“Oh, no! Far from it,” Ashley clarified. “An Ivy League education is only affordable if your family makes enough to afford one. My family is better off than his though—that was my point.”

  I wasn’t surprised—there were certainly many people in the world who married for money, who even dated for money. It wasn’t something that had ever appealed to me, of course, but there it was.

  “I convinced myself he wasn’t marrying me for my money,” Ashley continued. “I believed it right up until the wedding reception. But now...” Blinking a couple of times as if she had tears in her eyes, Ashley said, “Now he doesn’t look at me like he did before we got married. I feel like in his eyes, I’m no better than a new car or smartphone after the novelty wears off. He appreciated me once, but now he takes me for granted and I can’t help but notice how his eye follows any woman he finds attractive.”

  “Hmm,” Bailey started and I could tell she was biting her lip to keep from saying something she might regret later. As to me, I was surprised by Ashley’s sudden vote of confidence in both of us, given the fact that neither of us knew her well. But I supposed sometimes things built up to such a crescendo, one had to release them and for Ashley, that time appeared to be now.

  Ashley gazed at Bailey with a bit of sheepishness. “You know, up until now, I was even suspicious of you, Bailey.”

  “Me?” Bailey said in shock.

  Ashley nodded. “Sam kept staring at you and I don’t know how you could have missed it.”

  “I honestly didn’t think much of it,” Bailey assured her, draping her arm on Ashley’s shoulder. “I was actually trying to let him know I wasn’t interested. Not only is he married to you, but he’s basically half my age!”

  That made Ashley laugh and I could see the wave of relief flooding her.

  “Would I be right in assuming that such a flirtation is what provoked Sam’s foul mood?” I asked innocently.

  Ashley stared at the ground and her laughter died in her throat. “Yeah. He was flirting with that southern waitress, Marla.” (At this, Bailey scoffed). “But when Lizzie walked in...”

  Even though I imagined the broad strokes of what followed, I still asked, “What happened?”

  “Well, you met Lizzie at breakfast, so you already know how she comes off as an entitled snob, right?” I hadn’t actually noticed that, but figured Ashley had spent more time with her than I had so she probably knew more. Prompted by my nod, Ashley went on to say, “So it was no surprise to find her making goo-goo eyes at Sam when she grabbed a seat at the bar at the Half-Moon. She kept looking over at our booth, while drinking one gin gimlet after another.”

  “How did you know what she drinking from so far away?” Bailey wondered as I wondered the same.

  “I tended bar the entire time I went to college,” Ashley replied with a shrug. “I know a drink when I see it.”

  “But you just said your family was so wealthy—” I started, thinking her story didn’t exactly make sense.

  “Sure, but I never was one to cling to their coattails,” she answered. “I like to interact with people, so I got a job at the bar.” A ghostly smile crossed her lips. “That’s actually where I met Sam.”

  I gestured with my hand. “Speaking of whom...”

  The smile vanished. “Marla tried to be discreet about the fact that Sam was definitely coming onto her. Probably not the first time a young guy hit on her so obviously, right?”

  I chuckled as I nodded.

  “But Lizzie,” Ashley said, her face suddenly going stony. “Stuck-up bitch that she is, she didn’t even try to ignore it! She just looked at Sam like he was rightfully hers. Like she was doing me a favor by letting me sit next to him!”

  I glanced at Bailey. No words or gestures passed between us but I was fairly sure we both knew what came next.

  “I put up with it for maybe ten or fifteen minutes, max,” Ashley continued, nodding, and I could see the heat building in her eyes. “Then I finally called him on it. He started making these pathetic excuses about his instinct to be friendly, how he can’t help but be nice to people, especially cause we’re staying at the same inn, blah blah. It was like he totally forgot I existed. Next thing I knew, we were arguing loud enough to make everybody watch us and... well, you know the rest.”

  “Right,” Bailey said, and I wasn’t sure what she thought of the whole situation.

  “I’m beginning to wonder why I married him in the first place. Was I so afraid of being alone?” Ashley asked, addressing herself more than us.

