Any feeling of life that Lizbeth saw in the loft came from her mother.
"Your brain crafted it," Tem said, his back to her as he continued to rummage in the fridge. Finally, he found what he was looking for, and triumphant, he pulled out a carton of pulp-heavy orange juice.
"I was thinking about my mom," she said, honestly. "I guess that's why. But this place? It's so much more my dad's taste, but then . . ."
". . . your mom is here, too," he finished for her.
She nodded.
"Yeah, I feel her in the space, and that's not something I would've expected."
Tem handed her a glass of juice, then extended his own toward her.
"Cheers," he said as they clinked glasses.
It felt odd to do that here, in this place. To be anything other than the small helpless kid who'd felt so alone after her mother had died. A child who'd needed love, but who, instead, had been ignored. Her father's hope . . . ? That she'd just disappear.
"I miss her," Lizbeth said, barely tasting the sugary juice. "I needed her. I really needed her and she was gone. I was alone."
The weight of Tem's hand settled over her own and she felt the cool of the granite beneath her palm.
"You were never alone. The Dream Walker Hessika was always with you," he said. "And your brother never stopped missing you."
God, she'd forgotten all about Weir! Guilt, and the orange juice, soured her stomach. She'd left him back in the Italian catacombs with no explanation as to why she was behaving so oddly. She wished he were here now, wished she could tell him her brain hadn't been her own, that she'd been at the mercy of something greater than herself.
"Before . . . you asked me where you go when you dream in the dreamlands," Tem said, drawing her attention back to him.
She looked up, surprised, her curiosity piqued.
"Yeah, it was a strange thing . . . the idea that . . ."
". . . you're already where you dream?" he finished for her. He was always doing that to Lizbeth-finishing her thoughts, knowing what she was going to say before she said it. He gestured to the sectional couch where Dev's girls lay sleeping.
"Yeah," she said.
She watched the girls, their faces smooth and dewy-with none of the tension she'd seen on them earlier.
"Here, when you sleep, you walk the line between life and death," he said. "Death can't have you yet because it's not your time, but it likes the taste of life, so it tries to keep you there as long as it can."
Lizbeth frowned.
"I think we should wake the girls up now," she said, climbing to her feet.
He laughed, and held up his hands for her to relax.
"Don't freak out, half-caste. They're also sleeping a healing sleep. And those girls need it. They've been through a lot."
She settled back into her seat but decided to keep an eye on the young dreamers just to calm her mind.
"Dream Walkers-like me and Hessika and Eleanora-stay here," he continued. "I know it seems like we're trapped, but we're not. We chose this and we have enough magic left inside us to make it so."
"But you can go to death?" she asked. "If you want to?"
"If I sleep here, then, yes, I can will death to take me. If I want."
She yawned, the exhaustion she'd been keeping at bay for so long finally settling over her.
"You should sleep, too, love," Tem said. "You look so tired and sad."
She shook her head.
"No, I don't want to-"
"Afraid you'll never wake up?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he voiced her fears for her. "Don't you trust me?"
"Yes, but . . ." She stopped, not actually sure if she was being truthful or not. "Wait. I just . . . I don't know."
"Do as the man says, ma chère."
Lizbeth turned in her seat to find the Tall Lady standing behind her. Hessika-she had to remember the woman had a real name.
"I'm not tired-" she started to say, but was foiled by another yawn she couldn't control.
Hessika wore an amused expression on her face. Lizbeth was almost certain that the woman hadn't been there before. Where had she come from? Hit by another jaw-cracking yawn, Lizbeth fought to keep her eyes open. She was so tired that her bones ached.
"Of course, you are," Tem said. "You're wiped out, dead on your feet. A walking zombie of sleep deprivation."
She had to admit it was true. The thought of closing her eyes for a few minutes sounded so appealing . . .
Hessika's voice sounded in her head: "The little ones cannot stay long, ma chère. Tell your sisters that we are watching, but they must come to the Red Chapel and soon."