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Mother glanced up and noticed my staring. With a frown, she hastily tucked her locket away, but as she did so, her fingers caught on the chain. It broke and the locket tumbled to the ground, spilling the glitter it harbored onto the soil. Once exposed, the shimmery substance glowed and floated into the air like feathery smoke. I stared, transfixed. Now I knew what it reminded me of:magic. But how was that possible?
Mother gasped and slapped her hand over the glitter, but wisps leaked from beneath her palm. Frantically, she scooped it up in handfuls into her locket, but stubborn and elusive, some snuck away, as if it possessed a mind of its own.
I reached out to help. “No, don’t touch it,” Mother snapped.
I rapidly withdrew my hand. “What is it?”
“Never mind,” she said briskly.
The question of whether or not it was magic burned on my tongue, but it couldn’t be…one thing I knew for certain was that Mother abhorred magic. Bringing it up again would only escalate her earlier disapproval. I bit the inside of my lip to force myself to remain silent.
Something warm brushed against my knee. I glanced down and discovered some of the sparkly dust hovering beside my leg. I quickly enclosed it in my hand before Mother saw it. I expected it to try and wrestle from my grip, as it had done Mother’s, but it stayed still, as light and soft as a feather but also grainy like bits of sand.
Mother scanned the ground. “Did I miss any?”
The dust quivered against my palm, a tickling reminder it was there. “I don’t think so.”
Mother leaned back on her heels, her expression strained. She spread her locket on her palm and examined it. “The clasp was loose,” she murmured to herself. “I must not have closed it all the way; how could I be so careless?”
She brushed her still spotless apron and marched into the house. I waited for the front door to click shut before I unclenched my fist. The glitter rose up and hovered like a shimmery cloud. It didn’t float away, as if it was meant just for me.
I created a tiny pocket in my handkerchief and poured the dust inside, tied a secure knot so it couldn’t escape, and burrowed it in my pocket. It left a thin layer of sparkly remnants on my hand, which floated up to dance and twist through the air the same way my magic did whenever I used it. Could this dust be magic too?
It couldn’t be. Mother would never possess such a thing. But in my heart I knew it was exactly what I suspected, the knowledge as much a part of me as my own burrowed powers. But if so, then what was Mother doing wearing it around her neck?
The words from the book I’d scoured earlier filled my mind:It is believed all witches have a magical source, which they draw upon to perform their spells. An idea formulated with each swirl Mother’s dust made. Perhaps this was the missing piece in overcoming whatever obstacle blocked my ability to capture what I most wanted: a dream.
Chapter 3
Isnuck out before dawn. The air was crisp and misty after the recent storm, which left everything coated in a layer of raindrops. All was still in the grey morning as the village slumbered. I climbed up my usual oak and crept as far out onto the lowest branch as I dared. There I balanced my tiny jar and waited.
Despite the lulling pattering of last night’s rain, I’d scarcely slept, kept continually tossing and turning by my brimming anticipation as well as the questions brought on by stealing Mother’s dust. I slid my hand into my pocket, and at my touch, the pouch containing the mysterious dust quivered. The warmth was familiar, similar to my own powers. This was magic, I was sure of it.
Perhaps it would be the key to obtaining what I most wanted. While I enjoyed dream watching, I yearned for a dream that wasmine, one where I could guide the course of the story and experience it in its entirety. Considering my nights were long and empty, bottling others’ dreams and witnessing them over and over would almost be as if I were dreaming them myself. Almost.
The sun peeked over the horizon as dawn arrived. I rested my chin on a damp branch and stared absentmindedly at the dandelion-puff clouds, dappled in amber hues. I startled when one of the clouds suddenlytwitched.
I rubbed my eyes and squinted at them, but they merely drifted lazily through the air in a very distinguished cloud-like fashion. My usual drowsiness must be causing me to see things.
Down in the village, the blacksmith’s son, Mason, lumbered from his shop. A nightmare, considerably shrunken but still a distinct mucky brown square, floated just above him. I frowned. A nightmare wouldn’t be worth wasting my limited magic on. He disappeared into the forest, and I returned to my restless waiting.
It wasn’t long before Alice emerged from the bakery, a pink dream bouncing beside her, only a few minutes old. She paused in front of a shop window to check her reflection in the glass before hurrying towards the forest in the direction Mason had gone, her dream trailing behind. I didn’t have much time.
My pocket warmed like it had been submerged in a puddle of sunshine. I carefully dipped my pinky through the slit of the handkerchief and the dust curled around my finger. My magic blossomed more quickly than ever before, spreading through my body and extending to my palm at the slightest concentration.
Mother’s dust burst from its cloth prison and spun towards the dream, mingling with my own magic. The force thrust me back; I dug my nails into the bark to keep from falling out of the tree. A sparkly cloud cradled the dream in a swirl of glitter and color. I hooked my arm around a sturdy branch for balance and flicked my other wrist to pull the dream back. For a moment it didn’t move, but after another desperate tug, it started approaching at a crawl. Excitement flared in my chest. It was working!
But before it could reach my perch, the dream froze, and the magic enveloping it started to slip away as the warmth within me diminished. Desperately, I tried to summon more, but my powers were drained. I pulled with what little power I had left, but the dream refused to budge. I gritted my teeth and tightened my grip around the branch as I yanked with all of my might.
A tiny piece broke away and soared over to me, while the remaining fragments of the dream flickered out one by one like blown-out candles. I stared at where the shattered dream had vanished, slightly dazed, while the portion I now cradled in my hand glowed cheerfully, seemingly unharmed.
I pressed it into the bottle and corked it before lifting it to my gaze. The dream snippet of pink flowers and hearts falling gently from the sky like snow swirled within its glass prison. I grinned. At last a dream was mine. I carefully tucked it safely in my bag and pulled out three more jars. I needed more.
By this time the rest of the village had awakened, yawning midst their morning greetings, their closely following dreams ready to be plucked. My magic twirled towards the nearest one, a dazzling purple diamond hovering above a farmer blearily setting up his baskets of produce with half-closed eyes, but the magic paused partway. Confused, I peeked inside the handkerchief.
It was empty.
I frantically investigated every crevice of my pocket and even amongst the leaves in case some magic had fallen, but it was gone. I slumped against the trunk. How could I have used every bit of Mother’s magic? How would I capture any more dreams now? The disappointment was a heavy weight, crushing my shoulders.
