The Last Dream Keeper Read Online Free Page A

angsty teenager, and she found it hard to reconcile the two aspects of herself.
    â€œI just wanted to check in on you, make sure you were holding up okay?”
    Dev’s voice was warm and reassuring, and she could imagine her friend in the kitchen of the cozy Victorian she shared withher partner, Freddy, and their two daughters, holding a mug of something hot and autumn-spicy in her hand.
    â€œYou must be psychic,” Lyse said, then realized the old adage actually kind of applied in this situation. Dev was a diviner, the tarot her divination tool of choice. Though Lyse hadn’t seen Dev at work, from what Eleanora and the other blood sisters said, she was very talented at her craft.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Dev asked, instantly picking up on the fact that something was amiss.
    Lyse twisted the rubbery telephone cord around her finger. She was desperate to pour out the horror of the previous night’s encounter with the man who claimed to be her long-lost uncle David. She’d tell her story—the kidnapping, the attack, the ghost causing the Lady of the Lake statue to topple and crush her uncle to death—and Dev’s maternal instincts would kick in and she’d tell Lyse it wasn’t her fault, that her uncle’s death was his own doing. And this would happen before she’d even told Dev the worst of it: that this horrible human being, this uncle she’d never known, was the murderer responsible for Eleanora’s death.
    Something he’d told her, wearing a look of glee on his hateful face, before he’d tried to murder her, too.
    â€œIt’s not something . . .” She paused, unsure of how to put it. “I mean, uh, maybe I can come to you. We can talk? I don’t want to do it over the phone.”
    â€œOf course, come now,” Dev said. “Come whenever . . . I just want you to know you can tell me anything and I won’t judge. It’s always a safe space at the Montrose house.”
    Lyse wasn’t worried about being judged. She was worried about going to jail if a body ever turned up.
    â€œGive me an hour—I wanna shower and get dressed.”
    â€œOf course,” Dev replied, a breathless quality to her voice.
    â€œAnd get hold of the others,” Lyse added. “I’m really sorry, but I think we’re in way over our heads.”
    Even then she knew the sentence was an understatement.

Lyse

    T he knock at the door scared her.
    Showered now and dressed in a flannel shirt and a pair of old acid-washed jeans, she made her way through the living room, finding that the sunlight streaming through the skylights gave the space a hazy, ephemeral quality. Like looking at the world though a layer of gauzy cotton fabric, or a camera lens greased with Vaseline in an attempt to blur the edges of an already dreamlike reality.
    A second knock on the door made Lyse jump. She stopped at the stone fireplace to scoop up the black wrought-iron poker and held the makeshift weapon aloft, feeling its heft in her hand. No matter who was at the door, she wanted to be prepared, and just holding the heavy poker made her feel more secure.
    Moving with as little sound as possible, she crossed the hardwood floor, reaching the front door just as another volley of knocks echoed through the bungalow. She stopped at the threshold, letting the abrasive knocking wash over her. Holding her breath, she hoisted the poker in front of her like a lance.
    â€œI have a weapon, but I don’t want to hurt you!” she yelled, her words ringing with what she hoped was authority.
    The banging stopped.
    Her heart, which was already beating faster than normal, started to hammer in staccato sixteenth notes—so fast Lyse began to feel light-headed. She waited for the person on the other side of the door to say something.
    There was only silence.
    She reached out with her free hand and unlocked the deadbolt. Her other arm was shaking from the