“We could bring everything up here,” he said. “Then it’s all in one place to sort.”

  “You mean you want to carry everything up all those stairs, only to carry half of it partway down again?” Fran asked.

  “Any plan can sound stupid if you describe it right.” Cam blushed. “You’re right. That wasn’t my smartest idea ever.”

  “From now on, why don’t we take everything to the lowest room where we might put it? Then, if it goes higher, we can carry it up later?”

  “You know that a lot of stuff is just coming up here anyway, right? I mean, this is the kitchen and living room, after all.”

  “True, but your books can go in your study, which will save us some heavy journeys up the stairs.”

  “You were serious about the study?”

  “You weren’t?”

  “What am I going to do in there?”

  “Be a high-flying academic, of course.” Fran kissed him. “I believe in you.”

  Irene appeared, puffing and panting, and placed a box on the counter with a thud. She stood for a long moment, catching her breath. Fran and Cam exchanged a look.

  “Why don’t you start unpacking things up here, Mom?” Fran said. “That will help keep space clear as we bring more up.”

  “I can carry them, you know,” Irene said despite evidence to the contrary.

  “I know, but this will be helpful, and it’ll stop the stairs from getting too crowded.”

  “Very well, dear.” Irene opened the box she’d brought up. “If you don’t like where I put things, you can always change it later.”

  Fran and Cam headed back down the stairs.

  “I hope I get used to that creaking soon,” Cam said, listening to the sound of the stairs as they descended. “If not, every trip up and down will be full of alarm.”

  “I’m sure you’ll relax into it.” Fran beamed. “It’s easier to accept these things when it’s our own house.”

  “It really is, isn’t it.” Cam grinned back at her.

  In the street, a series of thuds made them look around. Woodrow emerged from the back of the truck, holding a chest of drawers under each arm.

  “You’ve chosen your furniture well, Francesca. These are solid pieces, good traditional wood crafting.” He looked around. “Assuming these are your possessions, and I’m not pillaging them from one of your new neighbors.”

  “Hi, Dad.” Fran found a way to hug him around the furnishings. “It’s great to see you.”

  “And you.” Woodrow bent his head enough to almost kiss the top of her head, then stepped back, uncertain. “This is a fine place you have. One entrance and a spiral staircase. Very defensible. Although you’ll be vulnerable if your enemies bring flames to your door. That’s the one downside of building with wood.”

  “I’ll remember to fireproof the place before I declare war on anyone.”

  “You’re becoming sharp-tongued, girl. I approve. Now, where should I take these?”

  “Second door up. Thank you!”

  For the next few hours, they tramped up and down the stairs, carrying boxes, bags, and furniture. Fran had worried about how they would get the heavier items up through the house, whether they should’ve hired a professional mover with levitation spells to get things like beds and armoires up.

  Woodrow solved any problems they might have had with that. The strength of the superhuman old warrior was enough for even the heaviest furniture, and with Fran’s help, he found ways to maneuver awkward shapes to the top room. Working with him also made Fran realize something she hadn’t fully noticed before: her strength.

  “Hey, look, I’m holding it on my own!” she exclaimed as Woodrow let go of his end of the bed frame, leaving her holding it single-handedly over the stairwell.

  “Of course.” Woodrow’s brow crumpled in confusion. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

  “Because it’s so heavy! Most people can’t do this.”

  “You are not most people. You are my daughter.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t realize that… Never mind, my arms are starting to get tired. Can you help me get it to the room?”

  It was strangely reassuring to learn that even if she’d inherited some of Woodrow’s prowess, she didn’t have his full strength and endurance. At least, not yet. Maybe that would come with time, or perhaps her mix of powers meant she’d never be able to do everything he did. Either way, she’d never have trouble opening a jar again.

  “It’s looking good,” Cam said as Fran and Woodrow completed another trip, bringing a sofa into the living room. “Like it’s properly our space now that it’s got our things.”

  “Isn’t it awesome?” Fran led Woodrow and the sofa to a back wall, where the sun would shine in over their shoulders as she and Cam sat together, looking out across the park. “I can’t believe we get to live somewhere so cool.”

  “You already have the coolest job you could imagine, is a great home so hard to imagine?”

  “I guess not.”

  Fran sat for a moment, looking around the room. Cam had started assembling shelves while Irene continued unpacking. Most of the contents of the truck were unloaded now, and though the place felt a little crowded, that would change once the empty boxes were gone. There was still plenty of space here for her and Cam to make their mark, to buy shared possessions for their shared home, to grow into the place together.

  “What are you doing, woman?” Woodrow barked.

  “Putting things away,” Irene replied coldly. “Like Fran and Cam asked me to.”

  “That is no place to put knives. They should be in the place of easiest access, in case Fran has to defend their home.”

  “These are kitchen knives, not fighting knives.”

  “They are the sharpest here, so the best for defense. Would you have her fend off attackers with a soup spoon?”

  “Fran isn’t going to be fighting off attackers in her own home. Not everything in life is a battle.”

  “And being unprepared is how the surprise battle is lost.”

