The Book of Dreams (28 page)

• • •

Gwen was well used to trailing Dana from her turn on watch, but today everything conspired to confound her. First the school principal stopped to have “a little talk” in the hall and praise Gwen’s work. She almost screamed with frustration. That delayed her getting to the subway. Dana’s train was already leaving as Gwen hurried down the stairs, cursing her high heels. Racing back up the escalator and into the street, she hailed a cab. Early rush-hour traffic meant slow progress, and the one-way street system on Brunswick Avenue left her only halfway to Dana’s house. Throwing money at the driver, she jumped out of the cab. A quick look around showed her instantly that she had arrived just in time.

On her left, a short way up the street, Dana was unconcernedly walking home. On Gwen’s right, near an abandoned convent that dominated the street, something was taking shape in a gurge of green matter.

Something wicked this way comes.

Gwen wasn’t sure what she was looking at, but she could see it was all wrong. The smear of green mist took a human shape, tall and pale with hideously scarred features. But it wasn’t human. Out of its body writhed long tentacles like tumid worms. Gwen caught the smell. A sour, metallic odor that clawed at her throat. Now a loud buzzing sound, like that of a giant wasp, drilled into her head.

The ghastly thing was not looking at her. It had turned toward Dana. The hatred that burned in its eyes was shocking. Gwen didn’t stop to think. Before the monster could move, she ran to fight it.

• • •

The thing was now fully formed, both man and hideous creature at the same time. Barreling into him, Gwen caught him off guard. He fell back as she kicked and punched, but then a skeletal hand shot out like a claw and gripped her arm.

With horrible speed, he dragged her to the yard behind the convent.

“You dare to challenge me?”

Gwen shuddered at the sound of his voice. Something dead and remorseless echoed from the human throat.

“First you, then the fairy girl. I will enjoy this little feast.”

Sticky tentacles coiled around Gwen’s waist. A quick snap of her back was no doubt his intention. He had to get Dana before she reached her house.

“Not on my watch,” Gwen hissed through clenched teeth.

She was neither weak nor powerless. The protective charms she carried were meant to combat a creature like this. Better than packing a pistol. She had slipped the first one from her pocket as she raced across the road. Clutched in her hand was a little sprig of green holly with a twist of red thread. Before the monster could tighten his grip, Gwen dropped the charm onto him and uttered the spell.

Let the briar that spreads, let the thorn that grows, pierce and perish your flesh.

Though she had barely managed to croak out the words, the effect was instant.

He released her with a screech and fell to the ground. Every part of him was pierced with fairy thorns. He writhed in agony.

Staggering back, Gwen grasped the next charm. She knew the battle had only begun. Though it was a long time since she had fought for her life, her adrenaline was rushing, her courage rising. Once a warrior in Faerie, always a warrior.

The second charm comprised dried leaves and flowers in a pouch of woven hemp. Gathered on May Eve, they were seven herbs that nothing natural or supernatural could injure: vervain, St. John’s Wort, speedwell, eye-bright, mallow, yarrow, and valerian. Quickly, she shook them into her palm. They had to be swallowed one by one. Would she have time? As soon as she gulped down the blade of yarrow, its power coursed through her veins. She was instantly stronger. Now for the speedwell. Yes! Her limbs quivered. She would move more swiftly. The eyebright would improve her sight and reflexes —

• • •

Her enemy had recovered. He charged at her. His rage was palpable. He was burning with it. The waspish noise exploded in her brain. The metallic smell was overpowering. Smoke rose from the pavement where he stepped. He spotted the pouch in her hand and lashed out furiously.

Tentacles flayed the air, each one a sharp and deadly weapon. The speedwell helped Gwen to dodge the full assault, but she couldn’t avoid them all. One tentacle sliced across her face to gash her forehead. Blood ran into her eyes. The world went red. Another whistled through the air and tore at her hand.

She let out a cry.

The pouch of magical herbs was ripped from her fingers.

