“In every vein of every leaf, in seeming chaos,” came the girl’s voice from ahead.

  Proto lurched through the wall of mist, caught his balance in midair, and landed smoothly in a forward stride across the barren plain. A crisp breeze brushed his hair back, and the star-fraught sky sparkled down upon him.

  Conscious control of his body rushed back to him, together with forgotten memories of the choice he made at Somnus’ Palace and all his possible futures. This previously had been jarring—and still was, really—but he managed to keep his cool this time.

  Before him stood Mercune, her freckle-dusted face tilted toward him, her shamrock eyes peering curiously. “You . . . ” She curled her long red hair about her finger, clasping a bunch of blood-red wildflowers in her other hand.

  Then, she grinned. “Hi there! Lovely day, huh?” She waved at the mirky wasteland.

  “Yeah, I was so busy stargazing, I lost track of where I was,” said Proto. “Now I can’t tell where the road is, with all this mist. Any chance you could give me directions?”

  She frowned at him bemusedly. “Road? Here, here’s your road!” She waved a red-glowing hand.

  Mists shot forth from her fingers in a stream, obscuring sight in a straight line ahead of her. As they wisped away, he could make out a sort of pathway beneath them.

  Is that? . . . Yes. A yellow brick road.

  She giggled at his incredulous face. “Yeah, you’re not gonna fool me, Mister. I’m dreaming, and you’re not from my dream, and you know it!”

  It was strange how fresh and full of energy he felt here. Just moments ago, up in the breathing world, he’d been straining sleepily to form thoughts, only to have them wisp away. Now, that same whimsical mistiness of mind was his source of energy here.

  He felt like he’d spent the day breathing away all the oxygen in a closed room, and suddenly had been turned into a plant that could savor its new CO2 paradise.

  Yeah, Proto could almost hear Dahlia sighing, “Don’t be a poetaster, Spunky.”

  “Caught red-handed, I guess,” he replied to Mercune.

  “That’s right! You guys, always creeping into my dreams and pretending to be part of the scenery,” she accused lightly, planting her hands on her hips. “What makes you think my dreams are any of your business?”

  Yes, back to business. Today was going to be different. Today, Proto was going to give Mercune a gift. “She likes getting gifts. She loooves getting gifts,” Himari had said.

  Proto dreaded picking gifts for girls.

  Not girlfriends, mind you. With girlfriends, some combination of jewelry, sweet truffles, massages, romantic mementos, and weekend vacations for two would do the trick. Or even a mixtape, in Black’s case.

  When it wasn’t a girlfriend, though, all those obvious romantic options were off the table.

  His extended family had done Secret Santa gift exchanges a few times. Twice, he’d drawn aunts. It’d been miserable.

  “Here’s a gift basket! I don’t drink white wine, light scented candles, use bath salts, wear perfume, or use volumizing conditioner, but I’m sure you’ll love it!” he’d thought to himself, as he’d handed the baskets over with a politely mumbled, “Here you go!”

  “Oh, thank you so much, Proto!” they’d enthused—probably thinking to themselves, “Bath salts? I’m forty-five, not Martha Stewart. Give me a goddamn mixtape.”

  Well, he wasn’t going to give Mercune a mixtape. But he was proud of the gift he’d thought up. It drew on everything he’d learnt about her.

  As Mercune blinked and tilted her head at him, he suddenly remembered she was awaiting a reply.

  “I just thought you might like company.” Proto was all smiling wide-eyed abashment. “But maybe that was just me.”

  “Aw.” Mercune beamed. “Sure, let’s have a walk!”

  He nodded agreeably. “Where to?”

  “Where the winds take us!” She waved a hand, and a sudden gust sent him stumbling toward her. “Just kidding. Could it be more obvious?” She waved toward the yellow brick road.

  “Fair point,” replied Proto.

  She giggled. “Come!” She strolled away, and he followed.

  The dream progressed as usual, more or less, though the small talk was different.

  “So, where do you go in your spare time? When you’re not creeping through girls’ dreams!” she asked lightly.

  “I don’t know. Starbucks, concerts, and Scotch whisky tastings?” he replied.

  “Scotch? Ugh!” She wrinkled her nose. “Like drinking smoke and fire. What are you.”

  “A connoisseur! An epicure! A bon viveur!” he answered.

  “That’s a lot of French words for a Scottish drink,” she noted.

  “Well then, how about a good eighty-year-old armagnac?” he suggested.

  “I don’t know what that means,” she replied. “But I have enough eighty-year-old in my life with Gramps around.”

  “I’d ask who Gramps is,” he replied, “but I should probably introduce myself first. I’m Proto.”

  “First-name basis, huh?” She pursed her lips appraisingly and studied him. “I’m Mercune.”

