“You are unhappy,” the figure said.
I shrugged, watching absently as, one by one, the suns winked out, replaced by stars, and listening to the glass bell that made up the figure’s domain vibrate as the great shapes passed back and forth overhead.
“You have regrets,” the figure said. He reached out a hand to me. His robe fell back, and it was a disappointingly common hand, pale but not too pale, as if it had once been a darker shade and had spent a long time in the dark, leaching pigment into the nothing around it. “Please don’t look that way,” he said. “I do like your visits, you know.”
“Unless you can bring back my mother, mend my father’s life and turn the world back to how it was before it got ripped apart,” I told him, “then you’d better get used to this expression on my face.”
The figure withdrew like I’d burned him, hand disappearing into the black miasma of his body. Eyes glittered at me from under his hood. “I shouldn’t,” he said. He looked at the shapes overhead. “But it’s a new day, not an old day. This is a day never before seen by the universe, by any spoke of the wheel.”
“What are you talking about?” I sighed. “I hate your damn riddles.”
“This is the day and the night and the place in between,” the figure told me. “You can see it when you sleep. You cannot cross into it via magic or machine, but you can dream your way into it. Dreams are in every world, Aoife. In everything. Time. Dust. Your blood. The things you can’t remember when you wake.”
“Meaning?” I spread my hands.
“The nightmare clock can find your dreams,” said the figure. “It can weave them and unravel them. It can make your dreams real and allow you to cross not just worlds but time. If you can dream it, the nightmare clock can give you the ability to make it a reality, no matter where or when or how impossible your dream may seem.” He stretched his hand out once more and grabbed mine, and I realized that he was as cold as I knew the airless space outside the glass was. “Aoife,” he whispered. “The nightmare clock can undo what you have done, what plagues your dreams. The nightmare clock can set you free.”
Footsteps woke me, all at once, like breaking the surface of icy water. I sat upright and knocked Dean’s arm off me in the process. He grunted and scrubbed a hand across his face. “Not awake yet,” he muttered.
“I heard something,” I insisted. Before Dean could respond, the hatch swung open and Valentina appeared, aether lantern in hand. The sky had gone dark while we’d been asleep, and the blackness inside the Munin’s cabin was near absolute.
“There’s that mystery solved, then,” Valentina said, lowering the lantern. “We thought you’d been devoured by something.”
“No such luck,” I said sarcastically, trying to cover for my embarrassment at being found here. Valentina looked me up and down, and I could see her eyes pause on my mussed hair. Never mind the fact that Dean was lying next to me.
“Get up,” she said shortly. “Your father is in a mood, and I have a feeling none of us wants to have this conversation.”
Dean got up, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on. “We weren’t doing anything you need to be worried about,” he told Valentina. I nodded vigorous agreement, glad it was mostly dark in the Munin and she couldn’t see that my face was on fire.
“Fine, but I doubt Aoife’s father will believe that,” she told him. She didn’t look angry, but she sure wasn’t happy, mouth compressed into a thin line. She jerked her free hand at me. “Come along, Aoife. Your father is waiting.”
I made sure the buttons on my dress hadn’t come unfastened and the seams on my stockings matched. I slipped my shoes back on and went as far as the hatch, drawing even with Valentina. I knew she was doing me a favor, letting me know she wasn’t going to tell my father how she’d found us, even if we hadn’t been up to anything. I couldn’t help wondering, though, what I was going to have to do in exchange for her silence. “Thanks,” I mumbled. “I swear I wasn’t doing anything.” Not entirely true, but not entirely a lie. Half-truths seemed to be the order of the day.
Valentina sighed. “Aoife, I was sixteen once. Just go find your father. And quickly. He’s terribly worried.”
Worried that I was dead or worried that I wasn’t doing exactly as I was told, even if he hadn’t told me yet? I decided it didn’t matter right now—I’d gotten away with sneaking off, and if Archie wanted to yell and rant at me a bit, I’d take it.
I crossed the lawn back to the main house and found Cal sitting at the table in the sunporch, playing a game of solitaire, his greasy hair falling in his eyes.
“You might want to check a mirror,” I told him. “Before Bethina figures out you aren’t just afraid of bathing and that patchy skin is hiding something.”
Cal looked up and gave me a glare. “Nice mouth. What’s gotten into you?”
“I’ve been summoned by Mr. Grayson,” I told him. “I’m pretty sure he’s going to read me the riot act.”
Cal grimaced. “Yeah, he was stomping around the library a minute ago, before he went out with Valentina to find you. He’s pretty steamed.”
“Of course he is,” I said, feeling the heavy dread of a punishment, a holdover from my days at the Academy. Meals, things like hot water and clean clothes, even our shoes, were taken away sometimes, for the smallest things. I didn’t think Archie was going to switch me, but the residual twinge of fear was still there.
I walked as slowly as I could, following the irregular lamplight to the library. It wasn’t anything like Graystone’s magnificent collection of books, not even close. This was small and cozy, stuffed with the sort of reading material wealthy people like the Crosleys put on display to prove they were educated. The potboilers and cheap romances were probably tucked behind the Proctor-approved classics and the fashionable novels.
“You think you can just run off whenever it suits you?” My father was sitting in one of the twin leather armchairs, the oxblood deep and slick by the glow of the fire in the grate. He was drinking, a bottle half empty and a glass more than that.
“I’m sorry,” I said, figuring contriteness was the first and easiest route to take. My father looked much angrier than Valentina, all the lines in his face deep and stark.
“I told you how dangerous the world is now,” my father said. “And I know you’re not stupid enough to not listen to me about that. So what is it, Aoife? Typical teenage willfulness? Or something else?” He picked up the glass, drained it and slammed it down. “I’ve got enough problems without my daughter sneaking off to canoodle with some useless greaser and letting me think she might be nothing but rags and bones in a ghoul’s nest for hours on end.” He poured and drank, and the glass landed again. Clank. “Maybe if we were a regular family we’d have the luxury of learning boundaries and setting rules. But we don’t, Aoife.” Pour, drink, clank. “Let me make this perfectly clear—disobey me again, go outside these four walls without letting me or Valentina know it, or sneak off with Dean again, and I’ll tan your hide.” He examined the bottle, now within a millimeter of empty, and gave a regretful sigh. “Do we understand each other, child?”
I stayed where I was until he glared at me. “Something you want to add?”
I chewed my lip for a moment and then decided he couldn’t get any angrier if I just asked. “Do you know anything about the … something called the nightmare clock?” I said softly.
Archie stopped moving, glass halfway to his mouth. “Where did you hear that?” he asked, in the same soft tone I’d used.
“It’s not important,” I said quickly, seeing his alarm. At the same time, though, his alarm told me this was real, or that I wasn’t the only person who’d had the dream. Not the only one the dream figure had talked to, not the only one to visit the strange room. With my father’s reaction, I couldn’t write the bleak figure off as a product of iron poisoning, the human world making the Fae blood in me boil with insanity. The dreams were more than my own fancies. The figure’s words echoed in my head. Set you free. A device I could use to cross not just space but time—one that would set me free. I could return to the moment when I’d destroyed the Engine. I could stop that Aoife from listening to Tremaine’s lies.