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We weren’t here for the window though. Eilidh and the other Tribunal seats might have assumed I’d bring it back for them, but I knew how to abuse loopholes in vampire requests. They’d sent me to get Sutherland because he had something of value to them. Since the window was still safely mounted in the wall, it couldn’t be what they were after.
The key was hard and warm in my hand, slippery from perspiration. I squeezed it, fearing if I put it in my pocket or let it out of my sight for even a moment, I’d lose it forever.
None of the doors in our immediate vicinity were the one from my dream, but they had the same antique feel to them as the corridor from Sutherland’s memory had.
“I think I know what we’re looking for,” I told the boys, keeping my voice low to not draw unwanted attention. “Can you trust me on this?”
I was asking them to give up what little time we had and go with my gut instead of a more logical trial-and-error system. Holden would likely side with me—mostly because he didn’t care about doing favors for the West Coast Tribunal—but I didn’t know how Maxime would respond.
“What makes you so sure?” Maxime asked.
“Have you ever shared a dream with Rebecca?” I wasn’t looking at him, my gaze sweeping down the halls instead, hoping to catch a glimpse of the door from my dream.
“Yes. ”
“Sutherland is my vampire sire, but he’s also my biological father. ” I met Maxime’s gaze then, staring him right in the face. “We share blood on every conceivable level. If I see the door in his dream, I’m going to believe that’s real. ”
“In his dream?” Maxime followed close behind me as we moved down one of the dark hallways, using only the moonlight through the windows to guide our way. “Don’t you mean your dream?”
I shook my head. “His dream. ”
Maxime caught my arm at the elbow, stopping me with his alarming vampire strength. “Secret, that’s not how those connections work. A sire can speak to his offspring, but vice-versa? That’s unheard of. ”
I didn’t have a lot of experience with sire-kin dream sharing. From what Maxime was telling me, though, it was different from the dreams I shared with Holden or Brigit when she’d been alive. Brigit had been considered my offspring within the circle of the council, but I hadn’t been the one to turn her. She’d been able to slip into my dreams because I took her on as my ward, a connection which functioned in more than name for vampires. Much like claiming a human as mine, making Brigit my ward had marked her as something belonging to me and was not to be trifled with.
Fucking vampire brain mojo. There were so many strata of power, and so much sharing of power, I’d long since stopped paying attention to most of it and took a que sera sera attitude about the whole thing.
Whatever will be, will be. I sure as hell wasn’t in a position to stop something that had developed over thousands of years.
Plus, I liked having the ability to reach out to Holden and Bri during my resting hours.
When Brigit had died, I’d felt the severed tie like a physical blow. In spite of her immortality, I’d known she was gone when she slipped away. Seeing her in my dreams now was just my psyche’s way of mocking me.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Max. I saw the door. I know what we’re looking for. You’re going to have to trust me. ”
Neither of them had much of a choice. If I said we were going, we were going. Since I was a Tribunal Leader—regardless of which coast my throne sat on—they would have to listen to me.
Some vampires got a foul taste in their mouths having to take orders from a breather, but the ones back home had learned to hide their disdain. So far, aside from marveling at my pulse the first time we met, Maxime had shown no signs of disapproval towards me. He followed my instructions and was always helpful.
Now, he nodded, accepting my request. He released my elbow so I could start walking again.
“What are we looking for?” he asked.
“It’s an interior door—though in this place who the hell knows—and was yellow, with an ochre trim. No windows, simple brass knob. ” It was a pretty basic description and could have referred to several of the doors we’d passed on the main level, but I suspected we were in the right place being closer to the Tiffany window.
When one hallway yielded no results, I reversed my course and went down the opposite hall. We were beginning to run low on time, and I felt certain our guide must have noticed our absence by then. I had to find the door now.
Stepping over the threshold of a bedroom, I could tell even in the darkness the colors were familiar. The buttery yellow and rust tones matched those of the door in my dream. Aside from the entry I’d come through there were two closed doors in the space. One had glass panels, ruling it out, and the other appeared to belong to a closet.
Clutching the key between trembling fingers, I advanced on the closet door. I was alone in the room but didn’t pause to wonder about Holden and Maxime. They were likely keeping an eye out for new tour guides, and I wasn’t worried about getting hurt opening a closet door.
I slipped the key into the lock and turned. The tumbler clicked in a profoundly satisfying way, and my heart thumped. Twisting the handle, I opened the door and saw what was waiting for me.
On the floor of the closet was a broken window, shards of stained glass catching the dim moonlight. Circular prisms sat amongst the bits of broken wood. It was hard to be sure in the darkness, but it looked an awful lot like the Tiffany window we’d just seen in the hall.
“What the hell?” I asked to no one in particular.
“Such a foul mouth,” a voice behind me replied. “We’ll have to do something about that. ”
