Bryde’s expression softened. Was it pity? “It’s a warning, not an order. The view in the rearview mirror is often a painful one.”

“Whoa, mate, Jordan is not in my rearview mirror,” said Hennessy.

“Then where is she?” Bryde asked. “Why is she not standing in this forest with us? She’s a dream, this concerns her, too, does it not? And where are your brothers, Ronan Lynch? Where is Adam? They are the brothers and lovers of a dreamer, is this not their concern, too? Did they come with us to save the world for dreamers? No, dreamers are a task for dreamers, they think, not for people like them. They love you, they support you, they wave goodbye as you flee without them, and then they return to their own lives to muddle through without you.”

“That’s a little unfair,” Ronan said uneasily.

“And can you blame them?” Bryde went on. “A part of them must be relieved they no longer have front-row seats watching as the world breaks you. It’s hard to die. Harder to watch someone else do it, and make no mistake, that’s what you two were doing before now. Dying in plain sight, inch by inch, dream by dream, drip by drip. You’ve given them the gift of letting them look away, and I’m just warning you they might not like you returning that gift for store credit.”

“Marvelous,” Hennessy said, sounding bitter. “Wonderful. Inspiring. Got it. We die alone.”

Bryde said, “You have each other. The ley line. Places like this. They are your family, too.”

“You’re wrong,” Ronan said. “About Adam, anyway.”

“I’d like to be,” Bryde replied. “But I’ve met too many humans.”

“You’re wrong,” Ronan said again.

“Tell me the dream that produced all those wheels,” Bryde said. “Tamquam—”

“Don’t say that again,” Ronan said. Then, again, “You’re wrong.”

Hennessy muttered something, but when Bryde waited for her to repeat it, she just said, “I wish I had a cigarette.”

“Come on,” Bryde said. “We have work to do.”

Chapter 10

Declan Lynch had a complicated relationship with his family. It wasn’t that he hated them. Hate was such a slick, neat, simple emotion. Declan envied people who felt proper hate. You had to sand all the corners off things in order to unequivocally hate; it was a subtractive emotion. Hate was sometimes a prize. But hate was sometimes also just a dick move. It was annoying how many people had small redeeming qualities or depressingly sympathetic motives or other complicating features that disqualified it as an appropriate response.