He performed a couple of kung fu moves against an invisible opponent so fast that my eyes could hardly follow him. “My other name is Lightning—the Tiger’s Claw of the sky.”
“Terrific,” I said, impressed. I’d done well there. (And if I ever met the real Mr. Wu again, I’d apologize for all this.) I just wasn’t sure whether this Mr. Wu would function without me there. By way of experiment, I went around the nearest corner and came back as a breath of air. This time it worked even better than at my first attempt. I floated several yards along the corridor, no problem, making straight for Mr. Wu.
“Stop, windy intruder!” A well-aimed blow in the air right in front of me, and I was blown a few yards back. “You shall not pass!” With his other hand, Mr. Wu struck the gong. A deep note, kind of solemn but above all deafeningly loud, sounded all the way down the corridor and was thrown back from the walls again and again as an echo. I floated a little way farther. Yes, that was quite loud enough to put even someone as cool, calm, and collected as Anabel to flight. Mr. Wu—’scuse me, the Tiger’s Claw of the sky—was the perfect guard to station at Mia’s door. If I hadn’t been a breath of air, I’d have rubbed my hands with glee. Mia’s door seemed secure enough for now, and I could go back to my own dream—and sleep! And woe betide anyone who woke me before lunch tomorrow, which was Saturday.
But I wasn’t to get to bed just yet. The sound of the gong hadn’t quite died away when Henry’s door opened and Henry came out. I stopped right in the air where I was, motionless. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly as he glanced at my door, but he didn’t stop outside it; he went on down the corridor.
“He who believes in his dreams will sleep his life away, young man with untidy hair,” said Mr. Wu as Henry passed him.
Henry cast him and the enormous gong a surprised glance, but he didn’t slow down. He went purposefully around the next corner.
I followed him without a moment’s thought, as the best, most invisible, and fastest breath of air the world has ever seen. Or not seen, rather. I could even turn somersaults—invisible, inaudible somersaults. How surprised Henry would be when I materialized right in front of his eyes! But first I’d try wafting through his hair and stroking his cheek, as breaths of air do when they’re feeling in a good mood.
It had taken me just five minutes to find out what Senator Tod’s real name was. Henry had done it faster only because he’d used an anagram generator on the Internet. Senator Tod Nord. Dona dents rotor … Tornado, nerd, sot. All of them anagrams of one and the same name. For fun, I’d made up a couple more. Finally I had come to the names we were really concerned with as possibilities, and after some attempts with names like Tad, Ned, Ron, and Don, I was left with only one. It even had the man’s title; he was Dr. Otto Anderson.
The search engine had given me two Otto Andersons in the United Kingdom, and one of them was a specialist in psychiatry at a hospital in Surrey. The very one to which Anabel had been sent.
It was a nasty thought, being treated by a crazy psychiatrist when you were crazy yourself. But maybe this Dr. Anderson wasn’t as crazy as he seemed. One way or another, I couldn’t help admiring Anabel for convincing her psychiatrist that it was possible to meet in dreams. How had she done it without making him think her even nuttier than she was, anyway? Because of the sleepwalking business, I’d thought of taking Mia into my confidence but decided not to, because I could just imagine her reaction—she’d go looking for a hidden camera at once. No one in her right mind would believe what was going on.
But this Dr. Anderson had not only believed Anabel—he’d tried the whole thing out himself, and now he was prowling up and down the corridor making trouble. The question was, what exactly did he want from us? And also, why hadn’t we seen anything of Anabel?
So far we had not told Arthur anything about our sensational discovery. I was in favor of letting him in on the secret, but Henry wanted to wait a little longer.
And speaking of Henry—I’d taken my eyes off him (Eyes? Better not think too hard about that, Liv!) and had lost sight of him. Not that that’s any problem for a breath of air. I blew around the corner at gale force ten, and there he was again. He was standing outside an elegant door covered with lavishly embroidered brocade, looking all around him. I hovered in the air above him and admired the tendrils, flowers, birds, and butterflies embroidered in pale pastel shades. Rather kitschy, but attractive.
If I’d had to guess, I’d have been one hundred percent sure this was a woman’s dream door.
Henry bent down and carefully touched a bird embroidered in pink silk. With a faint creak, the door opened.
Oh no.
Of course this was the moment when I ought to have revealed myself, laughing, and Henry would have explained—also laughing—whose this door was.