streets and avenues, carving the city into mighty blocks of granite and glass. The sinuous curves of FDR Drive caressing the eastern coast of the island like a hand on a lover’s hip, the docks and piers bristling along the western shore. At the heart of Manhattan, Central Park glimmered like a leaf in the rain, vibrant and emerald-dark.
She heard the rattle of towering cranes and the rumbling of trucks as she built the bridges. One of her ghostly hands trailed along the support strands of the Brooklyn Bridge, playing them like a harp. She saw the tunnels and the subways. They were a map of dirty gold glowing beneath the streets, the concealed arteries of a metropolis alive and pumping blood.
Cold night wind buffeted her face. She tasted river salt on the air and felt firm stone beneath her feet.
“Yes,” Aislin said.
Seelie opened her eyes. They were standing on the ledge of the Chrysler Building. Sixty-one stories above the city streets, flanked by eagles of chrome, the final curving floors and the skyscraper’s art-deco spire at their backs. Seelie wobbled on her heels, her stomach lurching, and pressed her back to the polished stone. Aislin gazed in awe, taking in the sweep of the city by night.
“Are you afraid of heights?” Aislin asked.
“Uh, yes?”
“So am I,” she said with an eager smile.
It was too real. Seelie knew she was dreaming. Her body was out cold, curled up in an empty coffin in the waking world. All the same, she dug into her pocket and fumbled for her token.
“You’re growing stronger,” Aislin said. “It won’t be long before you’re able to bridge the divide.”
The Monopoly car emerged from her pocket as a butterfly with chrome wings. The wings fluttered, catching moonlight. The butterfly rose from Seelie’s fingertip, hovering in front of her face.
“Bridge the divide?” she echoed.
“Dreams leave a residue behind in the waking world. With practice, an oneiromancer can walk amid memories, sift through symbols, interrogate the past.” Aislin reached to her. “I want to teach you something. Take my hand.”
Seelie looked from her hand, to the lip of the ledge, to the chasm down below. Brake lights flared in the darkness, a cacophony of horns and sirens washing up on the night wind.
“We’re not going to do what I think we’re going to do, are we?”
“I’ll tell you this: to unlock the third part of the Labor, and battle through to the temple of dreams, you will have to make a leap of faith.” Aislin grinned at her. “So how about getting some practice, here, where it’s safe?”
“It’s just…I’ve never had a dream feel this real before.”
“And yet you are dreaming. Which makes you the queen of this place, even if you can’t feel your crown. Do you trust me?”
She took Aislin’s hand. Heart pounding, holding her breath, she leaned forward. They kicked away from the ledge like a pair of swimmers launching into a race.
And then they flew. Hand in hand, soaring southbound through the canyon of Lexington Avenue with the wind whistling in their ears. Seelie laughed, giddy now, her free hand snatching at the cool air.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you?” Aislin asked her. “Witches can fly.”
They banked at East Fortieth, turning west, past the temple of the public library and the winding paths and plazas of Bryant Park. Aislin drew up short and Seelie caught herself, hovering in place at her side. She barely noticed that Aislin had let go of her hand two blocks back. Aislin reached into the folds of her dress and produced a familiar-looking straight razor.
“I…I think this might be yours.” Seelie dug into her pocket. Her imagination conjured a clone of Patty’s razor, the one she carried in the waking world. She held it next to Aislin’s. Same black lacquered hilt, same blade, turning to liquid mercury in the moonlight as Aislin flicked it open by the handle.
“Now where,” Aislin purred, “did you find that?”
“Another dream witch. She got it handed down from her teacher. She never told me it was yours. I’m not sure if she knew.” Seelie paused, uncertain. “Do you, um, want me to give it back?”
“Well. I’m not the actual Aislin Kendricks, just a perfect but dated copy, so you’ll have to take it up with her spirit. But if I know her—and I do, better than anyone—I’d think she’d want you to have that. At least until the Labor is complete and you succeed or fail. If you triumph, it’s yours by right. If you