His breath caught. Beatrix’s voice. He ran in the direction she seemed to be.
“Where are you?” he cried. “Can you see me?”
She sobbed, now very close indeed, though he still couldn’t make her out. “I can’tstandthis,” she said, voice trembling. “Please let me wake up!”
What? “No, I need to talk to you!” he said—and then grasped why she might react in such a way. “This isn’t a dream, it’s dreamside.”
“It’snot.”
“Beatrix, I swear it is?—”
“Dreamside is gone, ‘Peter.’ The Vows were broken.”
The shock of this was so profound that he couldn’t come up with a reply.
“I’d rather go back to having you berate me while bleeding to death,” she said bitterly, her breath hitching as she inhaled. “At least then I’m happy to wake up.”
His heart twisted at this picture of what her recent dreams had been like. But he had to focus on one thing at a time—on this one tremendous thing. “How do you know the Vows are broken?”
“The contracts,” she said simply.
“They’re—they’re notgone?”Fear clutched him. “What if the magiocracy?—”
“No, they were still hidden under the floorboards. They were just in hundreds of tiny pieces.”
“Oh my God,” he whispered. “Oh myGod.”
“So you see, figment of my imagination, you cannot be here. It’s impossible.”
He would have assumed the same thing. And yet here he was.
“Listen,” he said urgently, “I don’t know how much longer we have or if I’ll be able to come back tomorrow night or whether we could find each other if I did. I’m going to tell you something that will prove you’re not imagining the entire conversation. Will you hear me out?”
She was silent for a second. Then: “You have to tell me something I don’t already know, something I can verify dayside?—”
“My will is in the top drawer of my desk in the receiving room. It’ll allow you to tap my savings to pay for my care. You’re my sole beneficiary, and I also gave you power of attorney if I should ever be incapacitated. Call Tim Martinelli at the Pentagram if you run into problems—he witnessed it.”
“Peter,” she whispered. “It’s—it’s really you?”
“Yes. Honest to God.”
“Oh,” she said, the syllable packed with emotion. A swish of fabric, a soft thunk—she must have abruptly sat down.
He inched forward, not wanting to trip over her. “How long have I been in a coma?”
“You know you’re in a coma? Are you aware of things happening around you?”
“Yes. I can hear, but no one’s ever mentioned the date around me.”
“It’s February 24. You’ve been in the hospital nearly four weeks.”
Fourweeks.He sighed. “Well, Martinelli has probably left his Pentagram job by now—he said he would. Hopefully a secretary can explain how to reach him, if it’s necessary.”
“Right. OK.” She hesitated. “Are you … in pain? During the day, I mean?”
“No, I can barely feel anything,” he said. “Though I can make out my hand pretty well while you’re holding it, so contact must help.”
He thought of what happened whenever he tried to move and was about to amend his point about feeling no pain when Beatrix said, “I can’t see you. Can you see me?”