  “Come on, Dad.” Fran took his arm and led him toward the stairs. “We’ve still got boxes to bring up.”

  When they ran out of items to fetch from the truck, Fran instead set Woodrow the task of carrying the empty boxes out, which kept him going up and down the stairs while Irene helped arrange the living room. It turned out that Fran’s parents could make an argument out of anything if they were in the mood.

  “You should flatten those before you take them down.” Irene pointed at the boxes Woodrow was gathering. “It’ll make them take up less space. Then you can carry more.”

  “I’m putting them inside each other. I can carry many of them that way.”

  “You can carry even more if they’re flat.”

  “Which of us is carrying these boxes, woman, you or me?”

  “Don’t you ‘woman’ me. I’m simply offering advice, trying to help.”

  “It’s appreciated, Mom,” Fran interjected. “Could you help me with these cushions? I’m not sure which ones will look best on which chairs.”

  “Well, dear, I’m not sure you’ve picked the best throw for this spot…”

  With all the work to be done, Fran didn’t notice how much time had passed until it was nearly midnight and she realized that she hadn’t eaten any dinner.

  “I’m so hungry!” She clutched her stomach. “Cam, do we have any food in?”

  “We said we’d do a shopping run tomorrow.” He looked embarrassed. “Guess we didn’t properly think that one through.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve ordered something.” Irene looked pointedly at Woodrow. “For all of us, before you start complaining.”

  “I too ordered food.” Woodrow scratched his head. “I thought it fitting to feast together on the first night in Fran’s new home.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get that!”

  Fran dashed down the stairs, drawn irresistibly to the scents of food. Outside the front door stood two delivery couriers.

  “Fresh Fry House,” one of them said, thrusting a bag into her hands. “Here’s your food.”

  “Big Bad Barbecue,” the other added, holding out another large bag.

  “Thanks, guys.”

  Balancing the two bulging bags, Fran headed back up the stairs. At the top of the house, her parents were standing at opposite ends of the room, arms folded, glaring at each other, while Cam stood between them, eyes darting back and forth.

  “Fran!” he exclaimed, as excited as if he hadn’t seen her in years. “Let’s eat.”

  She set the bags down on the kitchen table while Irene got out plates and cutlery, and they all took seats.

  “A huge pile of meat.” Irene peered into one of the bags. “I should have known.”

  “Are you objecting to good food?” Woodrow growled.

  “I was thinking that I haven’t had barbecue in ages,” Irene took some spare ribs. “Thank you.”

  “I suppose a few vegetables will do me good too.” Woodrow investigated the contents of the other bag. “My thanks for this.”

  Fran squeezed Cam’s hand.

  “Our first night in our own home,” she said. “All settled in, with family and good food. Isn’t it great?”

  “Nothing could make it better,” Cam replied. “Here’s to many more nights like it, bickering and all.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Trapped in the brightness of its cell, the Darkness Between Dreams prepared itself.

  Its captor had developed a routine. She might not have realized, squeezing in their encounters between her other appointments, but there were certain times when she was likely to come down to the prison and others when she never came. She never left it longer than three days, so if that time was almost up, then on a certain day, at a certain time, she was bound to arrive. Best of all, she would be distracted then, harried from a long few days of meetings, of dealing with all the stresses and strains that came from running a business, even a stolen one.

  That would be the Darkness’ opportunity—when it knew she was coming and could muster what little power it still had, when she was vulnerable—the chance to take her down and escape.

  It poured power down one of its tentacles and shaped the magical energy there. It would take a very particular sort of power for this to work. It wasn’t only raw energy but a preprepared spell, something on the verge of being cast.

  Drained by living in constant brightness, it was hard to focus on two things at once, but the Darkness kept the spell in place while it strained to thrust its tentacle through the cell door’s magic and around the bars to reach out for the edge. It braced itself, then touched the door frame.

  A magical blade shot down, severing the tentacle. The Darkness reeled back, struck by the pain and loss. It was a dreadful moment, but it would be worth it.

  The fallen tentacle lay twitching outside the cell. The largest part of itself that the Darkness had let go so far. It felt the tentacle, detached yet still part of its body, distant but present. This could work. This had to work.

  The Darkness stumbled back across the cell and slid to the floor against the back wall. It didn’t have to pretend to feel exhausted, weakened, or defeated. Those sensations were the truth of its life here. Once a great power of the cosmos, lord of its nightmare world, it was reduced to this, captive of pathetic mortals, which made it even more pathetic. Still, its time wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

  It sat shivering against the wall, preparing itself, gathering what power was available there. That was the other part of this delay between Julia’s visits. It gave the Darkness more time to find its strength. Julia liked that since it meant more to draw off, more strength to steal, but she hadn’t thought through what else it meant. The Darkness was more ready than ever.

  The distant sound of elevator doors opening reached the Darkness’s cell. The time had come, as it had known it would. It smiled, and the lips of the Howard Phillips’ skin suit twitched into a macabre grin.

  Julia’s footsteps grew louder as they approached, echoing from the stark white concrete of the corridor. She stopped at the cell door and peered in at the Darkness.

