbles but without the swirl of color at the center. Vivian ran her fingers through them, watching reflected colors shift and change, feeling the energy around her shift as well. A chiming sound, like a bell only different, filled the air. She paused, alarmed, certain the adults would come running, both of them angry, but their voices continued in the other room.
Picking up one of the little balls between thumb and forefinger, she held it up to the light. Suspended in the center was a tiny, perfect tree; a tire swing dangled from a long branch.
Such a peaceful world, so quiet, so safe.
A breeze brushed against her cheek, and she looked up, startled, to find herself standing in a field of grass and flowers, wind blowing her hair into her eyes. She pushed the bothersome strands behind her ears and saw the tree towering above her, with the tire swing turning gently, invitingly, in front of her. No sign of a house or people anywhere. Nothing but the tree and this wide, green field all dotted with yellow and blue, stretching away as far as she could see.
At first, it was sheer delight—her favorite daydream come true. Sunlight warmed her hair, the wind sang to her, and the marble clasped in her hand sang with it. Nobody came by with sharp words to call her inside and lecture her about bugged telephones and listening ears. No razors and blood and ambulance sirens.
But by the time the sun hung like a ball of fire on the western horizon she shivered in an unrelenting breeze, her belly tight with hunger. The swinging had long since lost its charm and she sat with her back to the trunk of the tree, knees drawn up against her body for comfort and warmth.
Her grandfather was still a long way off when she saw him coming through the field toward her, looking more like a gnome than ever, his wizened face sharp in the waning light.
“Well,” he said, sinking down into the grass beside her. “I suppose they were meant for you. But not yet, child, not yet.”
“The box wanted to be opened,” she said.
“There were other things that wanted you—why this one?”
She met his eyes then, so dangerously bright and blue, and said, “Because I wanted to.”
“You were fortunate, child. If I had not come for you, you would have been lost here, forever; do you understand?”
She shook her head, defiant. “I would have walked somewhere. I would have telephoned for help. Somebody would have found me.”
“Now you are being foolish. This is an entire reality—you must understand that. There is nobody else in this world but you and me.”
Nobody else.
The words rang true. She held up the marble in her hand, studying the tiny tree, the swing. A tricksy wish, like all storybook magic turned out to be. Fairy wishes always turned into a curse of some kind, no matter how hard someone tried to get it right.
“I see you believe me. So I will also tell you this. The globes can take you to many wonderful places, but many dark and dangerous places as well. You were lucky.”
She was fascinated now. “What kind of places?”
“All are within the Dreamworld. Each of those globes contains somebody’s dream.”
Confused, and remembering some of her own dreams, she felt her stomach clench with sudden fear. “But I’m awake. How can we be in a dream if I’m awake?”
“Because you are who you are.”
“And I can be awake in someone else’s dream?”
“Yes. And some of them are beautiful and peaceful, like this one. But some are full of monsters and evil things.”
“Dragons,” she whispered.
“Yes, dragons.”
She squeezed her hands together until the bones hurt, pressed them between her knees.
A warm arm wrapped around her shoulder, pulling her against him so that her cheek rested on his chest. A steady heartbeat, even breath. His lack of fear comforted her, and in a moment she was able to whisper, “The dragons. I think they’re looking for me.”
A moment of silence, long enough for her to wonder whether he was going to lie to her. She’d learned that
grown-ups often lied. The social worker, the aunt and uncle, her teacher at school. She pulled away and looked for the this-is-for-your-own-good expression on his face. Instead, his blue eyes looked straight into hers, and he half smiled.
“I imagine they are.”
She hadn’t expected that.
“They scare me.”
“As they should.”
He fell silent and stared at the sinking sun. The look on his face reminded her of Isobel’s when she was in one of her moods, and she shook his arm to bring him back to her.
“So what do I do? About the dragons?”
“Oh, that’s easy, for now. Stay out of the Between. Later—well, there’s time enough to talk about later.”
“What’s Between?” She waited, her lip caught between her teeth, scarcely daring to breathe.
“Listen carefully. This is important.”
She nodded. If he was going to tell her how to be safe from the dragons, she didn’t plan to miss a word.
“There’s Dreamworld, right? Your dreams and everybody else’s. This, for example, is somebody else’s dream, but it’s still a dream.”
“Okay.” This was good. Confirmation of what she’d already known.
“And there’s Wakeworld. Where all the stuff the idiots call reality happens. Like school, and chores, and spinach for dinner.”
“And Isobel.”
A deep sigh at that. “Well—your mother kind of breaks the rules. Part of her is in Wakeworld. But mostly she’s stuck in the Between.” He brushed his fingers across the back of her hand. “You know when you’re not really awake and not really asleep? That place?”
She did. Everything was all mixed up there—you couldn’t tell what was Dreamworld and what was Wakeworld.
“Well, that’s where the dragons lurk. And other things, too. Stay out of the Between and you’ll be all right.”
“But I can’t—I have to go through it when I go to sleep.”
“Yes, and when you wake up.”
“So, what then?”
“Be quick about falling asleep and waking.”
“Are we stuck here then, in this dream place?”
“No. You’re never stuck anywhere unless you want to be.”
“That doesn’t make sense!”
“True, nonetheless. Look—if you wish it strongly enough, there will always be a door to take you home. This doesn’t work for everybody, mind. You have certain—gifts.”
Vivian sat still and thought about things. About Dreamworld and Wakeworld and the hunting dragons. About her mother and that lost look in her eyes, the look of the Between.
“How did you get here?” she demanded in a sudden flurry of temper. “There’s a trick. You’re not telling me.”
He smiled. “You’re smart, that’s a good thing. Look—there are the globes, that’s one door. But for those who have the touch and know where to look, the doors are everywhere.”
“For me?”
“Not yet—but maybe someday.”
“What about Isobel?”
“Ah, yes.” His eyes were sad. “Your mother has just enough ability with doors to get herself stuck.”
“Can’t you get her out?”
He shook his head. “Not until she wants to come. She’s trying to get somewhere else.”
“But won’t the dragons get her?”
“Not the dragons, no—those are for you to worry about. We’ve left her alone long enough, though—are you ready to go home?”
Vivian nodded. “Can I come back here?”
He shook his head. “Not soon. All of the dreamspheres will be yours someday.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.” He pulled a chain from his pocket and hung it around her neck. A strange pendant hung from it, and she lifted it with both hands to see better.
A circle, with a web woven into the center out of some iridescent string. A stone creature at the center, wearing a tiny brass key around its neck on a collar. Vivian squealed—the creature was a penguin, and she adored penguins. She wanted to keep looking, to take it off and play with it, but her grandfather’s voice stopped her.
“Wear this always. Never take it off—water won’t hurt it; neither will the sun. It will help keep the dragons away. Can you keep it secret from your mother?”
“Of course.” Keeping real things secret from Isobel was easy. She wrinkled her nose. “The chain isn’t very pretty.”
“No, but it’s strong.”