14 Paris in the Dream
Mahin spoke to the waiter in perfect French asking for details on the menu while unabashedly flirting. Her laughter filled the afternoon air of a sidewalk cafe located in nineteen twenties Paris. She wore a fashionable dress for the time with a drop waist and a pleated skirt and matching hat. He assumed it was fashionable at least. She appeared to have an instinct for such things and how she appeared, even in his dream, was entirely on her.
Was this actually Paris in the Twenties? All he could do was watch film reels from the time and study colorized photos and drawings to hopefully get close and even then he had to focus or the scene would fall to a sepia toned pallet with the jitter of a hand cranked camera.
This was their second dream and he had managed a bit more detail and complication this time even though his mind was wrecked with the pressures of the day. He had concentrated on Paris in the Twenties, switched on Monsieur Portier’s music box and fell into his dream lucidly and in control. Mahin arrived at the edge of consciousness and waited for permission to enter. They had walked to the cafe beneath cherry blossoms in full bloom.
He enjoyed Mahin’s company. She was a beautiful delight and an apt conversationalist who enjoyed culturally diverse food as much as he did. There was an element of risk, of course. She could easily revert to the Scourge of Dreams and the battle would be joined for creative control of his dream. However, at the moment, she seemed perfectly content to be entertained with his vision of an afternoon in Paris and, while he was very conscious of the risk, he felt at ease, almost as if he were actually sitting in a cafe on vacation. Not that he took vacations, of course, but the ruin of the day and all of its problems seemed small at that moment.
Except for the problem of Ophelia Goodfellow and Mr. Leeds, of course.
He really wanted to ignore it. Technically, he still could. At least until she put a bullet into the middle of his trap to catch Ricky. He would have to confront her about it, if for no other reason than to inform her that her actions had consequences.
Her target had been Frank. He was sure of it. She hadn’t expected to see Ricky or himself and then something threw her off her shot. He was sure that she blamed the uptick in vampire activity on Frank but she failed to realize that removing Frank was the worst possible solution. Frank held sway over the organized criminal element of Perdition Falls, vampire or not. If he went down, chaos would reign and power vacuums would develop and that was contrary to Abigail’s vision. Power vacuums meant that no one could answer for developing circumstances. Abigail insisted that people or creatures be available to answer for any given situation.
Ricky had escaped. Again. He should blame Ophelia but it was really the fault of the team and Maddie. The target was Ricky but the team went tactical on Ophelia and Maddie saw a threat to Adam and lost it. The target had been Ricky. The team and Maddie should have stayed on target.
Should he blame Ophelia?
She was as subtle as a brick dropped from a great height and if she continued to make these decisions and act on them, then she was impossibly dangerous. Mr. Leeds added to this equation toward the negative. The Enemy. A destroyer. Abigail’s nightmare. And she gave it shelter. He had tried to ignore it. For reasons. But could he really? If Ophelia happened to be neutralized, who would be responsible for Mr. Leeds?
“Adam?”
He looked up. Mahin sat, stunning in full color, red lipstick glistening, surrounded by grays and browns of ancient film with a stuttering framerate.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he straightened up in his chair. Colors bloomed like ink in water to fill in the grays and browns.
“A bit distracted, I see,” Mahin asked, as she took a sip from a delicate cup.
“A bit,” Adam said. “I apologize.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s your dream, Adam.”
“And you are my guest. It was rude.”
“What bothers you?” she asked. Her frown appeared to show true concern.
Could he lie to her? When she was in control, she had roamed through his memories freely and could find things he was sure he had forgotten and she had broken his conditioning. Mostly. However, now it was his dream. Would she be able to tell if he kept things from her?
Or did he have to keep anything from her? In the waking world, she was an insane goddess locked in an aging body. Tragically, who would listen to her? Maybe he could open up and express a fear or doubt. Would she capitalize on it? Perhaps he should test her and find out.
“Ophelia,” Adam said, flatly. “And Mr. Leeds.”
She studied him over the rim of her tea cup for a moment before sitting the cup down gently in its saucer. “Both are worthy distractions.”
“Ophelia disrupted an operation tonight,” Adam said. “I was trying to ignore the situation with her but I don’t think I can. And Mr. Leeds complicates things even further.”
“I can imagine,” she said with, what appeared to be, genuine sympathy.
“Your presence, yours and Pappi’s, conceal his energy signature,” Adam stated.
Mahin nodded. “That along with certain structural properties of the Asylum.”
“Why would she protect him?”
Mahin looked to the busy street. For anyone else, he would have counted it as a nervous, reticent gesture. When she turned her head back to him, a slight smile graced her painted lips.
“Why haven't you told Abigail about Mr. Leeds?”
Adam almost harrumphed. “Because, thanks to you, I don’t have to. And also, I don’t think any of us are ready for that. She would evacuate and nuke Perdition Falls from orbit. I’m assuming the situation is contained or I would have discovered it sooner but it’s still a problem.”
“What if I told you that Mr. Leeds is fully devoted to Ophelia? Would that ease your mind at all?”
“Not really.”
“Did Abigail explain what he was?”
Adam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Only that creatures such as he were the ultimate threat to not just the world, but to reality itself. But it was ingrained during conditioning. There was never really an explanation.”
Mahin nodded knowingly. “To be fair, it’s not easy to explain.”
“Can you try?”
