Page 48 of A Theory of Dreaming (A Study in Drowning #2)

I may have been a girl when he came for me, but I am most assuredly a woman now.

I had thought I might grow strength in my years, as an oak tree thickens and spreads its roots, but I feel in many respects weaker than I ever was before.

If there is one great virtue of girlhood, it is the insulation of dreams. We are protected, as children, by our belief in the unreal.

In moments of solitude I can turn back time and imagine myself as young again: my bare feet in the grass, a crown of white flowers and juniper berries in my hair.

I can make myself believe in knights and heroes, in such sweet-voiced and pure-hearted saviors.

I take refuge in these dreams. I dive eagerly into unreal waters.

But when I return, dragged unwillingly to the shore like a mermaid in a net, I am bereft again.

Womanhood has left me with no place to hide.

Effy managed to calm her breathing just enough for Preston to help her to her feet. Her limbs felt numb and heavy. Her throat had a crackling ache and her cheeks stung from being washed with tears. Her lashes were spiked into wet daggers, and they made her flinch every time she blinked.

Lotto, Maisie, and Rhia watched her without speaking, their expressions all some degree of horrified. It was Rhia’s face that made Effy’s heart crumple. She looked like a wounded animal, in half disbelief that she had been shot through the heart.

Effy could not bear to see it—another person she had hurt, something else she had ruined and done all wrong. She turned away and, without a word, allowed Preston to lead her into her bedroom.

Once inside, he left her to stand and went to examine the bottles of pills on her dresser.

Both were about a quarter full, ordinarily no need for immediate concern—but Effy had gotten to the point where she needed three sleeping pills, sometimes four, just to knock her into oblivion.

At this rate, she would run out in less than a week.

Preston picked up the bottle and turned it over, frowning. “Do you have the number for your doctor in Draefen?”

Effy shook her head. “No, I... I never called him myself. My mother or one of my grandparents always did it.”

He was being careful, Effy could tell, to keep his expression schooled and neutral, unperturbed. But she heard him give a soft exhale.

“Could you give them a call, then?” he asked. “Then they can call the doctor—”

“ No. ” Tears leaped back into Effy’s eyes, and her throat tightened with renewed panic. “I can’t, I can’t talk to my grandparents, or my mother—they’ll be so angry at me. They’ll tell me I’ve been irresponsible for letting it get this far...”

She trailed off, her brain clouding with sudden weariness. If she couldn’t hold herself together in front of Preston, she wouldn’t be able to pretend for her mother or her grandparents. They would know within moments how feeble she’d become.

“You mean, irresponsible for relying on them for just one thing?” Anger pitched in Preston’s voice. “You never ask them for anything, Effy. Never. That’s just absurd.”

“But that’s what they’ll think.” She was weary, too weary to explain further.

And even if she had the strength, what would she say?

This was something Preston would never understand.

He had a family who loved him. A mother who would never have left him out in the cold.

This barrier between them felt as real and tangible as glass, like she could press her fingers against it but never break through.

Preston let out a disgusted breath. It was rare for Effy to see him so boldly, nakedly angry. Even if it was on her behalf, it unnerved her.

Then, as if sensing the need to calm himself—almost as if he could read her thoughts—Preston closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose—still unoccupied by his glasses—and said, “I could try and call.”

“What?”

“What if I called them?” Preston looked up at her, suddenly determined. “I’ll just explain the situation. Would that make it easier?”

“Well...” Effy swallowed. “Maybe. I suppose.”

“All right, then,” Preston said. Relief was clear in his tone and on his face. “Let’s go.”

She followed him outside, into the cold and then into the telephone booth, its glass panes turned nearly opaque with frost. Her breath came out in white clouds, and her hair, still slightly damp, only made her chillier.

Teeth chattering, her hands stuffed into her pockets, she gave Preston the phone number to her grandparents’ house.

Effy hoped it would be her grandfather who answered. He was least likely to berate or lecture her. Being rather distant and cold, he would probably just shake his head in dismay and then snap an order to his secretary. Better than her grandmother, who would not let her get away without a scolding.

And both were better than her mother.

In the small booth, Effy could easily hear the dial tone and the staticky ringing on the other end, even though it was Preston who had the receiver against his ear. It rang once, twice. Three times. And then—

“Hello?”

Her mother.

“Hello, Ms. Sayre?”

“Who is this?” her mother asked, naked irritation in her voice. It was around eight fifteen, which meant she was likely a glass or two deep into her gin. Effy felt her stomach flip; this was the worst possible time for her mother to be interrupted.

“It’s Preston—Preston Héloury. I’m your daughter’s—”

“Boyfriend?” her mother finished.

“Well, yes.” Preston was clinging to the receiver so tightly that his knuckles turned pale. “It’s nice to sp—”

“What’s Effy gotten herself into now?”

At that, Preston stiffened, his shoulders drawing up around his ears.

He was angled slightly away from her, so Effy couldn’t fully read the expression on his face.

But she heard the barely restrained frustration in his tone when he replied, “Nothing. She hasn’t done anything wrong.

She just needs the prescription for one of her medications refilled. ”

Her mother let out a long, loud sigh, crackling through the receiver. Perhaps Preston’s indignation had been too palpable. Effy’s stomach knotted with worry. If her mother refused—

“And I suppose it’s an emergency now, isn’t it?” She dragged out the word, her tone labored with annoyance. “Because she didn’t have the foresight to call sooner...” A pause. “Is she all right?”

Preston glanced at her for a long moment. Effy felt as if she were frozen, rooted to the ground.

“She’s fine,” Preston replied at last. “She just needs the prescription filled. Could you please give her doctor a call, or give me the number so I can—”

“Listen,” her mother cut in. “I can see that you care about her. It’s very kind.

But Effy needs to learn how to take care of things herself .

How to get better herself . It’s not fair to you to take on this burden.

It’s generous of you, to have even gone this far.

But just because you love her doesn’t mean you can help her. It doesn’t mean you can save her.”

Preston fell silent. He did not speak for so long that Effy worried her mother would give another disgusted sigh and hang up, but there was no click of the receiver.

There was only the sound of the wind, beating at the glass of the telephone booth, making it shudder around them.

Her damp hair had begun to freeze in the cold, tiny crystals of ice forming like dewdrops on morning grass.

Effy remembered what it felt like, to be this cold.

She remembered sitting on the riverbank, staring down at her hands as her fingertips grew redder and redder.

Her pain then had been partially eclipsed by bewilderment, by a child’s dim understanding of the world.

She had thought her mother would be back at any second.

And Effy remembered the exact moment she realized she would not.

She looked up from her numbing fingers and out over the dark, surging water, iridescent under the moonlight, like a serpent’s tail.

She had wished for another savior and then there he was, his crown of bones rising from the waves.

His hand outstretched, reaching, reaching.

Effy squeezed her eyes shut, as if she might be able to trick herself into believing again. As if she could will the Fairy King back to her. But when she opened her eyes, there was only Preston, clutching the receiver in a white-knuckled grip.

“Just give me the number, please,” he said—hollowly, bitterly. “Then I won’t bother you again.”

Her mother said something in reply, but Effy could no longer make out any words. Her hearing had grown muffled; there was a hum of static in her ears, drowning it out, holding the world at a distance.

Free me , Antonia had written, and if Effy managed to speak, it was what she would have said, too. How much longer must I endure this posthumous existence?

Outside the telephone booth, the wind howled on and on.