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“I need to find out who she is.” Blair’s voice was full of conviction.

The decision had been waiting for him the moment he awoke, as though his sleeping brain had been mulling it all over during the dreamless, though not particularly restful, portion of his night.

Iris and Gabriel exchanged one of their private looks. Blair had just finished telling them about his nightmares. He had failed to mention that they were heavily based on a hellish experience he’d gone through two hundred years earlier, making it sound as if the dreams had materialized from his subconscious alone. Although, based on their somber, serious expressions, he imagined they might have guessed the truth. His hypothesis was only strengthened when neither questioned why he was so certain that Lucy was a real person rather than a figment of his overactive imagination.

Iris looked pensive as she tore off a piece of her pancake and smeared it in too much maple syrup. “How will you do that?” she asked.

Blair slid a piece of turkey sausage around his plate. “I think my mother might know,” he said at last. “I’ve always wanted to ask her, but I…I guess I’ve been too scared to hear the answer.”

He didn’t explain why he believed his mother would know, because that would involve revealing the real-life events that had inspired his horrific nighttime visions. He’d never been more envious of his mother’s ability to only need sleep every other night.

The shatter of breaking glass cut through the silence, and Blair glanced up to find Gabriel’s hand clenched around nothing, tiny shards littering the table next to his empty plate. For some reason, Iris was glaring at him, though she hadn’t been upset when Blair broke the vase upstairs. What had he missed?

Muttering a quiet apology, Gabriel pushed back his chair and sloped off to the supply closet for the dustpan.

“Can I come with you?” Iris asked, tearing Blair’s thoughts away from Gabriel’s strange behavior. “To see your mother?”

Blair hesitated. As much as he always craved Iris’ presence, he feared that the more she was exposed to his family’s eccentricities, the greater the risk she’d be scared off. He also wasn’t sure how friendly his mother was likely to be toward her.

Still, the idea of returning home made him feel as though something was wrapping itself around his stomach, cutting off his circulation. Maybe if Iris came with him, he would feel safer, knowing that if his mother tried to lock him up and throw away the key, there would be a witness, someone to break open the door and rescue him from another lifetime of soul-numbing isolation.

“I’d like to go tomorrow,” Blair said. “Would that be okay?”

The next day was a Sunday, so that shouldn’t interfere too badly with Iris’ work schedule, as long as they returned home early Monday morning. And he really didn’t want to wait another week. He hoped that solving the mystery of Lucy’s identity would help him interpret her recent warning. He wasn’t sure why it unnerved him so much. It was just that his nightmares had been nearly identical to one another for over two hundred years; they had become a normal, if unwelcome, part of his existence.

Before now, Lucy had never spoken a single warning to him. She’d been a copy of the Lucy he had known, who’d been barely capable of speech. But the Lucy in his dream last night was very new, her warning undeniably ominous. He also hoped that facing his fears might banish the nightmares from the darkest corners of his mind where they lurked. Or at the very least might reduce the frequency of them.

Iris nodded, just as Gabriel re-appeared at her side. He brushed the broken glass into the dustpan and went to dump it in the trash.

“Is he feeling alright?” Blair asked, lowering his voice.

Iris shrugged, but Blair didn’t miss the way her hand twitched as if she wanted to bite her thumb nail but had thought better of it. He wondered if she was hiding something from him, but he really didn’t want to mistrust her. She had never given him any reason to before now.

Late that afternoon, Blair walked into the living room, the scent of freshly baked cookies lingering in the air and an overnight bag stuffed with his clothes slung over one shoulder. The bag was a bit unnecessary, as he was sure his mother had kept all of his old clothes, but it made him feel stronger somehow, as if bringing along items from his life in Vitford would tether him to his new home in a way that couldn’t be severed.

He stopped short at the sight of Iris curled up on the couch, her eyes wet with unshed tears and fixed on the book she was reading. Dumping his bag next to the bookcase, Blair sat at the edge of the cushion, eyeing her in concern.

“I’m fine.” Iris yanked a throw blanket up to her chin as she feverishly flipped a page. “I just get overly invested sometimes.” She offered up a feeble smile. Blair must not have looked particularly reassured, because she tossed her bookmark at him. “Stop looking at me like that!”

He let out a quiet laugh. “Like what?”

“Like I’m going to start slobbering like Luna.” She pet Luna’s pot belly from her spot at the other end of the couch. The dog let out a heavy sigh.

Blair suddenly realized the strange look Iris was giving him. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just…I hardly ever hear your laugh. It was nice.”

Blair smiled sheepishly, his eyes on the novel in her hands. “What happened to make you so upset?”

She frowned, picking absently at the frayed binding. “It’s nothing, really. Just that sometimes there's a scene in a book that reminds me of something I’m scared of in real life. But I know it will all work out. I always look at the last page before I start reading to make sure the book doesn’t end in tragedy.” She hesitated, her brow furrowed. “Can I ask you something?”

Blair nodded, trying not to react as he became aware of her heartbeat again. Would there ever be a time when it wouldn’t feel like being hit by a semi-truck in the middle of a peaceful meadow? He braced himself. If she was nervous, her question might well be something he wasn’t prepared to answer.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m, I don’t know…” She bit her nail, tracing each letter on the book’s cover as she organized her thoughts. “Too much. Like we’re standing on this cliff and if I say one wrong thing, or if I move too fast, I’m scared that you’ll jump. That you’ll leave.” She met his eyes, her expression unguarded and exposed, like she was revealing an open wound.

A wound that Blair knew he had opened, and he despised himself for it.

He hated how weird he’d been acting around Iris lately. A week had lapsed since the craft fair, and he still hadn’t explained to her why he was keeping his distance. He wanted to, but he was afraid it would be the final straw that would make her see just how much of a wretch he truly was.