The girl stops talking. And swallows, it seems.
“At any rate,” she continues (so, so beautiful), “I tried to pack as light as possible in case you weren’t actually you, and I needed to make a run for it.” The girl looks up at Dare and smiles. The warmth from those earlier breezes is nothing compared to the fire that has ignited within Dare’s bones, marrow and all.
Which is…familiar.
“I brought you some food,” the girl goes on, still down on one knee, removing more items from her hidden satchel. “Crusty bread and chèvre. They’re your favorites, right? At least they used to be. I think….”
At the girl’s sudden shyness, Dare can’t take any more. “You’re the Dream girl,” Dare says—well, croaks, really—finally finding her tongue and remembering how to use it. It occurs to Dare how disheveled she must appear. How…raggedy.
She hates it.
This is when Dare notices the chunks of bark-like armor littering the uneven treehouse floor at her feet.
The girl’s—Dream, Dare believes her name is—eyes widen. Dare notices that they sparkle in the moonlight. Like black sapphires.
“What did you say?” Dream asked.
“That’s your name, isn’t it? Dream?”
The Dream girl rises to her feet but doesn’t respond.
“I remember you,” Dare continues. “You used to follow me into these woods when we were younger.”
Now Dream’s eyes really widen. “You knew?”
It’s Dare’s turn to smile. She wonders if her smile affects Dream like Dream’s smile affects her—
Dare doesn’t think she’s ever hoped for anything the way she hopes for this.
“Yes, I knew,” Dare says. “And I enjoyed every moment that I knew you were around somewhere. You followed me all the time.”
Now Dream’s chin drops. Is she…embarrassed?
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Dream says.
“You saw me up there,” Dare says, pointing to her favorite bough. It’s still a good ten feet above the pair of girls, and Dare only does it because she wants Dream to look up. To lift her gaze from the ground. Set it skyward where Dare remembers it always being.
But Dream’s eyes never make it beyond Dare’s face. “I’ve always seen you, Princess.” Dream takes a tenuous step closer to Dare.
It makes Dare’s heart race, but she further closes the gap between them. Dare remembers the day she deliberately stopped beneath the tree Dream was perched in, hoping Dream would follow her deeper into the woods so Dream wouldn’t feel so alone.
And Dream had. Dream did.
Though Dream had kept herself hidden (Dare could totally see her, but she’ll keep that part to herself), Dream saw Dare.
Dream is seeing Dare now.
And Dare is seeing Dream.
They are (finally!) seeing each other.
Dream takes another step. The girls are about the same height, but Dream’s figure, Dare notices, has dips and bumps where Dare is slim and straight lined.
Dare would like to run her newly barkless hands down into the valley of Dream’s waist and over the hills of her hips. So she closes what space remains between them. “No one’s ever called me that before,” Dare breathes against Dream’s lips.
Dream, who closes her eyes. Dreaming, it seems. “Called you what?” she says back.
“Princess,” Dare says, barely above a whisper.
Then neither girl is speaking at all.
Words formed in the air this time, the edges of the letters iridescent. At first, Lane thought they were another weird symptom of his decades-long headache. They stayed where they were when he tilted his head, though, which was a clue.
“At last.” Lane tossed the book he’d been rereading onto the other end of the sofa. “Took long enough.” He pushed himself up and stepped to where the passage was slowly building itself in the wall of his den that wasn’t occupied by his sofa, the tiny kitchenette, or the bookshelves full of used books. Lane bounced on the balls of his feet as he wondered where on Earth he would find himself this time. Maybe Istanbul again? Anywhere was good as long as they had good food. He would, metaphorically, kill for a fresh cup of coffee.
Telling how much time had passed out in the world was always chancy from inside the LAMP, but it felt like it had been much longer than usual this time. His supplies were running short, and he’d had to read everything in the place three times over. While Granters didn’t need as much as people who lived outside a LAMP, it was still nice to have fresh supplies.
Each new word shimmered into being, solidifying in a way he felt more than saw, and as one after another slid into place, shaping a path between his rooms and the world beyond the LAMP, Lane could smell the edges of the place he was about to step into. A bit flat and metallic to his scent-starved senses.
Likely not Istanbul, then, but possibly still a place with some interesting foods to try once he got the Wish taken care of. If things went to trend, it would be something frivolous and easy that wouldn’t really change anything. Three of the last four Wishes he’d granted had been for the latest sports car. The fourth had been some fancy exercise equipment.
After a minor eternity, with a stir of the air that felt like a Call, the connection between the LAMP and the world was complete. Lane was ready, hovering on the threshold.
He stepped through.
As the universe re-formed around him, he said, “Okay, what can I—”
No one was there. He saw consoles and computer equipment mixed with books and some mementos. A stuffed elephant sat on a shelf tucked under a corner of sloping ceiling at eye level, a creased postcard of the cliffs of Dover on its lap. The jumbled pile of odds and ends somehow seemed cozy. The wall was less than an arm’s length away.
“Oh!”
The soft exclamation came from behind him and he spun around. A girl stared at him, wide-eyed. He glanced down and realized he’d forgotten to change. Not just his clothes, which were the jeans and faded Star Wars T-shirt he’d most liked growing up, but his body, too. People expected someone older, more mysterious when they Wished. But maybe it wasn’t so bad. The girl seemed like she was about his age, not counting the centuries he’d been a Granter, which he never did. Seventeen at most. And already staring at him as if he had two heads, which he didn’t. Just the one. He had unexceptional brown eyes and hair, and copper skin; he was as human as she was, mostly.
Though she was much paler, her skin somehow chalky, as if she didn’t get enough sun. Even the brown of her cropped hair was washed out. Her eyes were sharp and quick, so maybe that was just the style now. Her clothes were a good hint that styles had changed since he’d last been Called. She was wearing the soft stretchy material he usually thought of as pajamas, but what she wore was much more like a uniform than he’d ever seen someone wear to bed. She had to be the new Wisher. The LAMP orb rested in her hand.