If it weren't for the fact that I knew I was asleep and dreaming, I'd think I was awake. I frowned, turning about, and I saw the young woman sitting on the couch, looking at me expectantly.

"Who're you?" I asked her.

"Yuuki Miaka!" she replied enthusiastically, grinning winsomely. It took me a moment to realize that she wasn't speaking some weird language, she's introducing herself. This was Keisuke's sister.

"That's right," she said, as if she plucked the words out of my mind. "I came to talk to you, Glastonbury-san."

I inched around the couch, slowly. "Y-you do know you're dead, right?"

She laughed - no, she giggled. "Is that what big brother is telling everyone?"

I sat gingerly on the side of the couch opposite her. Now that I thought of it, Keisuke had never really elaborated on his sister's demise. He just walked around with a permanent aura of sadness.

"That's right," Miaka sighed. "He feels responsible for what happened to me. I just want him to be happy, and I need you to help me."

"I'll do anything that's within reason," I told her. "I like your brother."

"He likes you too," Miaka replied. "But that's not what I want you to do."

Her eyes became quite serious, and she leaned forward. She was quite becoming in the cute little brown school uniform she wore. I could picture it easily, the doting big brother grieving over giving in to whatever demands his charming little sister had made that ended with her . . . demise?

"It's not really 'demise' because I'm not dead yet, Glastonbury-san," she told me. "I'm still quite alive, just . . ." she furrowed her brow, searching for the proper word. "Incapacitated."

I thought that over for a moment. "You poor thing," I whispered. That could explain the horrible vision Keisuke probably saw in his mind, this vivacious girl strapped into a room full of machines, keeping her body alive -

"Actually, I'm not a vegetable either," she interrupted.

"How is it that you keep reading my mind?" I asked her a little irritably. "Most people wait until the words are actually spoken out loud."

She took no notice of my sharp tone of voice, sweetly saying, "I'm sorry Glastonbury-san. I wasn't really aware of doing it." She paused, searching for words in her mind. "I don't have a whole lot of experience in the dream realms." She turned her gaze to my face and explained to me, "Thoughts are as tangible as anything that you can touch. This is even more true in the dream realms. That is why I answer questions you have yet to ask aloud - because you have already asked them, in your mind."

Then she smiled at me. "But I'm forgetting the reason I've come here!" she grinned. "I'm here to make big brother happy." The smile dissolved. "Among other things."

She scooted closer to me, searched my eyes for a moment. "You must listen carefully, Glastonbury-san. Listen, and believe me."

"When you wake up, I need you to go straight to my brother's apartment. Tell him to give you the Shi Jin Ten Chi Sho."

When she said that, I could suddenly understand how she could answer my unverbalized questions. Pictures flooded through me, familiar images, faces of people I had never seen, emotions . . . Four Gods' Sky and Earth. Suddenly I understood what I had been striving for; this was the key to the dreams that haunted me.

I gave her my undivided attention.

Monster.

Child.

Dream Guy.

There were no other piles.

Eileen shivered. "This isn't natural," she muttered. Surely one couldn't keep having the same three recurring dreams over and over. Methodically she ticked off the dates at the top of each page.

Every day was accounted for. She really was accounting for every dream, Eileen thought, and not just recording the recurring ones. She liked it less and less.

What could it mean? She wasn't a psych major, she was a theatre student. Her highly attuned people senses couldn't help her here; this was Something Wrong.

I know he's real, the latest entry read. I just wish I knew where to find him.

"A monk, for chrissakes," Eileen muttered aloud. "Goodness fucking gracious, girl, have you no respect for a man of the cloth?"

Furrowing her golden brow, she made her decision. This was where non-involvement had gotten her; it was bloody well time to stick her nose in. She reached for her phone and her purse, and after a few minutes' search, found the number she was looking for.

"Hey, Jordan? Eileen. Can you do me a favor? I need to know where I can find a Japanese foreign exchange student. Keisuke Yuuki . . . well, as soon as possible would be nice . . ."

I wasn't quite sure, but it seemed as if I was awake. I found myself standing in the cramped living room of my dingy apartment, but it seemed as if the haze of dreaming contaminated the air around me, filtering the reality of my life even as it filled me with purpose.

I turned slowly. Wall, patio door, wall, kitchen area. The night seemed alight, rather like when fog glows with ambient light. I could see perfectly, the crystalline edges of the objects around me sharp against the shadows.

Comfortable walking shoes.