Now Gwen reached for her last weapon: a thin switch of hazel, peeled bare. It was tucked into her belt, like a dagger. Brandishing it like a sword, she sprang forward with a cry and laid into him with her own fierce fury.

Back and forth, they wove in a dance of death.

Gwen darted with the swiftness the speedwell gave her, while the yarrow strengthened her arm as she smote and jabbed. Whenever she landed a blow with the wand, the creature shrieked with pain. Sacred and powerful, the hazel had secret properties that defied all demons. Though Gwen herself knew only a little of its mysteries, she was a trueheart and a braveheart and it responded to her touch.

But the monster was a mystery too, if a dark and loathsome one, and it had power of its own. The thing that had taken Crowley’s body was much older and more terrible than Gwen could have imagined. Despite the grave injuries she inflicted upon him, slowly but surely he gained the upper hand.

She continued to fight valiantly. Long before she had begun to lose, she knew she had won. Dana was safe at home and out of harm’s reach. Gwen had done her duty, she had served the cause well. Her king would be proud of her.

Gwen’s time was coming. Despite the strength of the yarrow, her arm was growing tired. Despite the swiftness of the speedwell, her steps began to falter. The hazel could work its magic only as long as she could wield it. All this she knew as she continued to do battle against a much stronger enemy.

The monster’s blows rained relentlessly down. The tentacles lashed out tirelessly like massive whips. Gwen could no longer fend them off. She staggered dizzily. When the blows landed, she screamed. The pain was unbearable.

Now her arms went limp at her side.

Now her tears fell, without shame, for a life lost too young.

Now the monster coiled around her once more.

She felt his rage and his ravening hunger. There would be no mercy. There was no hope. Yet even as she felt her body begin to crack, she found the last remnant of strength to utter a cry.

Come, holy word, singing word, and the good word also! May the power of these three holy things set me free from evil!

As her words shimmered in the air like silver, the monster recoiled. The cry seemed to reverberate outward, a clarion call to all that was bright and beautiful. But it lasted only a moment.

Now, with implacable malice, Crowley bore down on her. The stink was overwhelming. The foul smell of the murderer. She felt herself falling backward into darkness. Her heart fluttered wildly like a bird in its death throes. And as her eyes closed on the world, she whispered the name of the one she loved most, her greatest grief in parting.

Dara.

T
he next morning at school, Dana and Jean were surprised that Ms. Woods was absent. When the vice-principal hurried into the room, flustered and annoyed, they exchanged glances. No explanation was given as he began to teach them, but it was obvious that something was wrong.

“What’s this?” said Jean, at lunch. “You think she run away from us?”

Dana was mystified. “It doesn’t make sense. She sent the note and called our parents. I thought that meant she was on our side. But then she didn’t mention the Book of Dreams. So she doesn’t know about the quest, even though she knows about the gateways. That could put her in the enemy camp. And what about the Halloween deadline? My mother didn’t say anything about that.”

Jean looked equally confused. “She can be bad, she can be good. Maybe she try to trap us? Maybe she try to help? How do we know?”

“We don’t,” Dana said, thinking about it, “until she turns up again. But I think we should go this weekend anyway. We’d be following Grandfather’s advice as well as the musicians’.”

“
D’accord.
We take the chance she give us, and when she come back we see what happen.”

Though Dana was glad to have a plan, she felt uneasy. What could their teacher’s disappearance mean? What if Ms. Woods was in trouble? Should they do something about it? But what could they do? Whom could they tell?

“We go tomorrow,” Jean was saying. “That give us
biens le temps
, many time to go to Cape Breton.”

Dana agreed. “We should take sleeping bags,” she suggested, “and maybe some food. Bring everything to school. Our parents will expect us to leave from here.”

Immersed in the details of their trip, Dana soon forgot about her teacher. The thrill of adventure was rising. The fact that Jean was going with her made it all the more exciting.

