XVI: Cleansing

Alyxa frowned at the pile of dirty clothes that lay unceremoniously scattered all over her laundry floor in her laundry floor. This was not what she had had in mind for her Sunday afternoon. She wanted to study her Craft books, she wanted to be out in the herb garden, she wanted –

“Oh hell,” she grumbled, and set about making some sort of sense of the laundry.
She must have been at it for a couple of minutes when she noticed that Morpheus was standing in the door, looking at her with those bright eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked her, voice loaded with curiosity.

“Laundry,” she replied shortly, “cleaning clothes.”

“And…you do this by putting them into the machine and then…?”

“The machine spins them around and makes them clean,” Alyxa explained, demonstrating by putting the clothes into the washing machine and tipping in some detergent.

They watched it go for a couple of minutes. Then…

“Have you seen Bast today?”

Morpheus completely ignored the question, his eyes fixed on the washing machine.

“Have you ever considered doing this?”

Suddenly the washing machine gurgled and bleeped several times.

“What did you do?” Alyxa asked, a touch of worry flooding into her like boiling water seeping through a teabag.

“Made it easier.”

“What what easier?”

Alyxa edged away from the washing machine as it stuttered and then returned to its normal cycle with renewed fervor.

“Your ‘laundry’, it will now do itself.”

“It sounds like a helicopter trying to take off…” Alyxa murmured.

“Come, witchling, let us go and see what the child is doing.”

“Morpheus…I’m not sure abo- ”

He brushed a strand of hair back from her face.

“It will be well,” he said quietly, “see?”

Alyxa glanced at the washing machine. It smiled back at her.

XV: Nocturnal

Alyxa found it severely unnerving to watch Morpheus and Bast; the one would look at the other, and yet their eyes never met. Bast had taken to sitting on the windowsill in the front room, looking out into the world, and Morpheus would then stand in the arched doorway at the other end of the room, just watching her. Sometimes, Alyxa wondered if they spoke to each other at all, and if they did if those conversations would ever be audible or if they would remain restricted to the eerie ESP that she suspected was going on.

Nights were different of course; Bast had taken to sleeping on Amy’s bed for the majority of the night, only to be completely untraceable in the morning. Amy took it all for granted, in that innocent childlike way, but Alyxa suspected that there was more than the regular feline nocturnal activities going on Bast’s excursions.

“But where does she go?” she asked Morpheus one morning, waking to find him gently licking blood off her fingers.

“Have you ever tried to ask a cat where she goes?”

“Well...I’ve never had to put up with a cat that could talk, now have I?” Alyxa countered.

“Have you not?” Morpheus queried.

Alyxa stared at him, confusion pouring into her mind, she was distracted by the gentle kiss of his lips against her wrist as he drew more blood from her.

“No...” she murmured, “no, I haven’t. Mortal...cats don’t talk.”

“Of course they do, my love,” Morpheus chided, his voice strangely thick with humanity, “you simply do not know how to listen yet.”

She smiled, drowsy once more.

“Do you think...you could teach me?”

“To listen?”

Alyxa nodded, she could feel Réveille pulling at her from just beyond the veil.

“You and I can do anything...anything.”

XIV: Origins

Morpheus had a father of sorts; popular mythology reads that he was born of Sleep, Sonus. This was not entirely wrong: Sleep comes before dreaming after all, so in many ways, the latter is sprung from the former. However, since he had no actual feelings about his ephemeral progenitor, he found it quite fascinating to hear Amy speak of her ‘Daddy’.

They were sitting on the carpeted floor in Amy’s bedroom, a meticulous picnic spread before them, complete with actual cakes and actual tea; the teddy bears, par Alyxa’s command, were unanimated, and there were no fairies.

“Daddy used to play picnic with me all the time before he married that woman,” Amy was saying, “when he married that woman, he stopped being fun.”

“Why?” Morpheus asked.

Amy looked at him, her eyebrows pursing together as though trying to merge into one line above her nose.

