Between by Kerry Schafer Page A

shrieking, the words muffled by walls.
    One quick peek inside the box. Nobody would ever know.
    The cat sat down by her feet and licked a paw as her fingers turned the key and opened the lid.
    Little balls of clear glass nestled into a crimson velvet lining, all different sizes, like marbles but without the swirl of color at the center. Vivian ran her fingers through them, watching reflected colors shift and change, feeling the energy around her shift as well. A chiming sound, like a bell only different, filled the air. She paused, alarmed, certain the adults would come running, both of them angry, but their voices continued in the other room.
    Picking up one of the little balls between thumb and forefinger, she held it up to the light. Suspended in the center was a tiny, perfect tree; a tire swing dangled from a long branch.
    Such a peaceful world, so quiet, so safe.
    A breeze brushed against her cheek, and she looked up, startled, to find herself standing in a field of grass and flowers, wind blowing her hair into her eyes. She pushed the bothersome strands behind her ears and saw the tree towering above her, with the tire swing turning gently, invitingly, in front of her. No sign of a house or people anywhere. Nothing but the tree and this wide, green field all dotted with yellow and blue, stretching away as far as she could see.
    At first, it was sheer delight—her favorite daydream come true. Sunlight warmed her hair, the wind sang to her, and the marble clasped in her hand sang with it. Nobody came by with sharp words to call her inside and lecture her about bugged telephones and listening ears. No razors and blood and ambulance sirens.
    But by the time the sun hung like a ball of fire on the western horizon she shivered in an unrelenting breeze, her belly tight with hunger. The swinging had long since lost its charm and she sat with her back to the trunk of the tree, knees drawn up against her body for comfort and warmth.
    Her grandfather was still a long way off when she saw him coming through the field toward her, looking more like a gnome than ever, his wizened face sharp in the waning light.
    “Well,” he said, sinking down into the grass beside her. “I suppose they were meant for you. But not yet, child, not yet.”
    “The box wanted to be opened,” she said.
    “There were other things that wanted you—why this one?”
    She met his eyes then, so dangerously bright and blue, and said, “Because I wanted to.”
    “You were fortunate, child. If I had not come for you, you would have been lost here, forever; do you understand?”
    She shook her head, defiant. “I would have walked somewhere. I would have telephoned for help. Somebody would have found me.”
    “Now you are being foolish. This is an entire reality—you must understand that. There is nobody else in this world but you and me.”
    Nobody else.
The words rang true. She held up the marble in her hand, studying the tiny tree, the swing. A tricksy wish, like all storybook magic turned out to be. Fairy wishes always turned into a curse of some kind, no matter how hard someone tried to get it right.
    “I see you believe me. So I will also tell you this. The globes can take you to many wonderful places, but many dark and dangerous places as well. You were lucky.”
    She was fascinated now. “What kind of places?”
    “All are within the Dreamworld. Each of those globes contains somebody’s dream.”
    Confused, and remembering some of her own dreams, she felt her stomach clench with sudden fear. “But I’m awake. How can we be in a dream if I’m awake?”
    “Because you are who you are.”
    “And I can be awake in someone else’s dream?”
    “Yes. And some of them are beautiful and peaceful, like this one. But some are full of monsters and evil things.”
    “Dragons,” she whispered.
    “Yes, dragons.”
    She squeezed her hands together until the bones hurt, pressed them between her knees.
    A warm arm wrapped around her shoulder, pulling