• • •

The following day, when school was over, Dana and Jean collected their things from their lockers. Since they wouldn’t be going for the spirit canoe until after dusk, they went out for supper.

In the restaurant, sitting across from Jean, Dana suffered a bout of sudden shyness. This was very like a date. Doing her best to stay calm, she agreed with his suggestion to share a pizza, with pepperoni and ham on his half and olives and green peppers on hers.

“In Ireland you can get sweet corn as a topping,” she told him.

“Câlisse,”
he said, with a shudder.

He ordered garlic bread for two.

“If one eat garlic, it is necessary all eat garlic,” he said with a grin.

Dana choked on a crumb of pizza crust and went red in the face. To cover her embarrassment, she changed the subject.

“Do you feel bad lying to your parents about this?”

He considered her question. “
Non
,” he said at last. “For them, the truth is not good. I can’t tell my life as
loup-garou
or what happen to
grand-père
. It is more pain for them.
Et toi?
You feel bad?”

Dana sighed. “Sometimes I wish I could share the magic with my dad, and also my stepmum. But the dangerous stuff rules that out. They would only worry or, worse, try to stop me. In the end, it’s better that I keep it to myself.”

A trace of sadness echoed in her voice. Jean said nothing, but his look was sympathetic. He didn’t have to say that he understood, for he, too, knew the loneliness of living with secrets. Dana’s hand was resting on the table. He reached out to clasp it, and they stayed that way till their food arrived.

• • •

The sun was setting behind the city towers when they reached the Humber Marshes. Together they dragged the spirit boat out of the bushes.

“I bring this for you,” Jean said, producing a knitted cap from his pocket. “
Tuque québécoise
. The best thing for the head!”

Grinning, he pulled it over her head and ears. It was identical to the one he wore himself, red with black stripes and a long tapering end.

“I brought a thermos of hot chocolate,” she said.

“Like we go on a bus?”

They laughed.

As the canoe rose from the ground and shot over the currents of air, they soon left Toronto far behind. From the moment they were airborne, Dana kept watch for Crowley. Would the boat’s demon call out to him? Despite her worry about an attack, the rowing itself was much easier. Though the dark force of
la chasse-galerie
struggled against them, they paddled with the skill and strength of a team. Their previous journey had bonded them like true
voyageurs
.

Dana knelt in the bow, gazing ahead. Once they reached Cape Breton, it was up to her to spot the place she had seen in the music. But first they had a long journey ahead of them. They were flying away from the setting sun into the eastern night. Ahead of them lay the great province of Quebec bordered by the St. Lawrence Seaway. They intended to follow the mighty waterway as if it were a road.

High in the atmosphere the wind was biting. Dana was glad of the tuque Jean gave her, as well as the parka she wore with scarf and mittens.

“Tell me stories about your country,” she called back to Jean. “In Ireland we say that a song or a story shortens the road.”

“I have
beaucoup
,” he warned her. “
Mon grand-père
and before she die,
ma grand-mère
, they tell me many.”

“I’m all ears!” she assured him.

He told her tales of John the Bear, Teur-Merisier, Talon-Rouge, and Ti-Jean the Giant-Killer, after whom he suspected he had been named. There were also tales of the devil—
le Diable, beau danseur
—who seemed to have a penchant for French-Canadian parties and dances. He would always appear as a dark, handsome stranger, richly dressed, with a fine beaver cloak and ebony cane. In the heart of winter he drove a magnificent sleigh pulled by a glossy black horse with silver bells and harness. The prettiest maid at the dance would inevitably be fatally attracted to him. But just as he was about to carry her off and steal her soul, some innocent would unmask him, usually a child. Proof of his true identity would be confirmed when his cloven hoof was revealed—the cause of his limp!—or the floor was seen to have been burnt in the places where he had danced. Then the Devil’s game was up, and he would be chased away as everyone made the Sign of the Cross and the
curé
came running with Holy Water.