  Memories of Melody flickered across my mind. “Some people can’t be alone.”

  “Well, if this is any indication of our future life together, count me out. I don’t want to waste my best years with someone who doesn’t even love me.”

  “It’s a big decision,” Bailey said. “Maybe you ought to sleep on it.”

  Ashley smiled. “Thank you both so much,” she said, her voice nearly choking in tears. “I really needed someone to talk to tonight.” It was then that the paramedics motioned to her that they were ready to go and she jumped into the back of the ambulance.

  “Think she’ll be all right?” Bailey asked me as the ambulance started down the street. Because it was no longer deemed an emergency, they didn’t bother with the sirens.

  “Only time will tell,” I replied.

  ***

  An hour later, we found ourselves in front of The Haven Hollow Inn. Now that we were back at her temporary domicile, Bailey sighed as she looked at the front double doors.

  “Guess I better head in and get ready for Ethel’s inquisition about what happened with Sam and Ashley. God, I need to find my own place!”

  “Any promising prospects?”

  “Yeah, Fifi actually found a cute little one-bedroom house over by the high school that she thinks would be perfect for me. I’m supposed to see it tomorrow.”

  I was happy to hear that and smiled at her as she smiled back at me and then we both just stood there like dopes.

  “Well, I guess I should get back,” Bailey said at last.

  “Oh, right,” I answered, feeling strangely awkward. “Thanks for all your help today.”

  She nodded. “Thanks for dinner.” Her eyes twinkled as she looked up at me. “And you don’t have to buy me lunch or dinner every day, Syd.”

  “I… just… like to,” I answered.

  When we bade each other good night, I watched Bailey stroll through Ethel’s front door and even after she waved goodbye and closed the door behind her, I still stood there. It was as if my feet were rooted to the cement walkway. There was just something about Bailey that made me wish she was still here, smiling up at me.

  Was it possible?

  I immediately shook my head. No, it was too soon.

  And, yet, I was fairly sure the feelings blossoming within me weren’t just those of friendship, but they were romantic feelings. And I didn’t want to touch that realization with a ten-foot-pole.

  ***

  For the third night in a row, I awoke well before dawn.

  Unlike the previous two nights, I had no distress upon stirring. After fulfilling my Sandman duties, I enjoyed a quiet night in the dream corridor. No nightmares or related distress played out among my customers. Despite that, I felt more disquieted tonight than I had the previous two nights.

  For ten minutes, I stubbornly lay in bed, trying to fall into a dreamless sleep. I finally conceded defeat and got up. When nights like that occurred, I normally watched a movie or TV episode from one of my favorites to settle my mind. Even if my record player needle weren’t so dull, music was a bad idea when I got into this state. So, I did the only other thing that worked for me. I got dressed, went downstairs, and walked the town streets.

  At two am, the sidewalks of Haven Hollow were as peaceful as they were lonely, the street lamps the only mute witnesses to my insomnia. My footsteps softly echoed off the dark buildings around me. Occasionally, I caught the dull flicker of a light in an upper window that could only be a TV or computer. But otherwise, I was alone.

  I soon realized why I was so restless this night.

  First and foremost, it was due to my growing affection for Bailey, whom I couldn’t stop thinking about. I didn’t believe such thoughts and feelings were appropriate due to our employer/employee status but that wasn’t really what was bothering me.

  Instead, I couldn’t stop wondering: were my feelings for Bailey a violation of my fidelity to Melody and her memory? And then there was the irrational fear that, even if everything worked out, I could lose Bailey just like I’d lost Melody. Melody’s death had taught me that life was much more capricious than anyone expected.

  The other thing on my mind was far easier to dwell on: finding the identity of my persecuted dreamer. Apparently none of Ethel’s guests were tormented this evening. Then again, neither of the Clarkes were sleeping on my mattresses since they were both at the hospital.

