We traveled a long time before reaching a midget-sized door on the right side of the tunnel. It was so small and inconspicuously made, I didn’t think we would’ve seen it if it weren’t already open.

We came to a stop. There wasn’t a doorknob, just a tiny keyhole with a small key sticking out from it. A moonwort key.

“Are we going in there?” asked Selene.

“Yes,” said Eli. “We have to.”

He was right. It wasn’t just mere coincidence that had brought us here, but something more. Dream-seer, I thought. Was this what it truly meant to be one, that things happened by fate instead of chance?

Even though a part of me didn’t want to see what was beyond that door, there was no turning back. But nothing in the world could’ve prepared me for what happened on the other side.

23

The Keepers

Just like in Eli’s dream, the other side of the door revealed a cramped tunnel leading steeply downward. It twisted and coiled like a snake as we walked along it, moving slower now than before. Eli had removed the moonwort key and shut the door behind us, giving us another layer of safety from Culpepper and George the hellhound.

Within moments, we heard the sounds of a struggle somewhere ahead. Somebody was fighting, casting combative spells and curses the same you’d hear in gym class or the gladiator games. What wasn’t the same were the loud bangs and vibrations of unrestrained magic crashing into stone. My heart thudded against my rib cage as we picked up the pace. There was a loud boom followed by silence.

At last, the tunnel led us to a chamber, the same chamber from Eli’s dream with the tomb sitting at its center on a raised platform. Not everything was the same as the dream, but close. Everlasting Fire burned in the sconces, bathing the chamber in an eerie purple light, but centuries of dirt covered the tomb, obscuring the crystal and engravings. And also like the dream, Bethany Grey was there.

So was my mother.

I stopped, shocked by the scene before me. Bethany was lying beside the tomb with her belly against the ground and her arms and legs bent backward behind her, wrists and ankles tied together with silvery rope made of magic. It looked as if my mother had used the binding curse on her. Bethany was whimpering as blood flowed from what remained of the ring finger of her right hand.

Above Bethany, my mother had pushed the lid off the tomb and climbed inside. She now sat crouched in a position I knew all too well—a Nightmare feeding. What the—?

Eli sprinted into the chamber toward Bethany, outdistancing the rest of us. He knelt beside her and grabbed at the silver rope.

“Don’t!” I shouted, but it was too late. There was a sizzling sound like water striking hot grease, and Eli jerked his hand away, swearing. Blisters popped up on his skin where he’d touched the rope.

Selene cast the counter-spell, and the ropes fell away. Bethany let out a groan as her limbs returned to normal position. Selene bent down and helped her sit up while Eli ripped off a piece of his shirt and wrapped it around the bleeding stump where her ring finger used to be.

“What happened?” Eli said.

Bethany took a shuddering breath. “Moira found out I’m the third Keeper and attacked me. She took the ring to open the tomb.”

I wondered how Bethany could be the third Keeper and still be alive, but I didn’t get a chance to ask.

“You’ve got to go after her, Dusty,” Bethany said.

“What?”

“Your mother. She’s going for the sword. You need to stop her.”

“Where is it?” I glanced up at the tomb, not understanding. There was no doubt my mother was dream-feeding, but I didn’t see how that was possible. It was a tomb for goodness sake, a place for dead people. And dead people didn’t dream.

I stood and walked to the side of the tomb, taking note of the three Keeper rings that had been placed inside those small round holes that Bethany had said were locks. The one on the left I recognized as Rosemary’s. The one on the right I guessed had been Ankil’s. The one in the middle was smeared with Bethany’s blood.

I peered over the side of the tomb, unsure what to expect as dread pounded inside my skull. It couldn’t be the Red Warlock’s tomb, not if that one was supposed to be in Britain. A woman lay inside it, and from the looks of her she was far from dead. She appeared not much older than my mother, although it was hard to say for sure. There was something ageless about her face. Her body seemed frail like an elderly person’s, but no wrinkles or age spots marred her skin. Yet, she had to be old. Even magickind didn’t wear dresses like that anymore. She looked like a medieval princess, Sleeping Beauty waiting for her prince.

Then it dawned on me how familiar her face was. It was my face, only different, like an intentional variation. I glanced at my mother, perched above the woman. It was Moira’s face, too. The same nose and mouth, same tilt to the eyes.

Then I understood. This woman was my ancestor. “This is—”

“Nimue,” Bethany said from behind me. “She’s the fourth Keeper. The sword is hidden somewhere inside her dream. You’ve got to find it.”

I turned to look at Bethany, shivering with fear. She wanted me to go in there? Face my mother inside a dream? “Why can’t you go after her?”

“I won’t stand a chance against her right now. But you might. You’re her daughter. She won’t hurt you.”

I shook my head.

“You’ve got to go now. If she gets the sword first, there’ll be no stopping her.”