Philippa Fisher and the Dream-Maker's Daughter (18 page)

And then, with a bloodcurdling howl, the lion sprang forward, hurling itself through the air toward me.
You’re not real!
I thought.
You’re not real.

The lion froze in midair. Literally froze. It turned to ice. Then it shattered into a million pieces and fell all around me.

I stumbled closer to the light. I was almost there. I was going to make it. Suddenly I was surrounded by trees. I was in the middle of a forest. The light shone through the trees, dodging and skipping in between them, growing dim and then strong again, opening and closing like a fan. Branches fell in front of me, snapping and tumbling with every step. I didn’t care. I was close now; nothing could stop me.

Slipping and falling with almost every step, I stumbled on. And then — I’d made it. I’d reached the light. I was inside it, right in the center of the light.

I felt around for something. The light was blinding me. What was that? A door. A handle. I reached out with both hands and turned the handle. Pushing gently, I opened the door.

Falling through the door, I landed in a heap on the floor.

I rubbed my eyes and looked around, trying to take in my surroundings. It was a small room. I’d landed on a rug in front of a fire. The fire crackled and spat. Logs were arranged carefully in the grate, and flames curled around them as heat filled the room.

A squashy sofa piled high with cushions faced the fire. There was a rocking chair in a corner, with a shawl over it. In another corner, an open staircase led up to a second floor. A mantelpiece above the fire was filled with figurines. All animals. A bear, a rabbit, lots of butterflies.

A hefty-looking front door was shut and bolted. On the other side of the room, another door was shut, too. How had I gotten in here? I stood up and walked over to the front door. Where was I?

I heard the door behind me creak open. Someone was coming in! I spun around. A woman. It was too dark to see her face.

“Hello, Philippa,” the woman said with a gentle smile. She closed the door behind her and came into the light. “Were you looking for me?”

“Annie!” I said with a gasp. “But — how — what — where —”

Annie laughed softly. Sitting down on the sofa, she patted a cushion beside her. “Come and sit down,” she said. “Tell me how I can help you.”

I sat down. “I don’t know how you can help,” I said. “I don’t know why I’m here, or how I got here. I —” I stopped. Her eyes were looking so intently at me, they were almost burning into me. It felt as though she could see into the corners of my mind, into the parts I didn’t even know about myself.

“Am I still dreaming?” I asked, feeling foolish.

Annie smiled again and nodded. “Philippa, you’ve gotten yourself into a very powerful dream here. Do you know that?”

“I — I think so,” I said nervously. “Daisy said the dreams got jumbled up, and that can make them quite strong.”

Saying Daisy’s name jolted me. It was as though I woke up — although a part of my brain knew I was still asleep.

“Daisy!” I said, leaping off the sofa. “We’ve got to help her! I’ve got to get out of here. Please — you have to let me go!” I ran to the door.

“Wait a minute. Slow down,” Annie said calmly. How could she be calm when Daisy was in trouble? “Come and sit down and tell me all about it.”

“I haven’t got time to sit down! We’ve got to help Daisy!”

“Daisy?”

“My friend. She — she’s a —” I stopped. How could I tell Annie that my friend was a butterfly? It was bad enough having to deal with Robyn’s reaction when I’d tried to tell her. Grown-ups certainly didn’t believe in things like that! And then there was what Robyn’s dad had said about Annie — how she wasn’t what she seemed. I hovered in the doorway, my hand on the handle.

“Philippa, your friend . . .” Annie repeated.

I quickly weighed my options. What did I have to lose? I could trust her, or I could run the risk of losing Daisy — forever!

“She’s a butterfly,” I said, my voice thin and wavering like a tiny leaf fluttering in a breeze. “She’s at Robyn’s house. Her dad — he’s — he’s —”

Annie sat forward, her eyes full of concern. She wasn’t laughing at me. She wasn’t telling me that I was being silly. “He’s what, Philippa?”

“He’s going to cut off her wings,” I said. Then I shut my eyes and chomped down hard on my lip. It sounded ridiculous — I knew it did — and I didn’t want to watch her burst out laughing.

A moment later, I felt Annie grab my hand. I opened my eyes.

“Listen carefully to me,” she said. “Do exactly as I say.”

I nodded.

“I’m going to get you a drink. Drink it all immediately. It will make you wake up.”

“What’s in it? Are you going to poison me?”

“Philippa, you’re in a dream. I can’t harm you. But I can help you to come out of it. You’re too deeply in the dream to come out of it on your own. If you don’t have the drink, you’ll be asleep for hours.”

“We haven’t got hours!” I moaned.

“I know,” she said seriously. “That’s why we have to hurry. Now, have the drink. You’ll wake in your bed. Get up immediately and go to the bookshop.”

Annie was already fixing me the drink. She passed it to me. Purple liquid fizzed and danced inside the glass. I looked at it nervously.

“Drink it,” she said. “You’ll be fine.”

Could I trust her? Could I? Then again, did I have any choice?

“Hurry,” she said.

I swallowed the drink in three big gulps. Almost immediately, the room grew fuzzy.

“Annie, what about you?” I said. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll meet you there,” she replied, her voice coming from the other side of a wall springing up between us. “Just get to the shop, Philippa. We have to stop him.”

A moment later, the room had disappeared, and I was in my bed in the cottage.

