Homecoming (21 page)

So while the police skulked around looking for clues to the break-in, Eleanora and Arrabelle sat in Eleanora's bedroom with Daniela and the two cats, both of whom refused to be separated from their mistress.

“Seizure,” Arrabelle said, from her perch on the end of Eleanora's bed. “Your throat's gonna be pretty sore, too.”

“Yeah,” Daniela said, her voice hoarse. “I figured as much.”

“So, why was this man in your house? Any ideas?” Arrabelle asked.

Daniela shook her head.

“You know if Eleanora hadn't come storming in like Rambo, you'd probably be dead.”

Daniela caught Eleanora's eye.

“Thank you,” she said. “I heard you come in and start yelling at the guy.”

“Actually, I think he was more scared of the cats than my gun,” Eleanora said.

Daniela sat up, displacing the cats, who stretched and jumped off the bed to go explore the rest of Eleanora's house.

“They're so fickle,” Daniela murmured. “Just as long as I feed them—”

She stopped and looked distressed.

“Don't worry,” Eleanora said. “Arrabelle and I took care of them.”

Daniela nodded and closed her eyes.

“I know you're exhausted,” Arrabelle said to Daniela, “but this break-in? I have a hard time believing it's just a coincidence.”

Daniela opened her eyes and shot Eleanora a look that said she was resigned to telling Arrabelle the truth.

“I think it's time to tell the others why I'm here.”

Arrabelle didn't look surprised by this revelation—not that Eleanora expected her to. Arrabelle was sharp as a tack, and too quick on the uptake to have the wool pulled over her eyes for very long.

“Obviously, I'm not happy about being left out of the loop. But I trust you, Eleanora, and I think you had your reasons for keeping us in the dark.”

“Daniela is here at the behest of the Greater Council,” Eleanora said, exhaustion stealing over her body.

She felt bad about keeping important information from Arrabelle, but the time to share had come only after Lyse's return home.

“That's not exactly the truth,” Daniela said, correcting Eleanora. “More like a secret group inside the Council that, until her death, included my mother.”

“I don't understand,” Arrabelle said, confused. “Why does the Greater Council care about us?”

“Daniela is here to protect someone,” Eleanora said. “Someone very important.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Arrabelle asked, looking from Eleanora to Daniela. “I thought she was like quality control, here to check in on our coven, make sure we were doing what we were supposed to be doing—”

“What're
you
talking about?” Daniela asked, rolling her eyes. “The Greater Council doesn't do check-ins on its members, crazy person.”

Arrabelle flushed, embarrassed.

“I don't know. It's all I could think of.”

“Arrabelle, for a long time, I and a few others have known something important . . .” Eleanora said, trying to find the right words to explain.

Arrabelle nodded.

“Go on.”

“Well . . .”

“Just spit it out,” Daniela said, exasperated.

Eleanora opened her mouth to protest, but Daniela waved her away:

“You have a Dream Keeper in your coven.”

Arrabelle frowned at Daniela and shook her head.

“No, we
had
a Dream Keeper, but Hessika died a long time ago.”

“Not before her dreams predicted the arrival of someone special,” Eleanora said. “Someone who would be the last of Hessika's kind . . .”

“The final Dream Keeper born to our world,” Daniela finished for her. “And this girl is so important that a secret cabal was formed to figure out the best way to look after and protect her.”

“And you're only here to protect this Dream Keeper?” Arrabelle asked Daniela. “Not spy on us?”

“I am only here to protect the girl,” Daniela said, as she grabbed another of Eleanora's pillows and put it behind her head. “My mother knew she was coming, and she and Hessika both dreamed that Eleanora would be the one to find her.”

“And you didn't tell me or Dev or Lizbeth this because . . . ?” Arrabelle asked—and there was no anger in her words, just confusion.

Daniela continued to answer for Eleanora.

