Page 86 of The Shop on Hidden Lane

He turns another corner. For the first time he is not confronted with a wall. Instead, he sees the silvery doughnut sculpture. The polished finish of the alloy is blindingly bright. It’s like looking into a sun-splashed mirror. There is a reflection in the bright surface but he cannot see it clearly.

The one thing he’s certain of is that he is not seeing his own face in the mirror. He sees someone else, someone he knows but can’t quite recognize.

“Who are you?” he says. “Where is Sophy?”

The reflection laughs.

Before he can ask any more questions he senses a presence behind him. He turns, hoping to see Sophy. But she is not there. He is facing Hatch’s personal security team. The twins are wearing their stylish tuxes.

“You have become a problem,” one of them informs him.

“I get that a lot,” he says.

“Grant has also become a problem,” the other blonde says.

“I know, but he’s your problem, not mine.”

“Your uncle is a problem, too.”

He turns back and tries once again to focus on the sculpture. He must figure out why it is significant, because if he doesn’t he will lose Sophy forever…

He came out of the dreamstate on a rush of knowing. When he opened his eyes, he saw Sophy standing beside the bed, regarding him with an anxious expression. Bruce was beside her. He did not appear anxious—he looked as if he was anticipating action.

“I thought you might be having a nightmare,” Sophy said. “I didn’t know whether to try to wake you or not. I’ve never been around a lucid dreamer when they are actually in a dreamscape.”

He frowned. “What did you call me?”

“A lucid dreamer. Why? Do you have another term for your talent?”

“No.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. “I don’t have any particular word for it. I just…dream.”

She smiled. “You dream to order and you make connections in your dreams. That’s the working definition of a lucid dreamer. It’s certainly a useful talent for a CEO who has to make decisions that will affect people and a business far into the future.”

Behind the lenses of her glasses, her brilliant eyes glittered with a little energy. He could feel the tension shivering in the atmosphere and knew her senses were slightly heightened. The reading lamp next to the recliner was on and Tobias Harper’s journalwas open on the table. It was clear she had spent whatever time had passed reading.

“Tell me about your dream,” she urged.

“You were lost in the Maze Gallery.”

“You dreamed about me?”

“Indirectly. There was a lot going on, but now I have to interpret it. That’s the hard part. How long was I out?”

“Not long.” She glanced at her watch. “Maybe fifteen minutes.”

Evidently concluding the situation was under control, Bruce pushed his nose against Luke’s hand, waited until he got an ear rub in exchange, and then padded across the room. He settled on the carpet, head up, ears alert, eyes intent.Eager for the hunt to begin, Luke thought.

“Not much longer, pal,” he said.

“What?” Sophy asked.

Bruce grinned.

“Never mind,” Luke said. “About my dream.”

“Right. You said it has to be interpreted.”

“Dissecting a dream is like working with a deck of tarot cards. So many possible ways to read them.”