  “We could do nicknames instead,” suggested Proto. “I’ve been called Snow Blow and Slow Bro, if it’s helpful.”

  She tittered. “Fair enough! But you’ll have to come up with my nickname.”

  “I’ll rise to the challenge,” he declared. “ . . . Mercutia! Mercatrix!”

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  She winced apologetically. “Keep trying.”

  “Alas. Will do . . . Mercantilia!” he said. “Yeah, no. I’ll keep trying.”

  They’d walked another minute or so when she abruptly turned to him. “There’s something odd about you.”

  Proto cringed. The last time this had happened, her dream had veered off the rails and crashed horribly.

  “You’re just figuring that out?” he tried playfully.

  “No, no. Something . . . not bad.” Her green eyes searched him for a moment. “I feel like I already know you. Not that I know anything about you! But you’re familiar. I feel like I don’t have to explain things to you. Why is that, I wonder?”

  “I . . . guess some people are just in tune!” suggested Proto lightly. “Two birds don’t need to practice to sing together, right?”

  Mercune planted her hands on her hips. “Sir, are you calling me a bird? What year is this?”

  “Um. Two roses planted far apart will both still be roses?” he proposed instead.

  “Sir, are you comparing yourself to a flower?” she asked gleefully.

  “Well, at least I’m not covered in them!” He waved a hand, and suddenly her gossamer green tunic was dotted with tiny roses.

  “Hm.” Mercune eyed her newly decorated garb. “Joke’s on you, Mister Tracksuit! I actually like this.”

  Then, she peered at him. “Speaking of which, let’s fix that. A tracksuit is entirely unsuitable for this.”

  Proto felt his comfortable old tracksuit misting away and being replaced. Time to be a jester again, huh? Yeah, at this point, he probably should start wearing outfits that marked him out explicitly for laughing at.

  “I may be a joker, but at least I dress the part,” he mused.

  “Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Mercune. “You don’t like it??”

  Proto looked down. He wasn’t in a jester suit.

  Indeed, his clothes looked reasonably normal—for a teen pop idol, at least. He looked somewhere between a K-pop singer, Zac Efron circa 2008, and Davy Jones of the Monkees.

  “Um, no no, it’s great,” he managed, blinking at the bold redness of his turtleneck. “But do you think I’m maybe too old for a buttonless vest? And too young for bell bottoms?”

  “Good things are timeless!” Mercune waved lackadaisically. “Let the naysayers worry about ‘too young’ and ‘too old.’ Be a yay-sayer like me.” She beamed sparklingly.

  “Heh heh,” laughed Proto nervously. Once again, he was glad Himari and Helen weren’t here.

  Well, if he was going to A/B test giving a gift to Mercune, he’d better start setting up that moment.

  “This is a good fit,” he noted, fingering the red polyester of his new turtleneck.

  “Yay!” replied Mercune. “You see? Yay-sayer.”

  “As for the color . . . ” Proto went on.

  “Aw. You don’t like red?” She stuck her bottom lip out, running a hand through her hair again.

  “No, no. It’s just missing something.” Proto reached behind his back, conjuring something up, and held it toward Mercune.

  It was a corsage of blood-red wildflowers, similar to those she’d been holding earlier. He pinned it to her gossamer tunic. “There. Now we match. We’re good now.”

  Wrinkling her nose, Mercune smiled blushingly. “Whatever!” She turned and strode down the yellow brick road. “As if we didn’t match before!” She ran a hand through her hair.

  A moment later, she leaned and smelled her corsage happily.

  The corsage, of course, wasn’t the gift—just a sudden inspiration. The real gift would come later. In the meantime, maybe he could gather some information about Ausrine.

  “I think the last time I wore a turtleneck,” mused Proto, fingering his huge collar, “was when a babysitter was over and she spilled red wine all over me. And that was the end of my last turtleneck.” This was actually true.

  “Well, I thought ahead!” cried Mercune. “Stain away, it will only get redder and better!” Conjuring a glass of red wine, she thrust it toward his red shirt. Instead, it sloshed over the edge and landed on his foot.

  “Ah, my fine shoes!” Proto protested, eying his beaten-up track shoes.

  “Oh, there’s an easy fix for that,” she waved.

  “Prompt washing with stain-removal spray?” he suggested.

  “Better.” She snapped her fingers, and suddenly, Proto’s shoes were as red as the original Air Jordans. “Redder is always better.”

  As he met her eyes, her lips quirked up and she glanced skyward, running a hand through her hair.

  Proto struggled to focus. Have to get her back on the babysitter topic.

  “Certainly better than my babysitter’s solution. Which was to pour herself more wine,” noted Proto.