“Dev already knows”—Arrabelle's mouth dropped open in surprise—“and that wasn't Eleanora's call. Things were becoming difficult in our world. It's hard to know who to trust these days. There've been disappearances, and murders . . . I'm sorry that I didn't trust you, Arrabelle. Forgive me.”

Daniela's eyes were filled with a sadness that only Eleanora understood.

“Yeah, you not trusting me stings, obviously, and I know you will both apologize more fully to me later,” Arrabelle said. “But ego aside . . . how is this not common knowledge? There's been no word about any of this from the Greater Council—”

“Because they don't want to believe it's really happening,” Daniela said. “The Flood is coming and the idiots are just ignoring it—or worse.”

“It's not bad here yet,” Daniela continued, “but in other places, less civilized countries, covens are being uprooted or destroyed.”

“By whom? Who's doing it?” Arrabelle asked.

“They call themselves The Flood, but no one has any idea who they are,” Daniela said.

Arrabelle looked dazed as she tried to take in everything Daniela was saying.

“Okay, The Flood, fine.” Arrabelle nodded. “And you're here to protect the last Dream Keeper?”

“Yes,” Daniela said, exasperated, her voice raspy from too much talking. “And I'm not saying it again.”

“Well, at least I understand why you've been so hell-bent on getting Lyse into the coven,” Arrabelle said, turning back to Eleanora. “If she's the last Dream Keeper—”

“Lyse
isn't
the last Dream Keeper, Arrabelle,” Daniela said, interrupting her.

“Lizbeth is,” Eleanora said.

*   *   *

Eleanora thought Arrabelle took the news well. At least, as well as could be expected given the situation. After she'd gone, Eleanora sat with Daniela in the bedroom, the two of them watching through the window as the sun crested the hillside and morning broke open like the yolk of an egg. She wished she could hold Daniela's hand—as much to comfort herself as the girl—but without the leather gloves to protect her, Eleanora was too scared to try.

“You look terrible, you know,” Daniela said, after a long silence. “You should really slow the hell down.”

“I'm fine—” Eleanora protested, but Daniela held up a hand.

“No response requested. It was just a piece of advice. But you should go and get some sleep. It's almost six.”

Eleanora shrugged, though she couldn't argue with Daniela's assessment. She felt nauseated and was so damn tired she could barely keep her eyes open.

“I will go get some sleep,” Eleanora said, dragging her chair even closer to the side of the bed. “I promise, but first, tell me what you felt when you touched your attacker.”

Daniela let her head flop back onto the pillows.

“Of course, you would pick up on that, wouldn't you?” Daniela said, and sighed. Then she changed the subject. “There's so much more going on than you even know. What I told Arrabelle tonight is just the tip of the iceberg. I don't want to frighten you, but there have been rumors . . . of modern-day witch hunts. Stuff not unlike what we know happened in the Dark Ages, or in the Americas with the Puritans.”

This was news to Eleanora. There hadn't been anything like what Daniela was describing in more than a hundred years.

“Arrabelle's right. Why haven't the covens been warned about this?” Eleanora asked. Daniela shook her head.

“My mother tried, but you know how that ended.”

Eleanora watched as silent tears fell down Daniela's cheeks.

“Eleanora?” Daniela asked, her voice cracking with emotion.

“Yes?”

“I felt nothing.”

“Nothing?” Eleanora repeated, not sure what Daniela meant.

“The man who attacked me,” she whispered. “I looked into his soul.”

She paused, and for the first time Eleanora felt real fear behind Daniela's words.

“There was nothing there.”

*   *   *

Eleanora slept fitfully and woke up too early, the sunlight streaming through the living room windows almost as bad as an alarm clock. She rolled over, aching with the hot/cold, pins/needles sensation you get when your foot “falls asleep”—only the feeling had taken over her entire body.

“My God,” she moaned, trying to sit up but not having the energy to make it happen.

She fell back onto the couch, the pillow she'd borrowed from Lyse's empty bed a soft cloud she couldn't seem to escape. After exerting so much effort to sit up, and then failing, it felt heavenly to just lie there, unmoving, eyes closed against the dappled, morning light.

