The void returned in a snap.

  This time I wasn’t alone. Ash clung to me as though we’d ripped out his soul. His face was bristly with a day’s worth of scruff. His eyes bloodshot with unshed tears.

  I wrapped my arm around him, tucking him into a hug.

  He sobbed, deep wracking gasps. As I held him, letting the emotion bleed out, I looked at Richard. The slug’s oversized tentacles drooped as though the vision was his fault.

  Ash shook, tucked into my chin like a small child.

  My own memories floated by in the void.

  The last time I’d sobbed uncontrollably, it’d been the night Minvi and I had broken off. I’d stumbled home, and my sister, Share, had answered my knock. She’d shooed the kids out of the barn and had listened to me ramble all night.

  When the words failed, and the tears of a broken heart and tattered self-image fell, she held me.

  “It’ll be okay,” I told him, just like she’d told me. I gently patted his back, patiently waiting for the emotion to drain. This level of grief wasn’t sustainable for very long.

  My patience won as his sobs slowly turned to snuffles.

  We need to find Meredeath. Richard’s mental voice held empathy, but it was obvious he was impatient to continue the journey. Can you get him moving?

  “Ash, Meredeath’s trapped too. We need to find her,” I spoke the words kindly, but firm. Richard’s insistence meant we were on a clock.

  Ash nodded, unable to trust himself to speak. I didn’t blame him. His voice was going to be raw for a week.

  “We’re going to follow Richard’s slime trail. Keep your feet on the slime.” I instructed, stepping forward carefully. I kept Ash’s hand in mine like I was guiding my young niece, Saphira, down a wooded path.

  One foot in front of the other, I concentrated on the slime, Richard, and not falling into the void.

  Ash trailed behind like a lost, broken puppy.

  Thankfully, Richard was in charge. His tentacles stretched out before him like a bloodhound on a scent.

  I found… Tandy?

  A faint golden spark floated in the limitless darkness. A beacon that sparked hope in my chest.

  Faint piano drew us onward. Notes audible over the glide of a shuttle.

  I took another step forward as packed dirt replaced glistening slime.

  Looking into the dream, I realized immediately we were in Dusridge. The clay was redder in Dusridge; the roads dustier.

  I’d only been to Aunt Stacy’s once, but it’d been memorable. She ran an apple orchard close to town, and had graciously let Leo, Tandy, and me stay with her one festival. Not having children of her own, she spoiled us ruthlessly.

  I didn’t remember her having a piano.

  Richard slimed up the front stairs. Aunt Stacy’s house had a long wrap-around porch that she frequently sat out on, sipping lemonade.

  Now the porch was empty. The orchard muted.

  Stay here while I pull Tandy out of the dream.

  Dust on the road kicked up as a distant figure on horseback approached. I couldn’t make them out in the harsh summer sun.

  A key plunked dissonantly, and Aunt Stacy’s voice rose in warm encouragement.

  “That’s okay, dear, you haven’t practiced since you were here last.” She’d said the words between shifts of a shuttle, as though she were working at the loom and Tandy was the one playing.

  “Momma won’t let me.” The tiny, tinny voice of a young Tandy responded.

  As the figure on the horse drew near, I could make out a tight bonnet and a sharp nose. My heart pounded. I’d endured the woman’s tirade before.

  She could sting a nettle and bring tears to granite.

  It was Tandy’s mom.

  “I know, honey, but you’re here now so you can practice. And remember what I said about your mom.”

  My heart pounded as the horse drew up to the house. My feet itched to step into the dream, to interrupt the woman as strode to the porch.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Tandy’s tiny voice drifted in the air.

  “This is our secret. Momma mustn’t find out.”

  She plunked a key, pausing for a moment before her hands found the right spot. A melody fell from her fingers like a gift from the Everbear, drowning out the steps of her mother’s shoes as they hit the stairs of the porch.

  I yearned to save my friend, but my feet were rooted. I knew what the inevitable conclusion of this had to be and had zero desire to become part of this memory. The severe set of face, and the dramatic stomp of feet.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Stacy?”

  The loom stopped. However, the piano continued to play, as if Tandy’s fingers were in a trance. The melody danced faster than the composer intended, but strong.

  “She’s a genius, Lora.”

  “I know she’s a genius, Stacy, by the Everbear’s tits! Do you think I’m a fool?” Tandy’s hands kept working on the keyboard, her notes a little louder, as though she were trying to tune the voices of her family out.

  “The loom is a waste of her talent. Her gift is this, and even you’ve got to recognize it—listen to her. She’s five, Lora, five.” Stacy’s voice rose as the music crescendoed.

  The music danced in the air. I’d unconsciously taken a step forward, into the dream. The summer heat hit in a moment, the dust choking the air. The scent of sweat on a horse’s hide mixed with the oiled leather of a saddle.