  After my encounter with them earlier in the evening, they soared to the top of my potential victim list. Marital strife was all but an open invitation for the mara. Between Ashley’s insecurity and Sam’s possible infidelity as well as his inability to truly appreciate Ashley, they were the most obvious suspects.

  The more I thought about Sam and his roving eye, the more I wondered if he was just frightened of being newly married. In my experience, married men didn’t act in such a way with their new brides unless they were deeply frightened by the subsequent changes in their lives. I strongly suspected Sam was mourning the loss of his single life. Could that fear have weakened him enough to have allowed for monsters to enter his mind?

  My thoughts drifted to Lizzie and her peculiar timing in exiting the Half-Moon. There were other very good restaurants in Haven Hollow, yet she’d picked the one spot where the Clarkes just happened to be eating their dinner. True, it could have been a coincidence. But in my experience, coincidence was often a blanket excuse to conceal less wholesome actions. Could Lizzie have been the force behind the shadowy threat that was plaguing my dreamer? She appeared to be human in my eyes, but then again, I’d failed to spot Quincy right away too.

  Speaking of Quincy and his ongoing interest in Haven Cemetery, I was convinced he must be some sort of supernatural being and one that was clearly interested in witchcraft, a very dangerous subject. I hoped he knew he was playing with fire and unseen forces that could become disastrous.

  Furthermore, was Quincy really writing a book? Or was he here for some other nefarious purpose he refused to admit to? And was the Council aware of his true reasons for being here? The Council was usually very stringent in their vetting process—I knew this from experience as I’d had to jump through many hoops in order to be allowed to live here.

  Reaching into my pocket for my cell phone, I decided to text Maverick and ask him if he knew about Quincy. To my surprise, he responded right away.

  Who?

  Then another moment later my phone rang. Not wanting to answer it, I simply let the call go to voicemail and texted him back, explaining who Quincy was. He didn’t seem very interested but did question me about the dreamer whom I felt I might have been closer to discovering. I texted him back as much and then the conversation went dead.

  Which was just as well because I suddenly heard another set of footsteps coming from across the street. That drew my interest long enough to stop me from stepping into the beam of the next streetlight that shone on my path.

  As I took a look around me, I realized I’d just walked into the dreaming world. I could tell as much by the fuzzy outlines of the buildings, the street and the lamppost beside me.

  The footsteps belonged to a person, someone trying very hard to stay out of the streetlights. I could barely discern any shadows, but my hand was already inside the pocket where I kept my sand. I stayed perfectly still until the figure moved into a narrow side alley. Then I waited until the steps faded and only then did I furtively cross the street.

  Reaching the sidewalk on the other side of the street, I heard a familiar hiss that came from the alleyway. Instantly, I froze in my tracks and my hackles rose.

  Then I heard the hiss again, twice as loud and four times as angry. Putting my back to the wall, I slid my way toward the entrance of the alley.

  The first thing I saw around the corner was the figure I was following. The glowing orange symbols on its arms made it easy enough to spot. Its right arm turned just far enough for me to recognize the markings as Futhark, better known as ‘runes’ to most people in the know.

  Casting a faint, eerie light on the alley fences, I noticed something being swallowed whole by a creature near the back wall. It had a vast silhouette in the shape of a giant snake. Those unsettling eyes, the same ones I’d glimpsed in the previous night’s dream, peered down at me, and it hissed again when it opened its mouth. Its fangs glowed and appeared to be the same sickening color as its eyes.

  The figure intoned an incantation I recognized. It was a banishment spell. But its voice grew weaker with each word. It was only a matter of time before it became overwhelmed.

  Bolting into the alley, I pulled out some sand from my pocket while charging the shadowy snake. Its flat eyes locked on mine and it hissed at me in recognition. The sight of it threatened to stop me completely. But I mustered my courage, raised my hand and blew my sand into its face.

  The moment the sand cloud touched its eyes, the snake withdrew. It started shaking its head from side to side in obvious anger and distress, before suddenly lurching and thrashing, nearly throwing me off-balance. I could see the irritation caused by the sand that remained lodged in the creature’s eyes. The figure with the glowing runes found strength once more in its words and finished the spell with a flourish. Then the snake melted into the shadows, gradually replaced by the alley, which was returned to its normal state.

