The rest of the day passed quietly, but the night made up for it, plaguing me with strange and disturbing dreams. I started the night at Stonehaven, playing in the snow with Clay and Nick. We were in the middle of a snowball fight when a new dream overlapped that one, cutting in like a more powerful radio station. In the other dream, I was lying in bed while Paige attempted to contact me. The two dreams spliced together: One minute I'd feel icy snow dripping down my neck, the next I'd hear Paige calling me. Some part of me chose the snowball dream and tried to block the other, but it didn't work. I lobbed two last snowballs at Nick, then a wave of snow engulfed me, swallowing that dream and spitting me into the other.
"Elena? Damn it, answer me!"
I struggled to return to my winter games, but to no avail. I was stuck in the dream of Paige. Wonderful.
"Elena. Come on. Wake up."
Even in my dream, I didn't want to answer, as if I knew that imagining myself speaking to Paige would only depress me more, reminding me that I'd been out of contact with her for three days, a situation that now seemed permanent.
"Elena?"
I mumbled something unintelligible even to myself.
"Ah-ha! You are there. Good. Hold on. I'm going to bring you into my body. Fair warning this time. Jeremy's here. Now, on the count of three. One, two, three, ta-da!"
Five seconds of silence. Then,
"Oh, shit."
Paige's curse faded behind me as I tumbled through bits and pieces of dreams, like someone was flipping channels, refusing to pause long enough for me to see what was on. When it stopped, I was a wolf. I didn't need to see myself; I could feel it in the way my muscles moved, the perfect rhythm of each stride. Someone ran ahead of me, a shape flickering through the trees. Another wolf. I knew that, though I couldn't get close enough to see anything but shadow and blurred motion. Although I was the pursuer, not the hunted, fear strummed through me. Who was I chasing? Clay. It had to be Clay. That degree of panic, of blind fear, fear of loss and abandonment-I could only associate it with Clay. He was there, somewhere, ahead of me, and I couldn't catch up. Each time my paws struck the ground, a name echoed through my skull, a mental shout. But it wasn't Clay's name. It was my own, repeated over and over, beats matching the rhythm of my legs. Glancing down, I caught sight of my paws. They weren't my paws. Too large, too dark-a blond nearly gold. Clay's paws. Ahead a bushy tail flashed in the moonlight. A white-blond tail. I was chasing myself.
I started awake and bolted upright in bed. Leaning forward, chest heaving, I ran my hands through my hair, but it wasn't my hair, not a long, tangled mess, but close-cropped curls. I dropped my hands to my lap and stared at them. Thick, squared hands, nails clipped back to the quick. Workman's hands, yet ones that rarely handled a tool larger than a pen. Uncallused, but not soft. Bones broken more times than I could count, each time meticulously reset, emerging unmarred except for a road map of minute scars. I knew each one of those scars. I could remember nights lying awake, asking, "Where'd you get this one? And this one? And-whoops, I gave you that one."
A door opened.
"It didn't work, did it?" Clay's angry drawl, not from the doorway, but here, from the bed.
Jeremy shut the door behind him. "No, Paige wasn't able to make contact. She thought she did, but something went wrong."
"And aren't we all shocked to hell. You're entrusting Elena's life to a twenty-two-year-old apprentice witch. You know that, don't you?"
"I know that I'm willing to use any tool possible to find Elena. Right now, that apprentice witch is our best hope."
"No, she's not. There's another way. Me. I can find Elena. But you won't believe it."
"If Paige is unable to reestablish contact-"
"Goddamn it!" Clay grabbed a book from the nightstand and whipped it across the room, denting the far wall.
Jeremy paused a moment, then continued, voice as unruffled as ever. "I'm going to get you something to drink, Clayton."
"You mean you're going to sedate me again. Sedate me, shut me up, keep me quiet, and calm, while Elena is out there-alone. I didn't believe it was her talking through Paige and now she's gone. Don't tell me that wasn't my fault."
Jeremy said nothing.
"Thank you very much," Clay said.
"Yes, you're to blame for us losing contact that time, though it probably doesn't explain why we can't recontact her. We'll keep trying. In the meantime, perhaps we can discuss this other idea of yours in the morning. Come see me if you change your mind about that drink. It'll help you sleep."
As Jeremy left, the dream evaporated. I tossed and turned, thrown back into the channel-surfing world again. Snap, snap, snap, bits of dreams and memories, too scattered to make any sense. Then darkness. A knock at the door. I was seated at a desk, poring over a map. The door was behind me. I tried to turn or call out a welcome. Instead, I felt my pencil move to scratch a few words on a pad. I looked at the writing and, with no surprise, recognized Clay's scrawl.
The room swirled, threatening to go dark. Something tugged at me with the gentle insistence of the tide, reaching out to pull me back. I fought it. I liked where I was, thank you very much. This was a good place, a comforting place. Just sensing Clay's presence made me happy, and damn it, I deserved a bit of happiness, illusory or not. The tide grew stronger, swelling to an undertow. The room went black. I wrenched myself free and slammed back into Clay's body. He'd stopped writing now and was studying a map. A map of what? Someone knocked again at the door. He didn't respond. Behind him, the door opened, then shut.
"Clayton." Cassandra's voice, butter-smooth.
He didn't answer.
"A grunt of greeting would suffice," she murmured.
"That would imply a welcome. Don't you need to be invited into a room?"
"Sorry. Another myth shot to hell."
"Feel free to follow it."
Cassandra chuckled. "I see Jeremy inherited all the manners in the Danvers family. Not that I mind. I've always preferred honesty and wit over polish." Her voice drew closer as she crossed the room. "I noticed your light on and thought you might care to join me in a drink."
"Love to, but I'm afraid we don't share the same taste in fluids."
"Could you at least look at me when you turn me down?"
No answer.
"Or are you afraid to look at me?"
Clay turned and met her eyes. "There. Piss off, Cassandra. How's that?"
"She's not coming back, you know."
Clay's hand clenched around the pencil, but he said nothing.
I felt the tugging at my feet again and braced myself against it. Somewhere in my head Paige called my name. The undertow surged, but I held firm. This was one scene I definitely wasn't leaving.
"They won't find her," Cassandra said.
"According to you, we should stop trying."
"I only mean that it's a waste of our time. Better we concentrate our efforts on stopping these people. Save all our lives, not just Elena's. If, in stopping them, we rescue her, that's wonderful. If we don't… it's hardly the end of the world."
The pencil snapped between Clay's fingers. Cassandra stepped closer. When the undertow threatened again, I kicked and fought with all my might.
Cassandra took yet another step toward Clay. I felt him tense and start to step back, then stop and hold his ground.
"Yes, you love her," Cassandra said. "I can see that and I admire that. Really, I do. But do you know how many men I've loved in all these years? Loved passionately? And of those men, do you know how few names I remember? How few faces?"
"Get out."
"I'm asking you to join me for a drink. One drink. Nothing more."