I have to get up,
she thought.
It's not an option to lie here all day.

She took a deep breath and reached out with a trembling hand, grabbing hold of the back of the couch and using it to leverage herself into a sitting position. Just this small effort caused her to break out in a cold sweat. She wiped her face with the inside of her nightgown, then let the neckline drop back into place, the wet fabric chilling the heated flesh of her chest.

The triumph of getting herself into a sitting position gave her a little energy, and she used it to scoot herself forward on the seat of the couch. She looked over at the alarm clock she'd brought with her from the bedroom and sighed.

Not even ten yet,
she thought.
Too damn early.

She felt her forehead with the back of her hand.

And I have a goddamned fever, to boot.

She needed to get up, have some pot tincture and a few of Arrabelle's potions, and then take a shower.

Act like everything is normal and it will be,
she thought.
It's as simple as telling your body to move.

She was struck by a flash from the night before, the cry of a newborn infant echoing in her subconscious. The pain of remembering her children's births knocked against her heart, begging to be let in, but she pushed it away. Ignoring it as best she could, she took a deep breath and told her body to move its ass. She hoisted herself onto her feet and swayed a little, her body like jelly, but strength of will kept her from sitting back down.

One foot in front of the other.

One small step for man.

One giant leap for mankind.

These were the odd phrases filtering through her head as she forced her feet to move. It was slow going at first, but with each subsequent step, she regained a little more energy—and when she got to the kitchen, she almost felt human. Almost.

She dug through the cabinet and found the bottles she wanted, setting them up in a row on the kitchen counter. Their glass containers reflected back the sunlight shining in through the kitchen window.

It was going to be a beautiful day.

She poured herself a glass of water from the tap and added it to the lineup.

She didn't know if Lyse was home yet, and frankly it was none of her business. She just hoped Lyse had had a good time. She deserved to be happy in love, and Eleanora wasn't going to tease her about Weir or ask for any details. Not unless Lyse
wanted
to share.

“Hello, lovely,” she said as she picked up the pot tincture and unscrewed the top.

She placed a few drops under her tongue and didn't have to wait long for the nausea to dissipate. She followed this with two of Arrabelle's potions—made especially for her—then washed the lot down with the glass of tap water.

She heard the back door open as she put the empty glass in the sink. She looked up to find Lyse in the doorway, limping on her right foot.

“Good night?” Eleanora asked.

Lyse got a sheepish look on her face and blushed.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” she said. “I mean, about staying out all night.”

“None of my business,” Eleanora said, amused at seeing Lyse so embarrassed.

“I fell,” Lyse said, looking down at her leg. “And I needed a bandage, and there was this guy. Who kind of helped . . .”

She seemed to realize she was babbling and clammed up.

“Interesting,” Eleanora said, nodding.

“Okay, this is embarrassing. I'm just gonna stop talking,” Lyse growled, and blushed even more.

“Well, I'm going to take a shower.” Eleanora put the glass bottles back in the cabinet and closed the door.

“Okay,” Lyse said, leaning against the kitchen counter that separated them. “So, uh, I think you might know this guy? His name's Weir?”

“Lizbeth's brother?” Eleanora asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Uhm, yeah,” Lyse said, drumming her fingertips against the Formica countertop. “You like him? I mean, you think he's all right?”

Eleanora thought about her answer for a long moment, then nodded.

“I think he's great.”

“Me, too.” Lyse grinned. “And I know what you're thinking in that naughty mind of yours, but we didn't . . .
you know
. We could've, but I didn't want to.”

“You don't have to explain yourself—”

Lyse waved the words away.

“We just talked all night. And it was nice. To feel like someone—a guy—was really listening to me.”

Eleanora nodded—and though she hadn't given much thought to male/female relationships in the last few years, she recognized Lyse's need to be understood. It was a thing every human being craved and very few ever found.

Eleanora included.

She smiled at Lyse.