  Tandy’s music was even more magnificent without the filter. It trilled, caressing my ears like that of a lover.

  “I don’t care if she’s fifty, she’s a [Weaver]. Genius is earned, and we’ve paid for a [Weaver].” Tandy’s mom was rock hard, like the planes of her face. I’d always hated her, hated the whip of expectation that she’d applied to Tandy throughout our youth.

  I didn’t know I could find it in me to hate her more until now.

  Ash popped through the unseen barrier too. He looked around, his own grief forgotten momentarily at the wonder of being in someone else’s dream.

  Richard, perched on an internal window ledge, peered out at us.

  You only had to follow one rule: stay out of the dream.

  I mouthed the word, sorry, to him and gave an apologetic shrug. I mimicked stepping to the side, so he knew we were just going to stay out of the way.

  Richard undulated forward. Craning my neck, I saw the back of Tandy sitting in perfect posture as her fingers danced along the keyboard.

  The song she’d been playing had melted into another song. Her face was forward, as though she couldn’t or refused to hear the two women arguing behind her back. She was one with the piano, with the music.

  Stacy’s voice was low, almost inaudible over the next piece. Tandy’s little hands hit the keys harder, the only nod to the conversation.

  “Why, Lora? Why is she a [Weaver]? Why is this so important to you?” Stacy’s voice pleaded. And when her sister didn’t reply, it broke. “Why is this so much more important than your daughter’s happiness?”

  A key hit harshly, but Tandy ignored the mistake as her fingers danced on.

  “I didn’t know,” Lora answered, her voice tired. It broke as she continued, regret heavy. “You know Mother.”

  “What did Mother do?” Stacy’s voice had gone cold. Harden with the harm their mother had done. As though the woman were the root of all harm.

  “S-she promised—“ Lora’s voice cut off as Tandy’d reached the end of the song.

  Without being conscious of it, I’d found myself up at the window trying to peer in. Richard had made it to the piano, sliding forward to bite her foot. Tandy looked back over her shoulder, frowning at me.

  “—the Nullwrights.” Lora finished as Richard’s fangs chomped down.

  The child I’d known growing up had turned, her face locked onto mine in pain and confusion.

  “The Nullwrights?!” Stacy screeched as the world went dark.

  I stood in the void, Ash clutching my hand.

  A third body was with us.

  I stepped forward, my hands wrapping around Tandy. Her hair was loose and curly, the sequined vest of The Entertainer harsh against my skin, but her body relaxed into my arms.

  “Are you real?” she asked, her voice muffled against my chest. I could hear the tears in her voice.

  “I’m here.”

  “Alive?” Her voice shook with hope.

  “Alive, and well.” The tension in her body drained as she leaned in, lithe arms wrapped around me and squeezed. She reached out, grabbing Ash and pulling him into our hug.

  “I’m so glad you made it.” If I’d ever had doubts that Tandy cared, they would have vanished. We were family, and she clung to me as though I’d been an answer to her prayers.

  Maybe I was.

  Richard blew a raspberry. Come on, we’ve got at least one more person to save. A faint slug trail glowed in the void.

  I squeezed Tandy, holding on to her warmth for one last moment.

  “Richard says we’ve got to find—“

  “—Meredeath,” she finished my sentence, releasing me with a determined nod.

  “Tandy, I did not know that you could play the piano like that,” I said, as the three of us started forward. We held hands, linked by a deep desire not to fall into the void.

  “I’d forgotten myself,” she admitted. “I never understood why Mom wouldn’t leave me alone with Aunt Stacy.” Her voice grew contemplative.

  I squeezed her hand, offering what little comfort I could. Tandy’s mom and her grandmother had always been a force in our lives. They were task drivers, utterly driven by their craft and Tandy’s success. By a Nullwright contract.

  Leo and I were barely tolerated moons in Tandy’s orbit.

  Richard’s giant slime trail had grown stronger. It was as though each of us getting pulled out of the void and are respective nightmares had strengthened him.

  “We saw you play in Griffin’s Hunt. I thought it was beautiful, but it didn’t seem like you recognized us.” I told her as I walked on the wide slug trail.

  Tandy’s feet stopped, her hand pulling at mine as I took another step forward.

  “What do you mean, you saw me play at Griffin’s Hunt?” Her eyes were wide. “That was just a dream, a fantasy.”

  “The bar?” I didn’t bother hiding my confusion. “You were in this outfit.” I pointed at the sequined jacket with high shoulder pads. Reaching out, I fingered the silver hair coil with crystals that sparkled even in the void.

  “I was dreaming the dream I always have, performing in a bar, the audience…” Tandy paused, and her hazel eyes got the distant look of someone checking their internal status. “Cole,” she whispered, “Cole, what have they done to me? I’m a [Pianist].”

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