Page 22 of Realm of Dreams & Shadows

She goes all blurry, and I realize I’m teary-eyed again. “You really believe me.” I push the words out past a throat clogged with tears.

“Well, yeah. I mean, you’d be nuts to make all that up, right?”

I choke out a laugh. “Maybe I am.”

“Oh, please. You’re not crazy. But you are someone who knows how to open the door. Or maybe it opens for you.”

I wipe away my tears. “What door?”

“Into dreams. My abuela said that dreams aren’t just stories. They’re a doorway between worlds. And some people can walk through them.”

“You believe that?”

“Well, sure. I’m a witch, right? Of course, I believe in magic.”

“Will you show me?”

She frowns. “Show you what?”

“Duh. Magic.”

She looks away, but not before I see the shadow in her eyes. “Yeah, well, one of these days. Right now, I have to book.”

Her back’s still to me, and I worry that I’d said something wrong, but not sure what. I watch as she pulls clothes out of her dresser, then starts to change, totally unabashed about completely stripping down in front of me, then yanking on jeans and a tee.

That’s when I realize that it’s almost nine. There’s a freshman fair on the quad today—booths and presentations from all the various clubs on campus—and Tia signed up to hand out fliers for the Wiccan club.

“I can’t wrap my head around you believing me,” I say as she runs a brush through her rainbow-colored hair.

“Why wouldn’t I? I mean, all sorts of people across all sorts of cultures across all of time have believed that dreams are more than just brain noise. Who am I to say they were wrong?”

“I kind of love you right now.”

“Well, I’m exceptionally lovable.”

I grin, feeling lighter than I have in years.

“About this Whitehall party,” Tia continues, shoving her feet into a pair of Doc Martins. “Are we going?”

“We?”

“No way are you going alone to some cryptic dream-answer party. That’s how horror movies start. Besides,” she adds, “I’ve been dying for an excuse to break out my good eyeliner.”

“You’re really not freaked out?”

“Oh, I’m totally freaked out,” she assures me cheerfully. “But in an excited way. Not only do I have a damn cool roomie, but Friday night’s going to be way better than the standard freshman kegger. I mean, it’s a Whitehall party. They’re legendary.”

“Really? Why?”

She gapes at me. “You haven’t heard about Whitehall parties yet? I was on campus for only about forty-five seconds and heard probably a dozen people talking them up or praying they’d get an invite. I mean, it’s nutso the way upperclassmen talk about them. Like the parties are some sort of religious experience. Amazing music, drinks that are totally next level, and the house itself is this gorgeous old mansion that’s only opened for the parties. Otherwise, it’s locked up tight. Plus, nobody’s allowed in with a phone, so it’s all just word of mouth. Which obviously makes everyone want to go even more.” She points to herself. “And by everyone, I mean me. So, we’re going, right?”

I laugh, shaking my head at her enthusiasm. “We’re going,” I say. “Even though you’re clearly insane.”

“Daring,” she corrects. “You’re all caution and suspicion. I’m curiosity and adventure. Together, we average out to something approaching normal.”

“Okay, then. Friday night, we head to Whitehall. But at the first sign of trouble⁠—”

“We bail,” she finishes for me. “I’ve seen enough horror movies to know the rules. Don’t split up, don’t investigate strange noises, don’t dance with anyone with three sixes tattooed on his arm. And on that note, I’m outta here.”