Page 177 of In Somnis

Mabel catches me watching and gives me a small nod that seems to say, “Yes, today is a good day,” without making anything of it.

They eat, and Mabel asks me questions about breakfast service. I answer them, feeling as if I’m being assessed, not unkindly, but thoroughly. She doesn’t miss anything. I don’t think she’s missed anything in about forty years.

Women like that always unsettle me a little. The ones who see straight through the version of you that you’re hoping to get by on charm and good lighting.

Seraphine eats half a sandwich slowly, her other hand resting near the herbs on the table.

I look at the herbs, then, before I can talk myself out of it, I say, “Jasper mentioned you knew a lot about dreaming.”

Seraphine’s eyes find mine across the table. She looks at me, then picks up the herb bundle and holds it out to me with a smile.

“Oh, I didn’t mean…” I start, but take it anyway, and notice it’s still warm from her hands.

“Mugwort,” she says, touching one sprig. “Valerian.” Another. “And lemon balm.” Her finger rests on the last one a moment longer. “For the soul.”

That should not be a phrase that makes me this nervous.

“The soul?” I frown.

“Before bed.” She sits back. “Tea, but not too hot. Let it cool until it’s gentle.”

I look down at the small bundle in my palm.

“What does the soul have to do with sleep?”

“Everything.” She reaches out and turns the herb bundle over in my palm, so the dried flowers face up.

“When you sleep, your body stays. Your mind goes somewhere else.” She taps her own temple lightly. “But the soul goes farther than both. It moves through levels. Through doors… and in those places between, you have to protect your soul.”

I keep my face very neutral. “Protect your soul from what?”

“Agreements.” She tilts her head. “Contracts, and promises.”

Mabel has gone quiet across the table. She’s still holding a sandwich, not looking at either of us, which somehow makes me feel like she is.

“Promises in the waking world, you make with your mouth. Your conscious mind. You can change your mind tomorrow, you can just forget about them.” She shakes her head. “Promises in dreams and soul contracts are different. They are made from the part of you that doesn’t sleep. The part that stays awake even when the rest of you is somewhere else entirely.” She touches her sternum. “That part does not forget. It cannot.”

Cold moves through me. “So if you make a deal,” I say slowly. “In a dream⁠—”

“It is not simply a dream. That is the mistake people make. They think because it happened while they were sleeping, it’s not real.” She meets my eyes. “It is the most real thing there is. More real than paper. More real than anything you can say out loud in waking life, because it comes from the part of you that has no reason to lie. There are people who don’t have your best intentions in mind elsewhere, but they are good at making you think they do.”

My hand has gone very still around the herb bundle.

“And the thing about a soul contract is that it binds like a thread.” She slowly laces her fingers together, demonstrating. “Once it is woven in, it becomes part of the fabric. And cloth already woven won’t take a thread that fights it. Whichever found its place first, a promise or a soul contract, holds. The other has nowhere left to bind.”

Oookay.

The kitchen is so quiet I can hear the wind outside in the garden.

I think about the flower field, a hand held out, palm up. About the word deal sitting in the air between us, and the heat that shot up my arm when I shook it. About something locking, and nothing like a normal handshake, or something I should have been able to feel in a dream at all.

About the pull I feel toward Ridge that I can’t explain, as much as I can’t explain why I let him do to me what I let him do while both of us have been lucid.

I have been trying very hard to treat that pull like proximity or dream weirdness.

Anything but fate with paperwork.

“Is there a way to undo one? A soul contract, I mean.” The question comes out quieter without permission.