“Ian?” I ask.

“You felt it necessary?” Sassi looks at Kilon in irritation with a raised eyebrow.

“He was annoying me.” Kilon grins until he notices Sassi’s face. “We can’t let him go.”

“Why not?” Sassi asks.

“When Willow has gone missing, he’ll be the first to gather people to look for her. He knows too much now. It’s necessary that we just keep him quiet until we can figure things out.”

Ian is snoring beside me—a sound that has irritated me for many years.

Kilon looks at me out of the corner of his eyes. “I’m sorry. I needed him quiet.”

“You needed him quiet?” My question doesn’t bring answers, but my eyes grow heavy. Soon, I can see Kilon’s mouth moving, but I can’t hear it. In only seconds, I’m dreaming.

CHAPTER TEN

My tired eyes flutter open to a glass ceiling. Floating casually above this are clouds of all shapes and a flock of birds flying steadily in formation. It is very apparent I am no longer in the city. The glass ceiling is framed with knotted wood, weathered and beaten from the elements, giving a contrast to the modern architecture of the very large room. Sheer material is pulled elegantly through rustic hooks to block a bit of light. Everything within the well thought out room is what I would have chosen if money was no option.

The mattress beneath me is plush, and the comforter is an off-white feather down, which I pull up to protect me from the chill.

Where am I?

Large windows line the rustic walls, revealing tall, snow-capped mountains in the distance. The sun peeks through these towering masses with an afternoon light. Anything this grand has only lived in magazines on coffee tables for the rich and famous, never for the everyday-nobody. City girls like me are used to tight corners and fire escapes, not a crackling fireplace the size of the Taj Mahal and hand-carved furniture.

Ancient architectural paintings hang here and there, but mostly windows dominate every wall. It might feel unfriendly with the stone colors, if it weren’t for the plush bed beneath me. My hands run along the smooth sheets—my favorite kind of T-shirt material. Perhaps sleeping well meant that I feel comfortable here, or maybe it has something to do with Kilon’s eerie ability to help people dream.

Ian! Sitting up quickly, my hair flies in my face. Where is everyone? Pressure expands between my temples.

“Your head should feel better within the hour.” The soothing voice floats from the corner of the room.

Arek stands from a wide couch. He crosses his arms in front of his chest for protection from the chilly temperatures, as he walks closer. “Before you ask too many questions . . . I expect you to be curious about what’s happening, and I get that. Anyone would. But after talking with the others we feel comfortable telling you only pieces.” He is wearing a heavy black sweater with his hair messy and his eyes bright in the dark room. My icy fingers try to rub my frozen toes, so he grabs a sweater from a nearby chair and tosses it to me. “Here, put this on.”

“Thank you.” Immediately the thick wool creates an intoxicating warmth. “So, you’ll answer some of my questions then?”

“Some,” he says with a grin.

“Where are we?”

He walks to the window, so I follow. The sheer size of the mountains across the rolling meadows would make anyone aware of God. I imagine men and women standing on top of the peaks suddenly gaining true understanding since there is nothing more revealing of a greater power than her unending creation. I suddenly have a desire to stand at the top. The trees have only a spray of leaves after the heavy winter and it looks as though there has been snow for days. There are miles of visibility along the lowlands, since there are no other homes, which makes it a fresh winter wonderland. Yet he doesn’t pretend to be interested in the view.

“You watch me.” The words tumble out with hope that they might unlock Pandora’s box; instead his cool unreadable expression never changes during a long pause.

“Switzerland . . . we’re in Switzerland.”

“And who are you?”

“Arek Rykor,” he answers quickly.

“I know that.”

“Then you had better get smarter with your questions,” he quips.

Together we laugh softly with a strange comfort, until the double doors to the large room burst open and a tall, older, brunette woman in a very expensive, deep blue suit hurries in. She is beautiful. Her cheek bones are pronounced, with strong blue eyes and pursed lips. Arek steps to her with his hand out.

“Not now, Elizabeth.” There is a command to this man, unlike anything I’ve ever felt. As though the walls themselves might bow to him if requested.

“Please, Arek . . . just a minute.” He reluctantly lets her pass and she stops when she sees me. “Remy.” Happiness comes over her pale face and thin smile. She is several inches taller than me, which already makes her seem matronly and powerful, but it is her gloved hands that she places on each of my cheeks while she stares that make me uncomfortable. It is painfully clear after a moment that my reaction does not meet her expectations. Her long, willowy, dancer-like arms wrap me in a hug, and it is hard to know whether to be frightened or reassured. After pulling away, her eyes dart back and forth over my face, like a scanner. “You don’t remember anything?”

“No, she doesn’t.” Arek vocalizes what she already has discovered.

Her eyes are apologetic, “I had only assumed since she was in the room with you that she had remembered.”

“I would love for someone to tell me,” I urge.

She pulls her black winter gloves off one finger at a time, then removes her scarf and throws everything on the bed. Even the way she moves is that of a seasoned dancer, which is quite breathtaking to watch.

“Should you or I?” she asks Arek.

“Nothing should be said . . . not yet,” Arek answers.

“We have no choice, Arek. He knows what has happened. She will have to stand before them, and I think it best that she knows something. You don’t have to tell her anything of her past, just what and who we are. We can’t expect her to do anything for us unless we tell her why.”

“Who?” I laugh. When both Arek and the woman look at me with straight faces, it stops me from asking again.

“Arek, please tell her.” The woman urges him. But when he won’t continue, she does, “Remy, I’m Elizabeth . . . your aunt.”

Immediately Arek growls in frustration, “Elizabeth!”

Laughter nearly bubbles to the surface, but I chew my lip instead. Yet the longer her face is like stone, the more my stomach swirls and my skin creases between my eyes. “Wait, you’re serious? My mom didn’t have any sisters.”

Elizabeth looks at Arek with disapproval. “You should have told her something by now. How dare you take her from her life and mention nothing of ours.”

“Those are the orders,” he states.

“Well if you don’t tell her right now, then I will.” Elizabeth crosses her arms.

“Who is Remy?” I finally ask.

Elizabeth gestures a hand toward me, ushering Arek onto his soapbox, but Arek crosses his arms in front of his chest obstinately. Elizabeth sighs, “You. It’s your name. Or at least it was in your past life.”

Finally, I can’t help but chuckle, “My past life?”

“Yes.”

“You’re crazy,” I say quietly.

This frustrates Elizabeth, but she continues anyway. “We’ve been watching you your entire life.”