Lifting his fingers, I hesitated before placing them on the goblin. What if goblins were involved? What would happen to him? What would I do? Whatever the outcome, I had to know the truth in order to help him.
I touched his finger to the statuette.
The mirror fogged for half a second, so brief I could have imagined it.
Deathbringer, the mirror whispered.
I shuddered and pulled Jeremiah’s hand away.
If Jeremiah had encountered goblins, the memory would have replayed in the screen. For nothing to appear brought me two conclusions: whoever held Jeremiah’s mind used goblin magic, and they didn’t want to be found.
Chapter 4
“What’s wrong with him?” Mrs. Dickinson asked.
I clicked my case shut. “I don’t know. He must be under a spell of some sort, but I’ve never seen an enchantment like this.” I studied Jeremiah’s face, wishing I could talk to him. Something must have changed since I’d seen him last. But what? “Has he woken for very long?” I asked. “Has he said anything?”
“The doctors gave him something to keep him awake. They said it would stimulate his cerebral cortex. It didn’t work.”
Jeremiah stirred. He mumbled something, and that’s when I paid attention to his twitching eyes. He was dreaming.
A thought struck me. If I could enter his dream, I could possibly communicate with him and find out who had spellcasted him.
I lifted my bag and pulled out my dream catcher. Turquoise beads clanked along the loom. I ran my hand across the tightened strings and striped blue jay feathers. Magic caressed my fingertips. Native American magic.
I’d been trained in dragon magic, but Native magic had been easy to pick up. They were very similar. I focused on Mrs. Dickinson. “This will be my last test, I promise. Would it be too much if I asked you to step out of the room?”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll just wait outside.” She stepped out the door and walked into the hallway.
Her disbelief wouldn’t help with this sort of spellcasting. If I wanted to succeed, I’d have better chances with her out of the room.
I glanced at Jeremiah. I couldn’t leave him alone until I knew more about what was going on with him. I felt dark magic. I had to know where it came from.
Closing my eyes, I summoned the symbols I would need for the dreamcasting. Going into someone’s mind was never a walk in the park. I could get lost in there if I weren’t careful, and I wouldn’t have anyone to pull me out. Coupled with the strange dark magic I felt, I knew this might very well be the stupidest thing I’d ever done. But I needed more information, and Jeremiah’s mind was the best place to find it.
Holding the dream catcher, I focused on the dream symbol. Magic symbols were unique from person to person. That’s why it was so hard for people to learn real magic—no one could teach it to them. A person had to discover every symbol, every magic word, on their own.
I clenched the dream catcher in one hand and let my other hand rest on the warm skin of Jeremiah’s forehead.
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, steadied my breathing, and then let my mind wander through the dream catcher and into Jeremiah’s consciousness.
The scent of rain filled the air. A chill wind gusted as the room disappeared.
I opened my eyes.
An open field covered in gray ash surrounded me. Large boulders with ancient carvings sat haphazardly on the open plain. I spotted a jagged mountain range in the distance and realized I’d seen those peaks before. I was in Faythander—but why had I come here?
A hand grabbed mine. Jeremiah stood beside me. I knew I’d made it inside his mind—into his dream—but how could he be dreaming about this place if he’d never been here?
“You came,” he said and smiled. Short, cropped curls covered his scalp. He’d always been on the chubby side—baby fat, I guess—and his large, chocolate-brown eyes sparkled when he got excited. They lit up when he looked at me.
“I’m sorry I didn’t visit sooner,” I said.
“It’s okay. Are you going to take me bowling again?”
“You liked it that much?”
“I loved it.”
“If you loved it, then I don’t have a choice, do I? But I’ve got to figure out what’s wrong with you first.”
His face darkened. I felt his fingers tighten around mine.
“Are you afraid of something?” I asked.
He nodded.
“What’s scaring you?”
“I can’t tell you,” he whispered.
“Why?”
He shook his head in a quick motion, his fingers cutting off my circulation. I knelt to be eye level with him. “Why can’t you tell me?”
Tears formed in his eyes. “Please don’t make me talk about it.”
I hugged him to my chest. “I’m sorry. I’m only trying to help you.”
The wind picked up around us, blustering with a wail that rose in pitch.
He sniffled with his nose buried in my shoulder. Tears moistened my sleeve. I hugged his tiny body to mine, praying I could find a way to get him out of this place.
“It hasn’t been here in a while,” he whispered after a few sobs.
I pulled away. It? “Can you tell me what it looks like?”
He cried. Fat tears streamed down his cheeks.
What had him so spooked? I knew I didn’t have much time. “Can you tell me anything about what’s been scaring you?”
“No, no, no…”
I pulled him back to my chest as his body shook with sobs. I needed more information. Anything he could tell me would help, but I didn’t dare ask him again. If he told me anything, it would have to be because he wanted to.
His body went rigid. I felt an iciness behind me, a feeling that crept up my spine and chilled me to the bone.
“Dreamthief,” he whispered.
“What?”
“Behind you.”
I rounded slowly. All the irrational fears I’d experienced as a kid came rushing back. Fear grabbed hold and wouldn’t let
