Page 35 of Now Comes the Mist

“Have you ever spoken to other dreamers?” I ask lazily. “Do others dream of you, too?”

“Sometimes. When I call to them.”

“Have you called to me, then?”

“Perhaps unwittingly. You and I are like-minded souls, and our paths seem destined to cross.” He rests his head on top of mine. “Are you glad we have met? Or does it frighten you?”

“I’m not frightened,” I say at once. “I am glad I can be myself with you. In the waking world, there is no circumstance under which I could sit with a man after dark like this. But here in my dream, I have complete control over what I do. It feels like traveling, in a way.”

He toys with my plaited hair, wrapping it around his wrist. “Do you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do you have complete control over what you do here in the dream?” His voice is as gentle as ever, but there is a dark, sardonic amusement in it that reminds me of last night’s spells of unnatural drowsiness and my inability to ask questions. He must sense my rising uneasiness, for he quickly adds, “You say that dreaming is like traveling. Is travel something you aspire to?”

“It doesn’t matter. It is not possible for me.” I look at the raging sea, the waves stirring as though some great invisible hand has reached down from the sky to disturb them. “Arthur prefers to remain at home. He will inherit his father’s estate, and it will be a great deal of work for him, becoming Lord Godalming. A great deal of work for both of us.”

“You are not much alike, then,” the man says thoughtfully. “I prefer a couple to be like-minded. It is not comfortable to always be disagreeing and bickering.” He seems to speak from experience, as though there is—or possiblywas—a woman in his life.

“Arthur and I will not bicker,” I say, a bit defensively.

“No,” he agrees. “You would defend your opinion when needed, but he is too well bred to argue. He might concede your point and then go and do whatever he thinks best. His word would always be final. How interesting. Yes, I see how these well-bred English gentlemen manage their women.” He chuckles. “But over time, Lucy, do you not think these little grievances will build up inside of you? Will they not gather in some dark recess of your mind, growing so large that they eventually topple out of the shadows?”

I stare at him, stunned.

“You think I am sowing discord between you and your lord-to-be,” he says, placing a hand over his heart in apology. “But I am only telling you what I have observed. I have lived many years and have seen much of human nature. Forgive my frank manners.”

I want to defend Arthur and insist that he would always agree with me, or if not, he would at least welcome my opinion. But I know that the stranger is speaking the truth; I can feel it.

His eyes on me are full of pity. “Tell me where you would travel, if you could.”

“Anywhere,” I say desperately. “Everywhere. I want to see mountains, walk through forests, ride trains through the countryside. There is so much world out there, and the thought that I can only ever experience it through books and hearsay feels likepretendingto live. Soon I will have a husband and a herd of children, and it will be like losing a chance I never even had.”

The man is silent for a long moment. “I have traveled much in my life. I have been to the greatest concert halls of Europe, the plains of Africa, and even the Far East. I have done everything I have ever dreamed of doing, and I cannot imagine being shackled as you are.”

I listen longingly but without the envy I feel when I hear about Jonathan Harker’s travels. It occurs to me that perhaps it is not Jonathan’s freedom I envy, but the woman he will possess. Hastily, I push away the thought. My love for Mina is not something I wish to share with this all-knowing man, not yet—even if he is only just a dream. “What else have you done?” I ask.

“Everything.” The man traces the lines of my hand, his gaze turned inward to memories he has had the privilege to collect. “I have been a soldier and a statesman, waging wars and punishing enemies. I have been a leader, caring for my people and protecting our land. I have been a scholar of every subject: astronomy, philosophy, alchemy, religion. I have heard music that would thaw the coldest heart, seen artwork that would shape civilizations, and witnessed the most splendid architecture the human mind can dream up.”

“You cannot possibly have lived long enough to do all of that,” I say, smiling as I scan his unlined face. “You cannot be more than forty. You are teasing me.”

“I would not dare tease such a charming lady.” His dark ocean gaze finds me once more, as intent as though he is studying a portrait and not a person. “You really are very beautiful, Lucy, though you do not need me to tell you that.”

“I wish you were real,” I say with a pang of sadness. “Though I should be grateful you are only in my mind. I feel as though I have known you for a very long time. As though I could sit here and talk to you forever. But even dreaming of you is wrong.”

“Why?” he asks gently.

“I will be married soon. The wedding is in September, and sleepwalking away from my husband to have nice long chats with another man … that is something that the future Lady Godalming should absolutely not do.” My short, low laugh is full of aching sorrow. “As Arthur’s wife, I will need to be everything that is virtuous and admirable.”

The stranger looks down at our joined hands. My palm is as fragile and ephemeral in his as the white flower I plucked last night. “He isn’t what you really want. Becoming a fine lady will starve your soul. Trying to make him proud will take everything out of you that I so admire.”

“What alternative is there?” I ask bitterly. “There is nothing else for me, unless you can somehow step out of my imagination and take me on those marvelous journeys of yours around the world. Waging wars and visiting concert halls.” I meant for it to sound like a jest, but the earnest grief in my voice turns it into a serious plea.

“I could, you know.” He looks straight into my eyes. “I could take you away with me and make you forget him. I could make you mine.” He places a kiss upon my wrist, searing cold. His lips move down my arm to the crook of my elbow, where he drops another kiss.

I close my eyes as he leans his forehead against mine. I wish I could live for eternity in this dream, sheltered beneath the trees on a stormy moonless evening with this man.

“This is my advice to you, Lucy, from someone who has lived so much to someone who has not yet fully lived at all,” he says. “Be careful what you wish for, for you may just get it.”

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