The waiter arrived with a small platter of biscotti and Mahin clapped her hands excitedly.
“How marvelous! Look, Adam, they are dipped in the darkest of chocolate. Jean-Pierre, This is an absolute delight!”
The waiter was obviously smitten and relished the praise. “May I bring the mademoiselle a fresh coffee?”
Adam nodded. Jean-Pierre bowed and stepped away.
Was Jean-Pierre smitten? Or was it Adam? Weren’t all the characters within his dream just projections of himself? It took no additional concentration to make the actors and it appeared that they functioned as expected. Why? How? Were they just projections that gained depth as he or Mahin interacted with them? So many questions.
Mahin dipped her biscotti in her remaining coffee and delicately nibbled at the end.
“Paris in the Twenties, you said?” she asked.
Adam nodded.
“Excellent choice.”
Adam chuckled. “I’m glad you are pleased.”
She dabbed her red lips with a line napkin and settled back. “So, who or what is Mr. Leeds.”
“Yes,” Adam said. “Please.”
“Well,” she said. “Keep in mind that this information may add complications that you can hardly imagine.”
“Try me.”
She studied him for a moment, then nodded very subtly to herself. “As you wish.” She folded her napkin and set it to the left of her plate. “I’ll have to assume that you are aware that this is one of many worlds.”
“I can accept the concept.”
“But understand that travel between these universes is very difficult. The actual physics, the very rules that govern these universes often vary by quite a bit.”
Adam nodded.
Mahin leaned forward, bracing her elbow on a crossed knee. “So when I say that Mr. Leeds belongs to a race of creatures that evolved to survive in almost any universe and they subsist by devouring realities at a base level, you may begin to understand the threat he may represent.”
Adam let that sit with what he knew.
“Ophelia seems to have appeared on the scene about five years ago,” Adam said slowly, thinking as he spoke. “I can assume that Mr. Leeds arrived with her. If Mr. Leeds can survive in various realities, then he would be very capable of traveling between the realities. Did he bring Ophelia into this world from another place or time?”
Mahin cocked her head to one side. “It’s not as easy as you might think but it is very possible.”
“Where did they come from?”
Mahin shook her head and settled back into her chair again. “That is not a simple question. It would be a similar reality with the same rules. There are a few to choose from but no way to know for sure.” She smiled. “No one has bothered to make any maps.”
“And Serita?”
“I have a feeling that Serita travels back and forth for reasons I do not know. But I have a theory,” her voice trailed off.
“I would love to hear it.”
Mahin’s face fell to a lovely portrait of neutrality. “This is my theory, based on my observations, nothing more.”
Adam nodded. “Understood.”
“I think,” Mahin said. “That Ophelia acts as both a beacon and a tether to this world for Serita.”
“What is their actual relationship?”
“Their base energy is the same,” Mahin said quickly. “They should be the same person or different parts of the same entity. Pappi believes that one being is actually fragmented into several and that Ophelia is the remnant. The smallest piece of a greater whole.”
“Which makes Serita,” Adam said, looking up to a cloudy sky.
“If that child realizes her power,” Mahin said evenly. “I’m not sure even Abigail could contain her.”
Adam centered his gaze and met her eyes. “Fascinating.”
Mahin smiled. “Isn’t it though? Although I do wonder: Does Abigail not recognize Ophelia or Serita?” Her eyes narrowed as she finished the question.
“She thinks she recognizes the energy,” Adam said, leaning forward. “She said it was ancient but she was unsure.”
The street around them faded to gray as data points clicked together in Adam’s mind.
“Abigail is not of this reality. She’s from the same place Serita and Ophelia are from. But she’s been here so long that she’s forgotten.”
“The ages weigh on one.” Mahin’s eyes darted around at the encroaching fog. “I am about to get booted,” she said.
A thousand things he had seen, some of which he had been told to forget, melded into a narrative that suddenly made sense. In the gray, an image of Ophelia materialized to the left, followed by Serita. On the right, Abigail materialized. They hovered in the Quick, swirls of light orbited each of them in the form that Adam remembered them. But the light, the energy . . .
“Similar energy. Different, but the same flavor.”
Mr. Leeds materialized next to Abigail. Very different patterns, very different flavors. But some of the energies flowed the same way with the same colors. How? How could Abigail and Mr. Leeds share patterns?
“Adam?”
His head snapped around. Mahin was falling into the gray. Adam spun in place and suddenly Mahin was in his arms and the Paris street snapped into place around them, like pieces of a three dimensional puzzle. His arm held her around her waist. Her hand rested against his lapel.
“Wasn’t quite done yet,” he said.
“No,” Mahin said. “It would seem, you’re just getting started.”
They held each other’s eyes for a moment and then each took a step back.
“One thing, Adam,” Mahin said, her face serious and her tone dark. “You said that Abigail is not of this reality. But, understand, Abigail is this reality. Please understand that.” She realized her hand still rested on his lapel. She dropped it quickly. “Just be careful.”
Adam caught her hand and brought her knuckles to his lips. Up tempo jazz filtered into the dream, something akin to the Charleston Rag. In a blink, the street transitioned to night, with gas lamps glowing and honking, sputtering cars traversing a generally festive atmosphere. Mahin smiled and he was sure it was a genuine smile of delight.
“Just curious,” Adam said, as the jazz music filled the air. “Do you dance?”
