“You saw that,” I say, awed.
“There’s a camera in the clock tower aimed down the pit. I saw your little penlight as you descended to the bottom. You had me on edge, I must say. I’d have been in a terrible spot if you’d fallen. Fortunately, you didn’t.”
She could see, she still can see anything that happens at Forge. It blows my mind. She can watch any camera at any time, even at night. That’s what she’s telling me. This means she knows everything, every time I snuck out of my sleep shell.
“Could you see the cameras down in the vault of dreamers under the dean’s tower?” I ask.
“Now we come to it,” she says, and behind her thick lenses, her eyes go bright and sharp. “There was no vault of dreamers under the school, not that I ever could see. It wasn’t there when I worked at the school, and it never showed up on any camera.”
“But I was in it myself,” I say. “And I know Berg had cameras down there. I saw them. He had my friend Thea on his phone when she was down in the operating room just this past Friday night. He showed her to me.”
“Then those cameras must have been on an isolated system,” she says. “Think about it. If he did have dreamers hidden at the school, he couldn’t have a hundred techies knowing about them.”
“Wait. Are you saying you believe me?” I ask, hopeful and uncertain.
“I’m saying that cameras only go so far. The truth is still the truth.”
The teakettle whistles, and steam gushes from its spout. Lavinia points to it, and I fetch it over to pour. Fragrant steam rises from the tea, and I automatically inhale, savoring the scent. Lavinia takes the clear glass and politely nudges the teacup toward me.
“Have a lemon drop while your tea steeps,” she says.
Obeying, I taste the dissolving coat of powdered sugar before the lemon kicks in, and my whole mouth salivates around the sweet sourness.
Lavinia’s gaze slides past my shoulder, out the window, to some distance I can’t see. “It just so happens, I’m inclined to believe you about the dreamers,” she says. “Now tell me what’s really happened to your family. People don’t just go missing.”
I trust her now with the truth. “Berg kidnapped my family yesterday,” I say. “I think they were in Las Vegas at the time. I have a voicemail from my sister from last night, but that’s the last I’ve heard from any of them. She said they were in a truck, but I have no idea where. She warned me not to tell anyone.”
“You think Berg’s responsible, of course.”
“I know he is,” I say. A pinch of anxiety tightens my gut. “He left me a message, too. He wanted me to call him back, but I didn’t. I came here instead because my sister told me my family was coming here.”
“And we still don’t know why. Most curious.”
It’s more than curious. Lavinia has to be an ally I can use somehow. “Do you know anything about a vault of dreamers here in Miehana?” I ask.
Her gaze returns to me. “I have my suspicions,” she says. “What have you heard?”
“Not much,” I say. “I’ve seen a picture of a big vault full of sleep shells, and I know a guy who said his father worked at a big vault of dreamers here in Miehana. I don’t know where it is. It doesn’t come up on any searches.”
“I see. Are you thinking Berg has your parents there?” Lavinia says.
I hitch my chair closer to the table. “It is possible, isn’t it?” I ask. “I mean, he can’t be with them himself. He’s showing up on The Forge Show like usual, but he could have told his people to hide my family there.”
She frowns and dips her tea bag experimentally. “I might have a way to see if a delivery was made this morning.”
My heart lifts with hope. She must know where the vault is.
“You have to help me,” I say. “You have to tell me what you know. I’ll do all the rest, I promise.”
She smiles at me, amused. “I see. You’ll sneak in and carry your family all out in your pocket, I suppose. Assuming they’re there.”
“I’ll figure out something,” I say. “Berg doesn’t know I’m here. If I act fast, I might be able to catch him off guard.” I push my hands into my hair and squeeze my head. “You have to understand. He’s always been the one in control. Ever since I went to Forge, he’s just been playing one long, twisted game with me. Even when I’m living out in the world, it’s part of his game. He told me once that real life is better for me, like this very moment could be adding value to my dreams.”
Lavinia lightly touches her glasses. “That does sound like him. He was very much into control when I knew him at Forge,” she says.
“But me being here with you, this is out of his control,” I say. “I need to make the most of it.”
Lavinia nods thoughtfully. “Supposing you do get into the vault of dreamers out here. You’d be delivering yourself right into Berg’s clutches again, regardless of whether your parents are there or not. That hardly seems wise.”
“That’s why I need your help,” I say. “You must know a way I can get in there without being seen.”
She laughs. “I don’t.”
“But you know something that can help me. You at least know where it is.”
Lavinia regards me inscrutably for a long moment. “Go on. Try your tea.”
When I take a sip of the tea, my taste buds go wild with the lemony tanginess, and I have to smile.
Lavinia nods at me. “What did I tell you?”
“It’s good,” I say.
She sips, too. “It’s the small things that count,” she says.
Inside, I’m all impatience. It feels like I’m being tested, like Lavinia can play a game or two herself. I force myself to relax for a moment and try to picture things from my hostess’s perspective. If only I had something to trade with her that she wanted.
In the quiet, Lavinia props her chin in her palm, and her gaze goes inward and distant again. I turn to see what has her attention outside and notice the faded smock again. It’s a bit odd, considering the apartment is devoid of toys or games. I wonder if Lavinia is a mother or grandmother, and I try calculating years. Supposing Lavinia is eighty or so, a daughter of hers might be in her fifties, which would put a granddaughter in her twenties or thirties. Lavinia might even be a great-grandmother. I study the translucent plastic, noticing how sun-bleached the fabric edges are, as if the smock has been hanging out a whole summer or longer. Much longer.
“Do you have a family?” I ask.
Lavinia sighs, and her sad, magnified eyes shift toward the pile of envelopes on the windowsill. “Not anymore,” she says.
I wait, wondering if she’ll go on, but she doesn’t, and I can’t bear to pry. I need her help so badly it hurts. She must know that.
Lavinia nudges her teacup away, takes another lemon drop, and comes to her feet. “All right. I’ll help you,” she says. “It could be dangerous, mind you.”
Hope lifts my heart. “I don’t care,” I say.
She steps into the hallway, opens the door to a closet, and pulls a chain to turn on a light bulb inside. She gestures with her hand. “After you.”
8