Ronan stared at the house. It was not as fancy as it had looked from a distance; the stone was old and discolored, and the roof had a bit of sway. There was a bright holiday flag with a turkey on it hanging on the porch. A dog bowl that said WOOF! A snow shovel with bright pink gloves stuffed through the handle. It was very ordinary and alive and welcoming, which was completely at odds with his suddenly sour mood. He was not at all excited to have another dreamer sprung on them.

Hennessy seemed to be feeling the same way, because she asked, “Can’t we just go save a different dreamer and be done with it?”

“Keep your wits about you,” Bryde replied.

On the porch, he rang the doorbell and then waited in his quiet way. There was something about the way he stood there now with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his expression expectant, that made him seem familiar. Every so often Ronan felt he almost recognized him, and then it went away again.

The door opened.

A woman stood on the other side of it. She was exactly the sort of person one would have guessed might open this door based upon the things on the porch. She was a very comforting sort of person. She was enough. Groomed enough to seem invested in the world, but not so much that she seemed like she was making the effort for them more than for herself. Eyes smiling enough that she seemed to have a sense of humor, but eyebrows serious enough that she wouldn’t shrug everything off as a joke. Old enough to be sure of who she was, but not so old to remind him of his worried uncertainty regarding the elderly.

Bryde said, “Can we come in out of the cold?”

Her mouth said oh but nothing came out. Eventually, she said, “Your voice. You’re … Bryde.”

Bryde said, “And you’re Rhiannon. Rhiannon Martin.”

Ronan and Hennessy shot each other looks. Ronan’s look said, What fuckery is this? Hennessy’s said, Guess you weren’t the only head he was in.

“Yes, I am,” Rhiannon said. She put her hand to her cheek, then put her hand over her mouth for a moment, allowing herself a few seconds of visible surprise and wonder. Then she stepped back to let them in out of the fine rain. “I am. Come in, yes, of course.”

Inside, the mansion was even less grand than Ronan had first thought; it was merely an overlarge farmhouse with stone cladding, although it was well-furnished and well-loved, easy with generations of care. The fitful weather outside turned everything dark and sleepy inside. Every light was a point of gold in the handsome gloom, putting Ronan in mind of the dreamt lights he always kept in his pockets.