  Mercune giggled. “My babysitter was like a born supermodel, but she preferred watching anime and reading books.”

  Finally! Here we go!

  “Ah, could we trade?” suggested Proto.

  “Trade babysitters? A little late, I think. Even for me!” observed Mercune. “Also, I think Ausrine is busy adulting now. But I can be your babysitter. I’ll make you peanut butter and jellies in nice little squares, no crusts.” She smiled sweetly. “Red jelly.”

  “Ausrine?” repeated Proto. “Not the one who went to Atlean University?”

  “What?” Mercune blinked. “Wow, you know her? There’s no way the world’s that small.”

  “Blonde hair, speaks Japanese . . . ?” said Proto.

  “That’s the one! Huh,” she marveled. “Welp, it’s like Flua-Sahng says, ‘The weird of Fate winds back upon itself.’ Or, like I say, ‘Fate’s weird.’”

  “‘Shared Fate, strange Fate,’” said Proto. This was actually his favorite quote, though he wasn’t sure where he’d heard it. Maybe he’d read it in a book.

  “Hm, I like that. More elegant than mine. And not obtuse like Flua-Sahng’s,” mused Mercune. “I’m going to steal it. And there’s nothing you can do about it!”

  “I’m going to tell Flua-Sahng!” Proto lightly threatened.

  “Oh, that’s okay—wait. You know Flua-Sahng.” She squinted at Proto. “And I knew you knew her. How did I know that?”

  Mist had started swirling upward from the floor.

  Proto thought quickly. “She’s Somnus’ mom, right? You know, the Lord of Dreams. I know Somnus because I’m a visitor of dreams. And you probably guessed all that, right?”

  “Hm. That makes sense,” observed Mercune. “But I don’t think that’s the answer!”

  Proto suppressed a wince as the whitish wisps curled up around their chests.

  At least, he thought he’d suppressed the wince. But she responded by glancing down and frowning. “No, no, that’s not how this dream’s ending!” She waved a radiant red hand.

  The mist dissipated in a broad semi-sphere around them.

  “Um.” Proto searched for words.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she assured him, as the mists whirled and weltered about her protective orb. “Where were we? Right, babysitters. Yeah, Ausrine was nice. Complicated, but always nice.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Mercune replied thoughtfully. “She had a dark side and a light side. Not like bad and good—like night and day. It felt like she was moving toward the day—like dawn was coming. And she was sort of sad about it. Happy and sad.” The red-haired teen stared off as though he weren’t there.

  And there it is. Proto felt sure this was important, even if he had no idea why.

  Then, Mercune shook her head. “Anyway, now who’s being complicated and obtuse! We should be following our yellow brick road and talking about roses, red wine and red hair.”

  And off she strode. He quickly followed, as the mists dwindled away.

  “Next time I’m with Yemos, I’ll have to tell Ausrine I met you,” said Proto.

  “Sure, tell her you met me in a dream. No biggie,” said Mercune. “Hm. Technically, does that make me . . . the girl of your dreams?” She heeheed crazily.

  Proto blinked. He felt like Helen and Himari were guiding where this conversation went.

  “Just kidding!” she reassured him, patting his hand. “So, who’s Yemos? Ausrine’s guy? Fan of long, blonde, luscious hair? I mean, who isn’t, right?” Her wide eyes sparkled at him.

  “I’m sure he is,” replied Proto, gauging that look of hers. “But, as a wise person once said, redder is always better.”

  Mercune squinted at Proto with searching eyes.

  Then, she nodded and smiled in satisfaction. “Well said! Excellently said. Who thought of that?”

  And on she gallivanted down the bright road. He tagged along beside her, and she bantered about this, that and the other.

  Fyrir had been right. She was awfully talkative.

  “Do you think it’s ever day here?” she was saying. “I’ve only seen it starry. But is that just cause I come at night?”

  Proto didn’t mind her chatter. Who would blame the leaves for rustling, or the birds for singing? Who would fault the sounding sea? A good nature savors nature, human nature above all.

  “Question,” he interjected, and she cut off mid-sentence in interest. “What were you singing earlier? Right before I found you.”

  “You heard that?” Wide-eyed, Mercune blushed a little. “It’s a song I heard a long time ago. I was lost and wandering alone, and I heard that song. It led me somewhere. That’s where I found Flua-Sahng. Or her Fossil, at least. And that’s why I’m here now!”

  This was not what Proto had expected to hear. “When was that?”

  “Oh, I was little.” She looked away. “After I found my house had burnt down, and my parents . . . ”

  Proto blinked, then squeezed her hand. “It’s okay. I just wanted to say how much I liked the song. It makes me feel like there’s more to life than meets the eye.”

  She stared at him, eyes a little wide.

  Then, she turned away.