I cautiously looked through the doorway and out into the corridor. I almost expected to see pools of blood on the floor, but the corridor was empty and spotlessly clean.
“Like me to escort you to your door?” asked Arthur. Light was falling directly on him from the domed roof, and only now could I see that he looked kind of exhausted. Not like the old Arthur, not quite so self-confident, although he still came out with the same smart remarks. And suddenly what he’d said about Anabel didn’t seem to me quite so absurd. Okay, so I didn’t trust him an inch myself—after all, this was Arthur, right?—but on the other hand, I didn’t entirely understand why Henry had simply dismissed his misgivings like that.
“Well, how about it?” Arthur seemed to have noticed my hesitation.
I shook my head. All I wanted right now was to be in my bed. Even better, in my bed after a few hours of dreamless sleep. “I can make it on my own. I bet Senator Tod has had enough for today too. Thanks for … er…” Well, thanks for nothing, really.
“Okay,” said Arthur, adding all the same, “Even if Henry doesn’t agree, I think we should all stick together. Together we may be strong enough.”
Yes. Maybe. Strong enough for whatever was going to happen.
“Good night.” I was about to set off, but then I turned around after all, almost as if I was steered by remote control. I simply had to ask, even if it was Arthur I was asking, and that gave me a horrible sense that I was betraying Henry. “What did you mean a moment ago? About Henry not trusting anyone, and slipping into other people’s dreams by night? Whose dreams?”
“Well, if he hasn’t even told you that…” Arthur didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to.
13
I WOKE WITH a start, bathed in sweat. Oh, damn it! I’d mutated into a plant again, right in the middle of the park. But one good thing was that I’d woken just as the Boker approached me with a huge pair of scissors. This really couldn’t go on—I did need at least a few hours’ sleep. Maybe I should try the herbal tea that Lottie swore by. Even if it had a nasty smell of valerian. (Which was probably why Spot the cat always sat on Lottie’s lap while she drank it, gazing lovingly at her.)
A look at my alarm clock showed me there were only two hours left before it was time to get up, that was all, and I probably wouldn’t get any sleep if I kept my sweaty things on. So I switched on the bedside lamp, got out of bed, and put on a clean pair of pajama pants and a clean T-shirt. Or rather, I was going to put them on, but as I reached for them, the door of my room opened. I let out a small squeak of alarm and crossed my arms over my breasts—heaven knows who I thought was coming in, but it was only Mia. And she didn’t look at me, but walked slowly past me and toward my bed, staring at it.
“Yes,” she said out loud. “Yes, she’s lying there.”
“No, she isn’t,” I said. “She’s standing here. Right here in front of the wardrobe!”
But Mia didn’t seem to hear me. She reached out her arms as if to feel for something. I quickly pulled the clean T-shirt over my head, went up to her, and cautiously touched her arm.
“Hey.”
“She looks just like you, Liv,” whispered Mia, her gaze fixed on my pillow, which was all out of shape. She hadn’t blinked once since coming through the doorway. “Yes, I’ll do it,” she added firmly, and before I could react, she had snatched up one of my decorative cushions (it had a squirrel on it) and was pressing it down firmly on my pillow with both hands.
“Mia!” I said, rather more sharply this time. This was crazy. My sister was trying to smother a pillow with a cushion. On the other hand—if I hadn’t happened to be out of bed, she’d probably be in the middle of smothering me. “Wake up! At once!” I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard. “Mia! That’ll do, the pillow’s dead now!”
She was breathing heavily, blinking in the light of my bedside lamp. Then she uttered a bloodcurdling scream. Well, maybe it was bloodcurdling only because she was screaming straight into my ear. Or loud enough, anyway, to bring Grayson on the scene. He rushed through the doorway in a pair of granddad flannel pants with a large check pattern, part of the granddad pajamas that the Boker had given him for Christmas. She didn’t know that on principle Grayson wore no pajama top at night, so that the outfit didn’t really look very grandfatherly at all.
“What’s the matter?”
I was very glad I’d had time to get the T-shirt on, even if it was back to front, as I now noticed. “She was sleepwalking again,” I said.