  A long exhale came from the figure when he stepped into the beam of the now visible streetlight between us.

  Quincy!

  “Many thanks, Mr. Blackstone,” Quincy said as he pulled down his sleeves. “Would I be correct in guessing you’re a Sandman?”

  At this point, there was no reason to cover up the truth. Because, just as Quincy knew what I was, I had a pretty damned good idea of what he was. “I come from a long family line,” I confirmed. “Just as I hope to be correct in assuming you’re a true shaman of the Scandinavian tradition.”

  “The technical term is seiomenn, and yes, I am,” Quincy answered with a smile.

  Changing the subject, I asked: “Would you mind telling me what beast we just drove back?”

  Thankfully, the snake was truly gone, and Quincy glanced at the back wall with a shudder. “That would be Jormungandr, the Midgard Serpent.”

  “It’s also been haunting at least one of my dreamers,” I informed him.

  Quincy raised his eyebrows. “I thought it seemed to recognize you.”

  I briefly explained my encounter with the mara and subsequent confrontation with Jormungandr. When I finished, I asked, “And I’m assuming I can drop you from my list of potential mystery dreamers?”

  “Oh, by no means, don’t do that!” Quincy exclaimed, laughing. “I don’t want to be the only one excluded from that A list of characters. But you may certainly drop me as a victim of any night terrors. I cast protective runes around any bed I sleep in. The sleeper you’re trying to rescue has no such protection.”

  “Well, actually they do…” I started.

  “Then how?” Quincy was quick to interrupt.

  “As odd as it may sound, the sleeper was protected by the mara, which was like using a fox to guard the chickens. Eventually, the mara would destroy them.” Then another thought hit me. “Haven Cemetary has the same vulnerability in its dimensional barriers, doesn’t it?”

  “How can such ancient land be otherwise?” Quincy asked. “In fact, from what I’ve observed and researched, I think the cemetery is ripe for bursting. The Midgard Serpent only needs to gather a bit more strength.”

  “It couldn’t get that from just one sleeper,” I replied. “It would have to draw its energy from numerous others.”

  “Then perhaps it’s fortunate that one of its victims is sleeping on your mattress.”

  One of the potential victims was Bailey, so I doubted if “fortunate” was the right word to use.

  Chapter Eleven

  At around one o’clock the next day, I found myself once again walking Haven Hollow’s streets.

  This time, it was because I insisted that Bailey cease her work in the office and take a lunch break. I promised to meet her at The Half-Moon in a few minutes. But first, I wanted to see about getting a replacement phonograph needle from the antique store in Shady Hills.

  The other matter lurking in the back of my mind was my chance encounter with Quincy and Jormungandr. That whole situation had killed any possibility for additional sleep the night before. Strangely, though, I didn’t feel terribly tired. It was one of our peculiarities. As long as we Sandmen could fulfill our duties, we didn’t need as much sleep as the average human. On days like this, I was thankful for that.

  So, with a clear head, I stepped inside the antique shop on Bachman Drive in Shady Hills. A bell jingled over the door as I walked in. As expected, the shelves were filled with a variety of antiques, all haphazardly organized. It was so chaotic, I failed to notice the back counter at first. When I did, I saw a person standing behind it, surrounded by antiques. The squat, bearded man was wearing a dirty white shirt, red suspenders and a broad grin. He seemed to have twice as many teeth as the average person.

  “Welcome, welcome, sir!” he called out in a mellow baritone.

  “Oh, please, call me Syd.”

  The man grinned even more broadly. “Will do, Syd! Joe Pickens is my name. How might I assist you on this fine day?”

  I didn’t need anything more to detect the huckster in this one. But my supernatural senses told me that my host was wearing nothing but a mask. My mind drifted, trying to follow the thread of what I was thinking before a brief flash of an image interrupted it.