“But Grace Goodwin was hiding from whoever was assigned to murder the Vortex team. She must have been paranoid as hell. Every time you and your mother visited she would have been afraid that you were in danger. I think she would have had a safe room or an escape plan. Probably both. You said you were five when she died?”

“Yes.” Olivia hesitated. “There was a fire. The house burned to the ground. The authorities attributed the cause of the blaze to painting chemicals stored in a closet.”

“Safe rooms are almost always underground. If your grandmother had one it would not have been completely destroyed by a fire. Do you remember your last visit with Grace Goodwin?”

“No, not really.” Olivia touched her handbag, aware of the camera inside. She could feel a whisper of the familiar vibe even through the leather. “Sometimes when I’m waking up from a dream, I think I remember something that happened the last time Mom and I went to the coast—something bad—but whenever I try to pin down the details, everything dissolves. I told you, I was only five.”

Harlan watched her intently. “Is it the same dream every time?”

“I think so, but I can’t even be sure of that much.”

“When did the dreams start?”

“I’ve had them off and on for years, but lately they’ve been coming more frequently.”

“Lately?”

“You want to know the truth?” She opened her handbag and took out the camera. “They’ve become more intense since I picked this up at Swan’s. Probably because it’s infused with my grandmother’s and my mother’s vibe. The energy is affecting my dreams. Maybe I shouldn’t sleep with it beside my bed—”

Between one heartbeat and the next she plunged straight into a waking dreamstate. Her heart pounded. Her breathing got tight. She wanted to run but she could not move.

 . . . She hears her grandmother’s voice. “The monster is coming. I will hold him off as long as I can. Run.”

There is a terrifying clang as the steel door slams shut. Crushing darkness. The thud of a heavy bolt sliding into place. Waves of light in colors that do not exist in her box of crayons.

Her mother takes her hand. “Come with me, sweetheart. We must run.”

A brilliant, dark blue mirror glows on the wall. Her mother leads her through it . . .

Darkness.

Olivia felt the rush of the fever dream sweep through her. The warning roared in her head.

“No,” she got out in a hoarse voice. “No.”

She slapped a hand across her own mouth. The need to speak was overwhelming. She fought it with everything she had. She was in a public place, a coffee shop. If she slipped into a dreamstate voice the way she had last night and started talking, everyone in the room would conclude that she was mentally unbalanced.