Kerry Schafer - Wakeworld

He bumped up against the bench and was able to grasp the sword in his left hand. It felt too heavy to lift and there was no room to swing, but he would at least die fighting.

As the water struck the woman she seemed to melt, like wax in an oven. And then she began to grow and shift, as though giant sculptor hands were at work on a piece of malleable clay. An elongated body, four legs, an armored tail, a long serpentine neck. Deepest black she was, an absence of color so intense that all light seemed to be sucked into her and absorbed, creating a pool of shadow all around her nearly as dark as she.

Zee’s hate was enough to get him onto his feet, even though the world spun around him. He locked his knees, gripped the sword, and prayed that he could kill the beast, even if it cost him his life.

But the dragon spread her wings and beat them over her back three times, creating a thunder and a mighty wind that knocked him off his fragile footing. He lay on the pavement of precious stones and watched as she took flight, until she was lost to him in the darkness and the fiery light of the stars.

T he Krebston Library was a square, one-story brick building occupying the street corner across from the county jail. It wasn’t much to speak of in terms of either size or inventory, but Vivian had discovered that the librarian was a fervent lover of books, and possessed an almost magical ability to procure requested reading material.

She paused in the doorway, breathing in the distinctive smell of books, old carpet, and people, a comfortable musty funk that some people might find unpleasant. To her, it was comforting, a reminder of the local library that had provided her with a safe refuge during her chaotic childhood. In books she had found world after world where she could walk freely and without risk. During the year she’d been in Krebston, she had frequented the library about as often as the grocery store.

The librarian waved her over. “Hey there! I haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks. That new fantasy you were asking about came in, only I think somebody already signed it out. Want me to check if it’s back?”

“That’s okay, Deb—I’m actually after town history today. Can you point me in the right direction?”

“Depends on what you’re looking for.”

“Well—do we have any old newspapers on file? On microfiche or whatever?”

Deb snorted. “We’re not totally backwater. No microfiche, but we’re getting some scanned in and online. How old were you looking for?”

“Old. Early nineteen hundreds and on.”

“Um—Krebston’s not even that old, let alone newspapers.”

“I was afraid of that—”

“Hold on, hold on. We have access to Spokane’s stuff. They had a rag that might have included Krebston news.”

Vivian didn’t argue. The population had been smaller back then. Something that would be captioned as a massacre might well have made news in Spokane. For all she knew, the Jennings family might well have lived and died in Spokane. Or anywhere in the country, for that matter.

Deb led her to a back corner desk with a sign that said Reference Librarian. Please feel free to ask for assistance. “Here, you can use the computer at my desk. Quieter, without all those kids talking and messing around. I miss libraries when they were for books, but don’t tell anybody I said so.”

“And if somebody asks for help?”

“Nobody ever does. Just wave me over if you need me.” She pulled up a screen. “There you go. Old Spokane newspapers here. May I ask what you’re researching?”

“Family history.” The lie came easy, along with the rationalization that it wasn’t really a lie. It just wasn’t her family she was looking at.

“Okay. Newspapers might not be your best source for that, unless they were gunslingers or politicians. Here—try these. GenWeb will give you names and dates of death, with weird and fascinating causes. And then of course there’s genealogy.com—standby for genealogy nuts. Ooops, gotta go, there’s a line up at the checkout desk. Let me know if you need me.”

The line consisted of a young mother with a baby in arms and a toddler twining himself in circles around her legs, but Vivian was glad to see Deb go. She didn’t need anybody looking over her shoulder and asking questions.

GenWeb seemed like a logical choice, and she started there. It brought up a rough map of the state, by county. She tried Seattle first, looking at death records between 1900 and 1926. No Jennings. Nothing in Spokane County, or Stevens. Without much hope she clicked on Pend Oreille County and selected F–J from the alphabetical list.

Holding her breath, she scanned down and found:

Jennings, Edward C. Death Date 6/7/1925, Age Unknown. Birth place, Unknown. Cause of Death, gunshot.

The sweat on her body felt like it had turned to individual ice pellets. This name had also been written on the scroll. Edward Jennings, murdered in 1925. And now here that name was again in official death records accessed through a word processor. In the library. Reality was strange. She shivered, and moved on.

Jennings, Ellie M. Death Date 6/7/1925, Age 21. Birth place, Fort Spokane. Cause of Death, gunshot.

Jennings, William J. Death Date 6/7/1925, Age 17. Birth place, Krebston. Cause of Death, gunshot.

Jennings, Jack S. Death Date 6/7/1925, Age 19. Birth place, Krebston. Cause of Death, gunshot.

The next name was Kenton, Mary, who apparently died in her sleep, and Vivian was grateful.

Something very ugly had gone down on June 7, 1925, which also happened to be the year that one Weston Jennings, Dreamshifter, went missing. Four family members shot to death on one day. One gone missing.

Not sure she wanted to know any more, Vivian clicked over to genealogy.com and looked up Edward Jennings. He had been married to Evelyn, née Harper, in January 1903. She died of a fall on ice on December 18, 1918. Before her death she provided Edward with five children—the three who had been shot to death on the same day he died, plus a son, Weston M., born in 1909, and a daughter, Grace D., who was born three years later. Edward, his eldest daughter, and his two elder sons were found shot to death in their home. Two members of the family, Weston and Grace, had escaped the shooting.

Vivian went to the newspapers, searching for the date of June 7, 1925. Sure enough, the Spokane Times sported a garish headline— Four Dead in Krebston Massacre!! —along with a grainy black-and-white photograph of a tangle of bodies that she wished she could unsee.

All blame pointed at sixteen-year-old Weston. Grace was on the scene, bloodstained and mute, while Weston was nowhere to be found. The girl revealed no information about the events.

Vivian went back into GenWeb. Grace Jennings died in 1977 and was buried with her family in the Old Krebston Cemetery. As for Weston, there was no date of death. It was as if he had vanished off the face of the earth.

Leaning back in the chair she rubbed the muscles in her shoulders. A rogue Dreamshifter who was accused of the mass murder of his own family. Maybe he was dead. But Dreamshifters lived well beyond the usual life span and he could easily be running around creating havoc in Dreamworld or the Between. If there was another Dreamshifter still alive somewhere on the planet, maybe he had information. Maybe he could get her back into Dreamworld; maybe he knew about the Key.

Maybe, just maybe, he had access to dreamspheres. If there was even a hope of that, she had to try to find him. Even if he was a deranged killer, which seemed likely.

She needed more information, and she thought she might just know where to find it.