a dreamer. Cultures around the world, throughout all of history, have found magic in dreams. Dreams are used for prophecy, for touching the waking world, for communing with the divine. When you sleep, you enter liminal space, and liminal space is where the magic happens. The ancient Greeks knew this, and seeing as the Sisterhood was dedicated to Hekate’s service, they knew this too.”
“I’m assuming she got recruited fast,” Seelie said.
“The start of a stellar rise through the ranks. Aislin was a once-in-a-generation talent. A magical powerhouse even before her formal training began. She soon became a mistress of oneiromancy—dream-witching—and the coven funded her passion project. It was what the Greeks called an Asclepion, a temple of sleep and healing. And in return, Aislin set herself to the problem of the statue. It needed a new hiding place, one so secure that even a terror like Dieter Rime couldn’t breach its walls.”
Nell perched on the edge of the couch. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, taking in the story. Wheels turned behind her eyes as she spoke up.
“That’s what she’s doing. Swan. Aislin Kendricks buried the statue in that grave, and Swan found it, but she can’t get it. Not on her own. She doesn’t know how.”
“I figure she’s rounding up anybody who might have the spark,” Tyler said. “Lucid dreamers, people with sleep disorders, mystics. A dream witch built the lock. She needs another one to act as the key.”
Patty closed her scrapbook. The heavy tome rested on her fragile knees.
“But a little natural talent isn’t enough,” Patty said. “A little natural talent will only get you killed. Aislin laid more than a curse on that grave. She wove what we call a Eurysthean Labor. A string of occult challenges, with the most exacting requirements for success. A Eurysthean Labor, by its design, must begin with an act of free will: you have to knowingly commit to it, and accept the consequences. More often than not, you’ll need to violate some sort of cultural taboo just to get started.”
“Taboo?” Seelie asked.
“For most people, a taboo is a brick wall, a locked door. A line that must never be crossed. But witches don’t follow other people’s rules. We’re outlaws, by nature, and we write our own codes to live by. For a witch, a taboo is merely a caution marker.”
“Like digging up a grave,” Tyler said.
“Like digging up a grave. That’s only where it begins, though. A Labor is more than a bit of squeamish work. It is cruel, by design and by necessity. There will be sacrifice. And there will be pain. When you commit to the challenge, there are only three possible outcomes.”
Patty held up three fingers.
“You quit while you still can, you see it through to the end and earn your victory laurels, or you die trying.”
46.
The living room fell into silence. Tyler and Nell shared a glance. Seelie watched their host. She was inscrutable, hands resting upon her scrapbook as if waiting for them to make a decision. Seelie could see Max, her granddaughter, sitting at a chrome-legged table in the kitchen. The teenager flipped tarot cards one by one onto the Formica, muttering under her breath before scooping them up and shuffling again.
“Eventually,” Tyler said, “Swan’s going to get lucky.”
“If she finds a once-in-a-generation talent,” Patty replied.
“She’s immortal, right?”
“As far as I know. Immortal and unkillable. We’ve tried. Believe me, we’ve tried.”
“If you put infinite monkeys in a room full of infinite typewriters, sooner or later one of ’em is going to bang out the script for Hamlet. We might all be dead and gone by the time Leda cracks into the grave, but I’m not okay with passing the buck. We need to fix this.”
“What about you?” Seelie asked her.
Patty lifted her chin. “Me?”
“You’re an oneiromancer, just like Aislin was, aren’t you? I mean, I read your book. I studied it.”
The older woman chuckled, dry.
“Hon, I’m a dabbler. I have a little talent. Remember what I said about what a little talent buys you? Aislin’s Labor would chew me up and spit me right back out again.”
“Then why would you…” Seelie’s voice trailed off. “The book. It was a low-tech version of the Loom. You were looking for oneiromancers.”
“Back in 1969, it was considered a priority assignment. We wanted to make sure the old magic was still holding and have a specialist on standby in case of trouble. I was the only one we had, and I couldn’t even find the gravesite. Still