“Because that woman wanted him all for herself,” she said imperiously, and then, seeing Morpheus’ expression, blank and transparent all at once, she added, shyly, “what is your daddy like?”

“I do not know.”

“How can’t you know? Don’t you know your daddy?” she hesitated, “Is he dead like mine?”

The Dream God smiled a little at the question.

“I do not think my ‘daddy’ was ever truly alive.”

Amy thought about this for a moment, and then filed it away in her mind; Morpheus could almost see the cabinets of her brain sorting the information. The thought was there and gone in an instance as both he and Amy heard Alyxa’s car pull up into the driveway downstairs.

“Alyxa’s home!” Amy exclaimed, rushing from the room with all the excitement of a baby elephant on rollerblades.

“And not alone…” Morpheus murmured, sinking through the floor to avoid the stairs, “welcome to reality, Bast.”

XIII: Enchained

“Alright, I’ve decided…” Alyxa said, raising her head and looking at the other eight members of the Coven.

“And?” Maye, the Coven-Queen, asked her impatiently.

“Of all that want to come through, only Bast has any real knowledge of our world, and unless one of you wants to volunteer to babysit Ares or Thor, or put up with Isis’ tears for the rest of your lives, I suggest we bring Bast through.”

“Can we trust her?” one of the others asked, a touch of nerves in her voice.

“They are gods, Delia, they do not deal in human concepts of ‘trust’, they are what they are,” Maye chided.

Delia hung her head.

“Shall we begin then?” Alyxa queried, she was eager to get this over with and return home, hopefully to find that Amy and Morpheus had not turned the place into a fairy’s castle or a teapot; the last five nights since Amy’s arrival had been fraught with unexpected occurrences: fairies serving tea to teddy bears, a candy castle appearing in the backyard, and a complete overhaul of Alyxa’s wardrobe.

“We will make the preparations toni- ”

“No need, kittens, I’m here.”

The Coven went still – apart from Delia, who fainted dead into Maye’s arms – as a very impressive looking cat wandered into their midst; sleek, silver-blue, but with eyes of an eerie gold, and they looked through you as though you weren’t there at all.

“But we – we haven’t do –” one of the girls stuttered.

“The Dreamer’s decision was enough, she is after all the gateway, and I’m hardly in need of full ceremony the way the others are,” the Cat-Goddess informed them, “so I saved you the trouble of incense and candles, and in return,” she seemed to smile, “I ask only that you love me.”

XII: Choices

Réveille means ‘awaken’, in French, and it is what Dreamers have called the Realm of the Dead Gods since they first learned how to step from regular dreaming to waking dreams. Centuries ago, only the shamans of tribes could accomplish the feat, using herbs to encourage their soul to leave their body and wander. Generations slip by, and now it is a hereditary talent, rare and sought after by witches and their covens. Like her father before her, Alyxa held the only position of the Dream Witch in the coven.

To dream, for Dreamers, is to live.

“Which one of us, child, have you chosen?” Isis asks her, her voice already lamenting some loss she felt.

“Have you chosen me, little girl?” Ares demands, the swords in his hands flickering in and out of view as he dances over the courtyard floor.

Alyxa shifts in the large silver throne that they have set up for her, a sign of their flattery. She had long learned to ignore the offerings of dainty foods that were presented to her.

“You should choose me,” Thor shouts, drowning out Ares’ presence with the solidity of his form.

“I should be the one to join Morpheus on the other side of the Veil, Réveille holds nothing for me, and I could do much good in the world,” Ishtar murmurs, materializing before the silver throne.

Alyxa presses a hand to her forehead. Back in her bed, her body tosses and turns under Morpheus’ silent eyes.

“We have not yet decided,” Alyxa whispers, “I have not yet made up my mind.”

“You should do it soon, dear child,” Isis whispers, “we are all very interested in your world.”

“I will try to decide soon,” Alyxa assures the gathering.

Alone, silent, Bast sits, and waits. She knows already.