  “Have you missed me? I imagine I might almost miss my captor if they were the only person I ever saw and the alternative was sitting here by myself, all alone with my failures and misery.”

  “I didn’t know you had such a capacity for cruelty.” The Darkness deliberately added a weak tremble to its voice. “If I’d realized, I would’ve given you more responsibility.”

  As it spoke, it reached out with its mind, finding the tentacle outside the door, stirring it to action. The connection between them was weaker than it had been a few minutes before. The severed tentacle had already started to fade into death. The Darkness had to act now, while there was still power to be used and still a spell prepared.

  “You wouldn’t have given me any more responsibility,” Julia said. “You gave me exactly as much as suited you to relieve yourself of effort while retaining control. Nothing in my character could have changed that.”

  She looked down.

  “What is this, one of your tentacles?” She looked at the Darkness and shook her head. “An escape attempt? How did that work for you?”

  She kicked the tentacle away around the curve of the corridor, and the Darkness felt a shudder of pain as the toe of her shoe hit the raw nerves of severed flesh. That pain was the jolt it needed to restrengthen its connection. It felt the tentacle as part of itself again, a limb it could use for one brief moment.

  It triggered the spell stored there.

  In the corridor, there was a flicker of darkness. The tentacle unfolded, its flesh unraveling and opening into a magical portal. For a moment, there was a disk of darkness in the air, wavering and uncertain. A nightmare hound stepped through, and the portal vanished, taking the last of the tentacle’s power.

  The hound growled, a sound that would have made the strongest of mortals shiver in fear. Acid dripped between teeth like broken glass. Eyes that blazed like the heart of an inferno stared at Julia from behind matted black fur.

  “You might have trapped me in here.” The Darkness pushed itself to its feet. “You’re trapped out there with him. Let me go, or I set him on you.”

  “I’ve fought these things before.” Julia drew her wand. “I can—”

  Her words cut off as the hound charged. She flung up a shield of power, and the leaping hound slid across it, sparks flying as its claws tore at the magic. It slid across the field and over her head, landing at her far side between her and the elevator.

  Panic rising in her throat, Julia started backing away. The corridor was circular. If she went far enough around, she could reach the elevator despite the hound’s presence. She could escape to safety.

  If.

  The hound prowled after her. Drool hissed as it hit the floor, and its eyes flared with monstrous hunger. Looking at it made it harder for her to concentrate. Images flashed through her mind of the things the hound might do to her.

  Except they weren’t her thoughts, she realized. They were nightmares, projected into her mind by the hound’s power. Her wand darted through the air, casting a shield against mental enchantments, and the images faded away, taking the distracting dread with them. Now she only had her ordinary, rational fear of pain and death to deal with.

  She kept her wand weaving through the air, drawing runes and summoning enchantments, putting up shields. The hound lunged forward and rebounded off those protections, but some of the magic broke beneath its claws. If she kept going like this, sooner or later, it would break through.

  She glanced back over her shoulder to see how close she was to the elevator.

  The hound roared and leaped. The impact of it colliding with her defenses knocked Julia over. She hit the concrete floor hard, and spots danced in her vision as she stared up at the hound. It was on top of her, only a few inches away, a handful of protective spells keeping it from touching her. It was clawing at those, the enchantments unraveling as it tore them open.

  Frantically, she flung up more shields, more protections. They wouldn’t be enough. Sooner or later, it was going to break through. No defense she mustered at this moment could be enough.

  No more defense, then. Time to go on the offense.

  “Stupefacio,” she shouted and pointed her wand. A bolt of magic hit the hound in the head. For a moment it looked at her glassy-eyed, stunned, distracted from the world. Before she could make the most of that moment, the hound shook it off and pressed a claw closer to her throat.

  “Agglutino!”

  Glue shot from the wand, caught the hound’s paw, and stuck it to the wall. One down. Now, if she got the other three, she would have it trapped.

  The hound growled and strained its muscles. The glue held, Julia’s magic too powerful to be so easily overcome, but the concrete cracked, then broke, and the hound’s paw came away, now reinforced with the weight of the glue and jagged chunks of concrete.

  If she couldn’t attack it directly, perhaps she could try something else. A chunk of concrete was about to break away from the wall. Julia pointed her wand at it. As the concrete broke away, she cast again.

  “Displodo!”

  The chunk of concrete exploded. The force of the blast flung the hound off her and slammed it against the wall. Her protections barely held, and she scrambled back across the floor, then rose to her feet, pointing her wand into the smoke and dust of the blast.

  As the dust settled, she saw the hound again. Its matted fur was lighter than before, pale dust settling on the blackness. Its eyes were as bright as ever, its claws as sharp. It shook off a heap of broken concrete and drew itself to its feet, next to the cracked and blast-blackened walls.

  It growled.

  “Ready to surrender yet?” the Darkness shouted from its cell. “Just give in, and this nightmare can be over, though others might come later…”

  “Never.” Julia spat dust and fury. She raised her trembling wand. “I’m never letting you have power over me again.”

 

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