My body moved forward, as if I was a sleepwalker, towards the narrow doorway, through it, into the bedroom, and the closet that took up one short wall. Sliding the door aside, I glanced down. Shoes. Flats, dress shoes, sneakers. Boots. I shied away from the boots at first. My hand hovered over the Nikes, black with a white swoosh. Then I grabbed the boots. Swallowed. Put them back. I wasn't ready for that. And anyway, they were more for riding than walking. I remembered the exquisite relief of mutual foot-rubs after a long day in those boots. It wasn't likely that I'd be getting much in the way of massage where I was going.

Sneakers it is. Utility before beauty. I pitched the shoes onto the bed.

Clean underwear.

Clothes. That was easy. Assorted bits of clean laundry joined the shoes on the bed. After some thought, I grabbed an olive green jacket from the back of the closet, where it gathered dust between that sparse handful of days that pass for winter in Texas.

My hand brushed wool. I grabbed that too, pulled it out and looked at it. Two years ago, before Ryan, before he had isolated me from the life I'd built, I'd gone out on the weekends to the Renaissance Faire, working with the jousting troupe as a squire. The cloak was practically new, I'd only worn it once during that last season, and only for the chilly morning hours. Pressing the thick, red fabric to my face, I fancied I could still smell sunlight and dust amongst its folds. Perhaps a bit of horse. Nonsense, of course - I hadn't gone near the horses that morning when I had last worn the cloak. But my fingers were unwilling to relinquish the heavy garment as I smiled into it. I wadded the cloak in my hands and blinked back tears. Oh how I missed that part of my life . . .

Perhaps that was the reason why the cloak joined everything on the bed.

That and I didn't own a sleeping bag.

Dangerous.

It was a long moment before I could properly breathe again. I stared into the darkness lurking in the back of the closet, almost fearing the skulking monster that haunts childhood shadows. For a long, long time I stared into the gloom, wondering if it stared back. Then I darted forward, reaching all the way into the farthest recesses of the closet, grabbing and dragging forth a heavy, plastic container. After liberating my prize from the depths of the closet, I peeled back the lid. Please let it still be here. Please don't let him have taken it. Please let it be here. Please.

It was. Laying amidst the jumble of wooden bowls, tankards, pouches, and assorted costume pieces was my grandfather's bowie knife, resting in a plain leather sheath. I hadn't meant to keep it in there for so long.

The knife went onto the bed too.

I surveyed the mess on my bed. To it, I added my sketchpad, a box of pencils and pens, and matches. Hey, if I ever get stranded somewhere, I could be poetic and burn pages out of my sketchpad. Nah.

One more thing. I turned towards my nightstand and searched through the papers there.

Then I sat down on the bed, turned on the lamp, and looked again.

They were gone. Those logs I had kept of all my dreams were missing.

I sighed. I knew exactly where they went. "Oh, Eileen. You noodlehead." A smile crossed my lips and quickly faded. She would be so very worried about me, but it was something that couldn't be helped. I ignored the quick pang of regret and turned back to my task.

I packed with quick efficiency, cramming everything I could into the backpack I used for my schoolbooks. There was enough room in the auxiliary pockets to carry toothbrush, toothpaste, and a bar of soap. And if I left out a pair of jeans, I could get a towel in there instead. Towels were important. Ask any hitchhiker.

As I dressed, I felt as if I were gearing up for war, coating myself with determination and focus. It felt a little like I was an observer in my own body, just along for the ride as my hands slid the sheathed knife onto a belt and girded the belt about my waist. The jacket went on over it all, like an arming doublet, even though it was far too warm outside. And the black baseball cap atop it all, threading my braid through the opening in the back. The cloak I rolled up and tied to the bottom of the backpack.

I went forth, into the steamy night, to find Keisuke.

Surprisingly, his light was on. I'd always taken him for the early-to-bed type. I raised my hand to knock but stayed my hand for a moment. The sureness that had permeated the night was beginning to fade, and reality was encroaching on my awareness. My heart began pounding. To say that I was scared would be something of an understatement. I was trusting the say-so of a dream. If I was wrong, I'd be pretty embarrassed.

I could still go back. I could turn around and go back to sleep.

Trust me.

I knocked, softly.

Then I heard voices inside. Shit, he had company. I couldn't do this now.

The door opened.

"Maeve-san!" Keisuke cried. "Come in - we were just speaking of you."

He opened the door wide, and I saw Eileen sitting on his couch. She grinned at me a little sheepishly.

"I'll go," I said, and turned.

"Maeve!" Eileen cried. She'd crossed the room quickly, but then, these were small apartments, so it wasn't hard. She grabbed my arm and pulled me in, grinning like an idiot. "Maeve, you doofus, why didn't you tell me you guys had a date on Saturday?" She was ebullient and bouncy, alternately shaking me and hugging me, causing my knapsack to fall to the floor.

