Come to me, I plead with the butterfly. It flies lower and nearer in an aimless, meandering path until it hovers over the sleep shell beside mine, and then it flies nearer still. It stretches out its tiny, fragile legs and lands above my face, where it clings to the upper side of my glass lid and folds its wings up like a prayer. Dainty, it takes a step. It brushes its minuscule paws along its proboscis, like it would sip from the glass if it could.
And I, captive beneath the glass, I would do anything to be that butterfly and fly out to a world of clear blue air. It opens its wings and readies itself. I have only one chance. I summon all my strength. As the butterfly lifts off, I smash my hand upward through the glass and grab the butterfly out of the air. Its powdery wings are crushed between my fingers, but only for an instant before the butterfly twists and hardens. It grows at an alarming rate. It expands and transforms into a dragon, first with chicken skin and then with scales. Black and heavy, it swipes its wings at me, but I have a grip on its ankle and I won’t let go. I can’t ever let go. This is my one chance to escape. The dragon lurches into the air, dragging the weight of me, but it rises only a couple of yards before I feel a horrible weight pulling back at my ankle.
I twist to look down. A dreamer in a pale gown with gel on her eyes has me by the ankle, gripping me so tightly I can’t get free. The dragon manages to pull us upward a bit farther, and then a little more. But below my dreamer, another dreamer takes her by the ankle, and beneath her, still another dreamer grabs tight to her ankle. We’re a chain of dreamers, each grasping tight to the ankle of the one before us. The dragon strains with its wings, but it will never get free of the vault, and we will never let go, and the agony of the struggle will never be over.
I wake with a gasp and bolt upright, struggling to breathe.
I’m in the dark living room of Lavinia’s cottage, with the distant crashing of the ocean down below. Dubbs lies on the wicker couch just behind me. Linus is in a bundle of blankets to my left. I reach for the matchbox, and with trembling fingers, I strike a light.
“Rosie? What is it?” Linus asks.
I touch the flame to the wick, and the candle comes to life.
“You’re shaking,” Linus says. Candlelight flickers along his profile and glints off his eye, the blind one.
“I had a nightmare,” I whisper. Then I feel her, Arself, slithering slow and heavy through my internal shadows. Waking up is almost as bad as dreaming.
“Come here,” Linus says softly. “What was it about?”
“The vault,” I say. “I don’t want to think about it, though.”
“Remember the beach,” he says. “All that sunlight.”
As I recall the gilded light over the water, the worst of my tension eases away. Linus shifts to sit beside me and snuggles his arm around me. I lean into his warmth, resting my cheek against his sweatshirt.
“Why do you suppose your dad told you that story about the fish and the bird?” I ask.
“I used to think it was about him and my mother,” he says thoughtfully. With a gentle, sustained tug, he uncoils a lock of my hair. “Dad was always a bit out of his element in Wales. Mum was the same here in the States once we moved. Now, though, I think it’s more about how people can be different and still love each other.”
I picture the bird and the fish meeting at the surface of the air. “Do you think I’m different?” I ask.
“From me? I know you are.”
He makes it sound like a good thing.
I stare at the candle flame for a long moment while the waves continue their heavy beat below. “Sometimes, when I hear a voice or have a nightmare, it’s like the vault is dragging me back,” I say. “Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll never be free.”
“Maybe not,” he says.
Startled, I shift so I can see his face. His eyes are near and steady in the candlelight. He hasn’t attempted to reassure me, but then, with a sense of relief, I realize he’s done something better. He’s understood.
At that moment, a sweep of headlights passes over the front windows. It could be Lavinia, but what if it isn’t? I take a quick look at Dubbs, and then I blow out the candle. The car wheels crunch slowly under the carport.
Together, Linus and I shift to the front windows. I wish I had a weapon. A bat or a crowbar or something. I miss Lavinia’s knife. I reach back for the branch of driftwood that Dubbs brought up from the beach.
A car door opens.
Then I hear a female voice that sounds like Lavinia’s, and a quiet answer from someone else. A flashlight flickers along the porch.
“Watch your step,” Lavinia says, just outside.
Before she can bother with her key, I set aside the driftwood and open the door to let her in. Lavinia carries a large gray cat against her chest and, with her other hand, she wields a big flashlight. Behind her, Burnham Fister steps into the house with a duffel and a couple of shopping bags. Surprised, I stare. As his eyes meet mine, he gives me a big, warm smile.
“Well, hello! You’re up,” he says. He lowers his gear to the floor and pulls me into his arms for a massive hug.
*
I’m happy to see him, positively. I’m also amazed, and I shouldn’t be. This is Burnham. He said he was coming. I just didn’t believe him. I give his back a chummy pat and awkwardly extricate myself.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper, and lift my finger to my lips. “Dubbs is sleeping.”
“Thea sent me,” Burnham says in a hush.
“Thea did?” I say, astonished. That meddling stinker.
“I was coming anyway, but she approved,” Burnham says. His gaze goes past me. “Pitts. Good to see you, as always.”
“Fister,” Linus replies.
“Close the door there,” Lavinia says. “I don’t want Tiny getting out.”
Burnham reaches to comply, and as Lavinia lowers her cat to the floor, I look back to see Dubbs is still a small, sleeping mound on the couch.
“Come on in the bedroom,” Lavinia says quietly. “Let the girl sleep.”
In the little bedroom, Lavinia steps out of her loafers and turns on a small, battery-operated camping lamp in the corner. It would have been handy if I’d noticed it earlier, and now it sends a practical circle of light toward the ceiling. Lavinia props a pillow against the headboard and sits on the bed, stretching her feet out before her. Tiny curls up beside Lavinia’s knees and starts licking a paw.
“Goodness, what a day,” Lavinia says. “Have a seat.”
She points to the opposite corner of her bed, and I slide onto the faded bedspread.
“What happened to you?” I ask.
“What didn’t happen to me,” she says. Her bright eyes scan over me. “Have you talked to Berg?”
“No,” I say.
“He left an ominous message on my machine,” she says. “Perfectly polite, of course. He said your parents are at Grisly. He said it’s time for a reunion.”
I glance toward Linus. It’s as we thought.
“Did Berg say when?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “He wants you to call him.”
I’m afraid to call Berg. He’ll threaten me, for sure. All he has to do is hurt my parents, and I won’t be able to withstand him.
“Does he know where I am?” I ask.