Dream Paris Read Online Free Page A

snapped Petrina. Good for her. “She’s not going to this Dream Paris place.”
    But I was. I’d just read the last line.
    Nivôse 23rd, Dream Paris. Anna is arguing with Margaret Sinfield.
    Margaret Sinfield. That was my mother, last seen being taken off to the workhouse. I’d spent the last few months wondering if she was alive or dead. Now I knew the answer. She was alive. She was alive in Dream Paris.
    Petrina and Mr Twelvetrees were arguing, their words reverberating in the hollowness inside me. I was terrified, but I knew then that I was going to Dream Paris. Of course I was. My mother was there.

DREAM PARIS
     
     
    M R T WELVETREES FLICKED open his brass watch and felt the dial. I read the hands. It was 5:10.
    “Less than fifteen minutes, Ms Kent.”
    I was becoming more impressed by Petrina. She was obviously frightened, but she was keeping it together. Perhaps I had been too harsh on her earlier. She may have dressed like a girl, but here, when it counted, she was acting like a professional. I sometimes think that’s the difference between adults and children. Adults are better at acting.
    Petrina was firm. “I don’t know what sick game you’re playing, Mr Twelvetrees, but I’m not leaving you alone here with Anna. The poor girl is terrified.”
    “She’s not a girl, she’s a young woman. And I’m not playing games. I’m merely showing her what’s written on a piece of paper.”
    Nonsense! He was showing me my fortune. He’d been in Dream London. He knew what that meant. Even Petrina had some idea, now. She was licking her lips, eyes flicking this way and that, no doubt looking for the thing that was coming to kill her.
    What if it were already in the house?
    “Stay here,” I said.
    I hurried from the kitchen. The front door was closed, no doubt pulled to by Mr Twelvetrees’ chauffeur. I ran upstairs and did a quick check of the rooms, looking under the beds (there were bells under them, silver bells that would tinkle if anything moved), opening cupboards (the smell of dried flowers still lingered), peered around the corners into the corridors that led nowhere (mouse traps and caltrops left scattered on the floor). Nothing. There was nothing in the house that I could see that should present any danger to Petrina.
    I returned to the kitchen, the sound of a trumpet fanfare in my head.
    “Run, Petrina,” I said. “Get out of here.”
    “Not without you, Anna. I can’t leave you alone here with this man!”
    Of course she couldn’t. She was doing her job. My admiration for her increased still further.
    “Then let’s go now,” I said. “Both of us.”
    “That won’t make any difference,” said Mr Twelvetrees. “You’ll still be back here at 5:25.”
    He was right, of course. I picked up the scroll again, ran my finger down the fortune.
    “It doesn’t mention my father. Does that mean he’s dead?”
    “It doesn’t mean anything,” said Petrina. “A stranger walks into your house and shows you a piece of paper. That doesn’t mean anything, Anna.”
    “You don’t understand, Petrina, I’ve seen these scrolls before. If one says my mother is in Dream Paris, then I’m going to go to Dream Paris. How could I not do so? She might be trapped there!”
    “ If it’s a genuine fortune scroll. And even if your mother is trapped in Dream Paris, it’s not your responsibility to sort out her problems.”
    Did she think I hadn’t heard that a hundred times before? That’s the worst thing about people like Petrina. They come out with the same old platitudes and they think they’re saying something profound. It annoys me so much! And yet, I couldn’t be too annoyed with her. If the scroll was true, Petrina had around ten minutes to live…
    As if on cue, Mr Twelvetrees spoke up.
    “5:15. Ten more minutes to go!”
    “Stop that, Mr Twelvetrees!” snapped Petrina. “You don’t frighten me with your piece of paper.” Her voice suggested otherwise.
    “I’m not trying to frighten