‘Esme?’
‘Zoe?’
I exhale loudly. ‘Yes! Can you help me?’
‘Hold on.’
I’m not quite sure what she is going to do but when a key rattles in the lock and the door springs open, I’m filled with suspicion. I back away until I’m pressed against the far wall – which isn’t very far away at all.
Esme’s face is worried. ‘What happened to you?’
I keep my body stiff; I’ll rush her if I have to. ‘I’m guessing I’m in the castle,’ I say slowly. ‘But why do you have a key?’
She smiles sadly. ‘Because I’m the princess who’s trapped here.’ I narrow my eyes, confused. Esme shrugs. ‘One of many, anyway. What happened to you?’
I could tell her that I think my mother smashed a frying pan over my head but I’m not sure it’ll help. I murmur that I’m not sure. ‘Why did I wake up here?’
‘You’re not sleeping.’ She says it calmly but there’s an edge to her voice. ‘You’re unconscious. Or at least I think you are. That’s what happens to the other people who come here. I call them sleepers.’
I must still look disbelieving because she cocks her head. ‘Come on,’ she says, gesturing at the dark hallway. ‘I’ll show you.’
I’m not sure I trust her but as I can’t seem to wake myself up and can’t stay in this tiny room, I join her. Esme gives me a tight smile while I look around for an exit just in case I need it. For a fairy-tale castle, this place is bloody dingy.
‘I’m not going to hurt you, Zoe,’ she says softly.
‘Are you with the Mayor?’
Her expression doesn’t change. ‘I’m not with anyone.’ She points to a little staircase. ‘This way.’
I follow her, keeping my fists bunched up at my sides. The stairs wind down for quite some time before we reach the next floor.
‘You were pretty noisy,’ Esme says. ‘It’s rare to hear anything when someone arrives here. Sometimes it takes me ages to find them.’
‘Other people apparate here?’
Her mouth twists. ‘Not exactly.’ She motions at a set of grand double doors. ‘Here, I’ll show you.’
I keep back while she pushes them open, revealing a vast space. It’s similar to the ballroom from Rebecca’s dream except that it’s very dark, with heavy curtains across the windows. There are hundreds of lumps on the floor. Puzzled, I step inside after Esme. That’s when I realise that the lumps are people of all shapes and ages.
‘Be careful not to touch them,’ she warns. ‘I’m not sure what it does to them in the real world but it’s better to be safe than sorry. There was one time when I...’ Her voice drifts off. ‘It’s just better not to touch them,’ she finishes. She casts a sweeping look around the room, as if checking that nothing’s been disturbed since she was here last. There’s tenderness in her gaze and I realise that whoever these strange people are, somehow Esme feels responsible for them.
Feeling like I’ve entered a bizarre refugee holding area, I tiptoe ahead, almost shrieking aloud when something brushes against my cheek. My heart pounds as I leap backwards. It takes me a moment to realise it was only a cobweb.
Esme looks guilty. ‘I know. When I first came here I used to clean up and make sure everything was spick and span.’ She shrugs. ‘After a while, there didn’t seem to be much point. Hardly anyone comes here anyway.’
‘Who are those people?’ I ask nervously, keeping my distance from her. Did she do this to them?
‘They’re like me,’ she says softly. ‘And now you. Although if you’re lucky, your condition is only temporary.’
In the far corner, there’s a grunt as one of the figures stirs. I jump. ‘What was that?’
Esme peers into the gloom. ‘Bob, I think.’ She smiles faintly. ‘Of course, that’s not his real name but I feel like I’ve come to know them all so to make things more ... normal, I’ve named them.’ She points at the huddled shape of a young girl. ‘She’s Pixie. Next to her is Al. Then Max and Tory and Lisa.’ She laughs awkwardly. ‘It’s stupid, I know, but they need some dignity. Nobody cares for them apart from me so it helps if I give them names.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Esme turns and looks at me. ‘They’re unconscious,’ she says quietly.
‘I can see that.’
‘No, I mean, they’re unconscious in the real world. Some come and go and spend very little time here but the majority stay for months. There are a few who’ve been here for years. They wake up sometimes and stumble around a bit, then they just go back to sleep.’
‘You mean you...’
She nods. ‘I was in a car crash. At least, that’s what I remember. It was about eighteen years ago, give or take. I’ve been here ever since.’
I stare at her. ‘You never leave the Dreamlands?’
‘No. Persistent vegetative state. Maybe. And not here of course. I’m just thankful my family haven’t turned off the machines that keep me alive.’