Dream a Little Dream (The Silver Trilogy) (F) by Kerstin Gier Page B
Authors: Kerstin Gier
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Jasper gave a chuckle of amusement. “After all, you can do kung fu.”
I’d already turned to move away, but now I froze in midmovement. What had he just said?
Jasper chuckled even louder. “Why are you looking so surprised? You said so yourself in the cemetery, don’t you remember? Or is that another of those night-watchman things?”
The others were certainly looking at him in surprise, except for Henry, who was looking at me. Much more attentively than I liked.
I tried to keep a neutral expression on my face, but I was afraid I didn’t do very well. I had goose bumps all over. This wasn’t possible.… It couldn’t be possible.
“In what cemetery?” I asked, far too late in the day.
“Oh, never mind me,” said Jasper cheerfully. “I’m talking nonsense.”
“So you are,” said Grayson with a wry grin, and Arthur rolled his eyes and laughed. Only Henry didn’t move a muscle.
Okay. Don’t panic. I can think all this over later. Get away from here first.
“I must be going.” I ignored Henry’s penetrating gaze, jammed my things under my arm, and made for the door. “Double period of Spanish.”
“ Que te diviertas ,” said Arthur behind me.
“See you later,” Grayson murmured, and the last thing I heard before I closed the library door behind me, struggling hysterically for air, was Henry’s voice, saying, “Jas, you really must stop helping yourself to your mother’s supply of pills.”
12
RIGHT, SO LET’S KEEP CALM and take another look at the facts , I told myself. I’d been having a confused dream, set against the background of Highgate Cemetery, about conjuring up some kind of spirits, in the course of which I had landed, unfortunately, on an altar in the middle of a burning pentagram. So far, so crazy. But not what you’d describe as unusual for a dream. But if Jasper could remember something I had said in the dream—well, that was unusual. Indeed, it was downright impossible. Jasper couldn’t have had the same dream as me.
But then how did he know what I’d said in my dream in the cemetery?
What was it that Sherlock Holmes said? “When you have eliminated the impossible, what remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” Only, what remained if you couldn’t eliminate the impossible?
It wasn’t just that one remark that made me wonder what was going on. This very morning I’d had an odd feeling when Jasper made his silly remarks. And then there was the fact that I’d known Henry’s name. Plus Christina Rossetti, and Grayson’s “tattoo”—were they all mere chance and the work of my own brilliant unconscious mind? Hardly.
No, there was obviously something wrong with that dream. It hadn’t just been an unusually clear dream, it had been about things that I couldn’t know, places where I had never been before—and the worst of it was that I wasn’t the only one to have dreamed it. That was where the owl came into it. I’d felt flattered by the interest Grayson’s friends were taking in me, and by Arthur’s invitation, but I no longer thought they were just being nice. They wanted something from me—and it wasn’t because of my charms. It was all to do with that dream.
However, as I said, that was impossible. And whatever I thought about it, whenever I followed any train of thought, I came up against the word impossible like a wall that couldn’t be crossed. Twelve hours later I had a bad headache but still no satisfactory explanation.
I’d been in bed for hours now, afraid of going to sleep. I’d persuaded Lottie to lend me her iPad, but even the Internet, which usually knows everything, couldn’t come up with any answers. Dreams, I gathered, were as individual as thoughts. Or as Carl Gustav Jung, according to the Internet the expert on dreams and the way to interpret them, had put it, dreams didn’t take sides; they were nothing to do with how consciousness works, but spontaneous products of the unconscious mind. Jung, as I discovered,
I’d already turned to move away, but now I froze in midmovement. What had he just said?
Jasper chuckled even louder. “Why are you looking so surprised? You said so yourself in the cemetery, don’t you remember? Or is that another of those night-watchman things?”
The others were certainly looking at him in surprise, except for Henry, who was looking at me. Much more attentively than I liked.
I tried to keep a neutral expression on my face, but I was afraid I didn’t do very well. I had goose bumps all over. This wasn’t possible.… It couldn’t be possible.
“In what cemetery?” I asked, far too late in the day.
“Oh, never mind me,” said Jasper cheerfully. “I’m talking nonsense.”
“So you are,” said Grayson with a wry grin, and Arthur rolled his eyes and laughed. Only Henry didn’t move a muscle.
Okay. Don’t panic. I can think all this over later. Get away from here first.
“I must be going.” I ignored Henry’s penetrating gaze, jammed my things under my arm, and made for the door. “Double period of Spanish.”
“ Que te diviertas ,” said Arthur behind me.
“See you later,” Grayson murmured, and the last thing I heard before I closed the library door behind me, struggling hysterically for air, was Henry’s voice, saying, “Jas, you really must stop helping yourself to your mother’s supply of pills.”
12
RIGHT, SO LET’S KEEP CALM and take another look at the facts , I told myself. I’d been having a confused dream, set against the background of Highgate Cemetery, about conjuring up some kind of spirits, in the course of which I had landed, unfortunately, on an altar in the middle of a burning pentagram. So far, so crazy. But not what you’d describe as unusual for a dream. But if Jasper could remember something I had said in the dream—well, that was unusual. Indeed, it was downright impossible. Jasper couldn’t have had the same dream as me.
But then how did he know what I’d said in my dream in the cemetery?
What was it that Sherlock Holmes said? “When you have eliminated the impossible, what remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” Only, what remained if you couldn’t eliminate the impossible?
It wasn’t just that one remark that made me wonder what was going on. This very morning I’d had an odd feeling when Jasper made his silly remarks. And then there was the fact that I’d known Henry’s name. Plus Christina Rossetti, and Grayson’s “tattoo”—were they all mere chance and the work of my own brilliant unconscious mind? Hardly.
No, there was obviously something wrong with that dream. It hadn’t just been an unusually clear dream, it had been about things that I couldn’t know, places where I had never been before—and the worst of it was that I wasn’t the only one to have dreamed it. That was where the owl came into it. I’d felt flattered by the interest Grayson’s friends were taking in me, and by Arthur’s invitation, but I no longer thought they were just being nice. They wanted something from me—and it wasn’t because of my charms. It was all to do with that dream.
However, as I said, that was impossible. And whatever I thought about it, whenever I followed any train of thought, I came up against the word impossible like a wall that couldn’t be crossed. Twelve hours later I had a bad headache but still no satisfactory explanation.
I’d been in bed for hours now, afraid of going to sleep. I’d persuaded Lottie to lend me her iPad, but even the Internet, which usually knows everything, couldn’t come up with any answers. Dreams, I gathered, were as individual as thoughts. Or as Carl Gustav Jung, according to the Internet the expert on dreams and the way to interpret them, had put it, dreams didn’t take sides; they were nothing to do with how consciousness works, but spontaneous products of the unconscious mind. Jung, as I discovered,
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