"Maeve?" Eileen asked as I picked up the daypack.

"Eileen, could you leave us alone for a moment?" I asked her.

"Are you kidding?" she enthused. "I wanna see how this turns out."

Keisuke blushed. Well, we knew where his mind was. "All right, Eileen. If you insist."

I can't do this.

You must.

I sighed.

Turning to Keisuke, I asked, "Would you please give me Shi Jin Ten Chi Sho?"

Keisuke went from red to white faster than most racecars go from zero to sixty. Into the silence, Eileen asked, "Woo, that sounds kinky! What is it?"

"No," he said finally.

"Please, Keisuke," I implored. He did not answer me, just stared.

"Uh, guys, what's going on?" I heard Eileen ask.

We ignored her. "I will not permit it to happen again," Keisuke whispered.

"Would it help if I told you that Miaka - "

"You will leave Miaka out of this."

"Who's Miaka?" Eileen was now between us, almost like a referee. "What's going on here?"

"It is late," Keisuke said, "and you - both of you - were just leaving."

He started to usher us to the door, but I grabbed his arm and stepped close to him. "Suzaku no Miko," I said softly into his ear. "Miaka was Suzaku no Miko."

The words startled him. He froze. His fine-boned face crumpled in despair. "I cannot, Maeve-san." He was pleading with me.

"Keisuke - " I pulled him to the couch and sat with him. Eileen trailed towards us, puzzled, but she too sat, her face inquisitive. "Keisuke, if you don't give me Shi Jin Ten Chi Sho, it will find me another way. You know that it won't be denied."

It was as if Miaka's ability to read my thoughts had rubbed off on me, or perhaps I was better able to read Keisuke's expression. I knew what he was thinking, knew that he wanted to say no, needed to say no, was capable of saying no. My asking him was a formality, and he knew it. Shi Jin Ten Chi Sho would not be denied.

"Hai," Keisuke finally said. He seemed so defeated. I wanted to comfort him, but I had passed the point of no return. To offer solace would be a mockery.

"Maeve?" Eileen whispered as Keisuke left the room. "What the hell's going on here?"

"Oh, Eileen!" I lunged forward, catching her in a fierce embrace. "Please, please, please look after Keisuke!" I whispered. "Miaka worries so much for him. And don't worry about me," I continued. I raised an eyebrow at her, said, "I know that you took the log I was keeping of my dreams."

The world must be coming to an end - Eileen blushed. "I'm not going to apologize for that," she informed me. "You worried me. You're still worrying me."

At that moment, Keisuke re-entered the room, holding the faded little book in his hands. He held it to me front cover up, spine to my right. I took it from him, running a hand over the worn edges. I was taken up into a sudden, fierce embrace. "Okuda killed his daughter," he told me softly, "after she became Genbu no Miko. If I had had a gun, I would have killed Miaka, to spare her --"

Flash of dream memory that I hadn't even known I'd remembered: Miaka, bruised, with blood staining the tatters of her brown uniform, her hair flying in the wind like a banner. Tiny pinfeathers, like those found on baby birds, had sprouted from her slender neck, sparkling iridescent red. The sleeves of her garments had given way to the long primaries and shorter secondaries found on the wings of raptors. A crimson train of flowing feathers appeared from beneath the pleated schoolgirl skirt, creating an odd juxtaposition of prim uniform and fantastic costume a la Vegas showgirl.

Pain? Miaka knew all about pain. I understood Keisuke's mercy.

I hated myself for causing him such pain. His remark and the possible implications of it didn't frighten me. There were far more frightening things to think about, and I avoided thinking about them; I'd face them soon enough. "I know," I whispered in his ear. I pulled away a little and looked into his sad face. "She wants you to be happy, Keisuke."

He released me, stepping back. "Maeve, what on earth is going on?" Eileen came stalking towards me, but I forestalled her.

How would I tell her? Her best friend was leaving her. I was leaving my best friend. I was going someplace, and she couldn't follow. It hit me - she wouldn't be able to take care of me. That would hurt her a very great deal. "Eileen," I called. "Catch." I tossed her my keys, and she caught them neatly.

She looked at the keys in her hand then back to me, her face pale. "You're scaring me," she murmured. "What are you doing, Maeve?"

I opened the book. I saw a picture of a mountain - careful, deliberate brushstrokes against the page indicating the majestic peaks.

The light was bright. I felt very warm.

The book was gone.

The mountain, however, was in front of me.