I sat up, panting, my heart racing as though I’d been running for miles. Staring at the walls of my room, I tried to gather my thoughts. Bit by bit, they came to me. Daisy in trouble; trying to convince Robyn — had it worked? Then Robyn going, Daisy fading, the lions, Annie’s house.

Annie — what did she have to do with all this? What did she know? Remembering her words, I flung on some clothes. It didn’t matter if I didn’t have any answers yet. All that mattered was that I got to the shop in time to rescue Daisy.

As I crept past my parents’ bedroom, I had a pang of guilt. They’d be so disappointed if they knew I was sneaking out on my own in the middle of the night. Not angry. I wouldn’t get punished or anything. I never did. It would be one of those kitchen-table talks where we’d all discuss what I’d done and why I’d done it and see if we could brainstorm for some ideas about how I might have approached the situation more positively. And maybe a role-play where we’d act out a better way of behaving.

I knew I shouldn’t be sneaking around in a strange village in the middle of the night. But I also knew that my best friend’s life might depend on it — and that was a hundred times more important right now.

I tiptoed down the creaky stairs and opened the front door. Closing it softly behind me, I pulled my coat on, glanced around, and ran through the silent streets to the bookshop.

Now what? The front door was locked — not that I expected anything different. I scanned the windows. All locked. There was a small passageway beside the shop. I hurried to the back and tried the windows there. Locked, too.

Running back to the front of the shop, I banged on the door with my fists.

Nothing. The street stood just as silent as before. It was as though I were the only person awake in the whole world. Where was Annie? Was she coming? Had I really communicated with her, or had it just been a normal dream?

I banged on the door again. Then I bent down and opened the mail slot.
“Robyn!”
I yelled. My voice echoed into the dark shop.
“Robyn!”
I banged again, not caring who I woke up. I’d explain. I’d think of something. I’d have to. All I knew was that Daisy was in terrible danger, and I had to save her — if I wasn’t already too late.

I curled up my fists and was about to bash on the door again when I heard something. I lifted the mail slot and peeked inside. It was Robyn!

“Robyn!” I yelled through the slot.

She opened the door. “You’d better come in,” she said, letting me inside.

“What’s happened?” I asked, panicked. “Am I too late?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“What d’you mean?”

“He won’t let me in. He’s locked himself in the office.”

“Have you tried to talk to him?” I asked.

Robyn nodded. “He just keeps sending me away and saying it’s for my own good.” She glanced shyly at me. “I told him what you said to me. At least what I think you said.” She paused before adding nervously, “In the dream.”

“I did,” I replied. “I know it sounds crazy, but it was really me!”

Robyn pulled her hair behind her ears. Her face was pale, and her eyes were scrunched up and tired. “He just keeps saying it’s not how you said. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t understand, and I don’t know who’s telling the truth.”

“And Daisy?” I held my breath, waiting for her reply.
Please, please don’t say I’m too late.

“I don’t know,” she said. “He won’t tell me.”

I headed over to the door at the back of the shop. “Robyn, we have to make him understand what he’s doing.”

“I know, but —”

“But nothing. We have to stop him! She’s my best friend!” I threw the door open and ran up the stairs, three at a time, all the way to his office at the top of the house.

I tried the door. Locked.

“Go away, Robyn,” Mr. Fairweather said from the other side of the door. “I’ve told you.”

“It’s not Robyn,” I said, forcing my voice to sound braver than I felt. “It’s Philippa. And I’m not going anywhere till you tell me what you’ve done with Daisy.”

“Daisy?” he replied, his voice muffled and flat, as though he were beyond caring.
Way
beyond caring. “I don’t know anyone named Daisy.”

“The butterfly,” I said. Then I swallowed and summoned up all the nerve I could find. “She’s my friend. And you’re harming her. If you don’t stop, she’ll die.”

He didn’t reply.

Robyn came up to the door to stand beside me. Leaning against it, she spoke softly. “Dad, you’ve always said you wouldn’t hurt a fly,” she said. “But if Philippa’s telling the truth —”

“I
am
telling the truth!” I interrupted.

“If it’s true,” Robyn went on, “then you’re harming more then a fly. You’re harming a . . .” She looked at me.

“A fairy!” I said. If Robyn couldn’t speak the truth out loud, I certainly could.

“I don’t understand,” Robyn said, so quietly I wondered if he’d hear her at all. “Why would you do such a horrible thing? I would never have thought you could be so cruel.”

We stood by the door, waiting in the dark for a reply.

Somewhere downstairs, a clock ticked. There was no other sound.

And then, a shuffling noise on the other side of the door. A key turning. Mr. Fairweather opened the door.

He looked at Robyn with eyes so dark and heavy they seemed to weigh his whole face down. “Cruel?” he said. “You think I’m cruel?”

“What else am I supposed to think?” Robyn asked.

He shook his head. “I can’t have you think that. I can’t.” He walked away, leaving us in the doorway. “Cruel? My daughter says I’m cruel,” he muttered. “And there’s nothing I can do about it.” He had something in his hand: the photo of Robyn’s mom.

He slumped into the chair, leaning on the desk and resting his head in his hands. He looked like an old man.

I don’t know what I’d expected. Maybe that he’d be screaming and shouting — he’d have Daisy in his hand, squeezing the life out of her, a razor in his hand, ready to chop off her wings if I said a word. I don’t know. But certainly not this: a broken man, huddled over a picture of his dead wife in the dark.