“Not joining them?” I challenged him.
“Debauchery gets a bit old after two thousand years.”
“Trying celibacy for a change?” My tone could not have been more caustic.
“No, just looking for something more.” He gazed at me in a way I found disconcerting and almost a little bit sad.
“Well, you’re not going to find it with me,” I said sternly.
“Maybe not tonight. But perhaps one day I’ll win your trust. I can afford to be patient. After all, I’ve got all of eternity to try.”
Eventually my glumness proved too much even for Jake because he mercifully let me retire early and I was returned to the relative safety of Hotel Ambrosia via a limousine. Tucker was already waiting for me in the lobby, ostensibly there to escort me to my room.
“How do you stand it?” I fumed as we got into the elevator.
“How does anyone stand being here? It’s so horrible and empty.” Tucker gave me a meaningful look and then pressed a button I guessed wouldn’t take us to the penthouse floor.
“Follow me,” he said simply.
We got out of the elevator and walked in silence through a deserted corridor until we reached a rich tapestry hanging on the far wall. The colored silk threads had been deftly woven to depict a flock of demons as feathered and clawed birds of prey, descending on a mortal man chained to a rock. Some tore at his flesh while others disemboweled him. Even through the fabric, the expression of agony on the man’s face was so vivid that I shuddered. Tucker pulled the tapestry aside to reveal a flight of steps chiseled into the stone. They seemed to lead deep underground, into the very core of the hotel. The air smelled different here, musty and dank compared with the perfumed lobby. There were no lights so I couldn’t see more than a hand’s breadth in front of me.
“Stay close,” Tucker said.
I descended after him, clutching the back of his shirt to make sure I didn’t lose sight of him in the suffocating darkness. The staircase was narrow and winding, but we managed to find our way to the bottom. When Tucker stopped, a brazier on the wall flickered into life. We seemed to be in an underground canal, filled with murky, green water. A breeze swirled around my feet and if I pricked my ears and listened very carefully, I thought I could hear the sound of voices whispering my name. Moss covered the earthen walls and water dripped from the roof of the tunnel. I noticed a wooden dinghy was moored by a platform near the steps. Tucker untied it and tossed the rope aside.
“Get in,” he said. “And try not to make any noise. We don’t want to disturb anything.” I didn’t like the way he said “anything” rather than “anyone,” and it unsettled me.
“Like what?” I asked, but Tucker focused his attention on directing the boat and refused to elaborate further. While the oars sliced silently through the muddy water of the canal I sat rigidly, my knuckles white from clutching the sides. I sensed movement far beneath us. Suddenly the surface rippled as though someone were skimming stones from the embankment.
“What’s that?” I whispered in alarm.
“Shh,” he replied. “Don’t make a sound.”
I obeyed but let my eyes wander back to the water. Bubbles appeared beneath the surface just as something pale and bloated became visible. Pale moonlike disks surrounded us, floating like buoys on the surface of the river. I leaned out of the dinghy, squinting to make out what the queer shapes were and clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a scream when I saw they weren’t buoys but disembodied heads. All around us cold, dead faces bobbed in the water, their hair fanning like seaweed, their vacant eyes staring straight at us. The one closest to me had once been a woman, but now her skin was puckered and gray like she’d spent too much time in the bath. The severed head knocked ghoulishly against the side of the boat. I swallowed back the questions on the tip of my tongue when Tucker threw me a warning look.
When he moored the boat near a flat outcrop of rock, I leapt out gratefully. We were standing in an alcove that was about the size of a small inlet. In the center was a body of water shimmering like diamonds. It flowed into several tributaries to an unknown destination. It was so clear I could see straight through to the pebbled floor. The rocks where we stood had been worn smooth as silk. I gave Tucker a questioning glance, unsure whether it was safe to speak yet or not.
“This is the place I was telling you about,” he said. “This here is the Lake of Dreams.”
“The one that will take me back home?” I asked, remembering our last conversation that had been cut short by Jake’s arrival.
“Yes,” Tuck said. “Not physically, of course. But you’ll be able to go there in your mind.”
“So what now?”
“If you drink a mouthful, you’ll be able to see what your heart most desires. The water acts like a drug, only it stays in your bloodstream for ages. You’ll be able to project anytime, anywhere.”
I didn’t need further encouragement. I moved quickly to kneel at the lake’s edge and scooped the crystal-clear water into the palm of my hand. Without hesitating I raised my cupped hand to my mouth and drank eagerly.
A gentle hypnotic hum began in the air like the whirring of cicadas. I leaned in closer scanning the surface of the water for a sign. Looking into the lake made me feel disconnected from my body, as if I were falling under a spell. Suddenly I had a sensation very much like being hit in the chest with a punching bag. When I exhaled, I saw my own breath like a glowing orb. It hovered in front of me just inches from the water. Inside it, thousands of tiny balls of white light skittered furiously. I watched the orb descend slowly and disappear.
“Don’t worry,” I heard Tucker whisper. “The lake is reading your memories so it knows where to take you.”
For a while nothing happened and there was only the sound of our combined breathing. Tucker was talking to me, but his voice was muffled. Then I couldn’t hear him at all and realized why. I was looking down at him from above. The lake and its surroundings began to dissolve although I knew I was still physically there.
A panic began to rise as a new location formed around me. At first it appeared pixelated, like a photograph someone had tried unsuccessfully to enlarge. But when it came slowly into focus, I was no longer afraid.
Instead I felt a rush of emotion so powerful it felt like tumbling headlong into a whirlpool. I was going home.
11
Reunion
THE kitchen at Byron Street was exactly as I remembered it; large and airy with views of the frothy ocean on every side. I was standing in the middle of it with all my senses functioning and yet I knew I was only a spectator watching from the sidelines. I could move freely in the space and yet I wasn’t part of it. It was like watching the opening of a movie from inside the screen. It was early morning. I could hear birdsong as well as the whistling of the kettle on the bench top. The French doors were open and someone was mowing the grass at Dolly Henderson’s place next door. There was a tiered cake plate with iced cupcakes that I remembered Ivy baking some days before I’d disappeared. They hadn’t been touched and looked stale now. A vase of wilting cornflowers also sat on the bench, a reminder of the cheerful place the kitchen had been just a few days earlier.
In the next second the scene burst into life. Xavier was sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, just a few meters from me. His posture drew my attention because I’d never seen him slumped over like this before. He was wearing a familiar fitted gray T-shirt and sweatpants, but the stubble on his face suggested he hadn’t made it to bed that night.
I willed myself to move closer to him and was excited to find I could do it without too much effort. The proximity was dizzying. I wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, but I couldn’t. My ghostly self had no substance and my hand passed straight through him. Xavier looked different. I couldn’t see his face properly, but his shoulders and the muscles in his forearms were tense. I could feel the sense of grief hanging in the room.