Chapter 16: The Crossing

The pair sat in the quiet, letting Thimble’s words settle in Allison’s mind. They’d forgotten their tea, now cold. Through the living room window, late-afternoon sun pierced the clouds, leaving golden patches of warmth on the rug beneath their feet.

Thimble sat on the coffee table, gaze unwavering. The blueberries were gone. The clock ticked beside her—still searching for rhythm, like someone learning an instrument for the first time.

The portal glowed over the front door, like a curtain. Warm and inviting. It waited for them.

“It’s time,” Thimble said gently, in resignation, with a sigh.

Allison looked at the portal and the Dreamspace beyond—carnival lights still flickering a little between twinkles, the dome etched with dark cracks. Inside, Sol and Felipe rushed through a crumbling world.

She agreed to help. The word ‘yes’ stayed warm in her heart, resonating with the heartclock’s now mostly steady beat. Now, that yes had to become action.

“I’m going to need the Spark Quill, right?” she said, reaching over to grab it and her journal off the coffee table.

Thimble nodded. “Yes. You’ll need it—it’s not just the pen you used to know anymore. It’s your key, your anchor to Dreamspace. Think about it like your magic wand. What you create with this, the Spark Quill, will have much more umph, more power, and sparks you can manifest while using it. It will also keep us connected when we are apart. I’ll teach you more about it later, but right now, time is of the essence, and we don’t have time for lessons. The portal is open, but it won’t stay that way forever. The damage is making everything unstable. We need to go while we can.”

Allison looked over at Spud, then at Thimble, and nodded. “Yep. Yes. Of course. You’re right.” She sighed, really wanting to learn more about this pen-and-quill thing.  “Give me just a moment. I need to go upstairs, freshen up, and grab a couple of things. I think we’ll be there for a while. Be right back.”

Allison stood, knees crackling, joints stiff from sitting so long. Her body felt heavy with a new responsibility that she wasn’t prepared for, on top of what she already had on her plate. She knew she had to go, and she could do hard things, especially when she didn’t want to. She did that daily. She was tired in more ways than just physically. Her bed pulled at her, but not today. There was no time for rest. Not now.

She sat down and took a few deep breaths to get in the right headspace, then busied herself gathering meds, toiletries, and the just-in-case bits and bobs. Then she saw it: another tarot card on her bed, face up, just like the Sparkkeeper card, as if it had been waiting for her.

Where the Sparkkeeper card glowed, alive and radiant with fireflies and color, this one was smeared. The art looked incomplete—outlines fragmented, ink smeared and bleeding, edges blurred as if something had touched the art before it dried. It looked as if the printer had been interrupted mid-creation.

She picked up the card carefully, holding it by the edges so she wouldn’t disturb its design further. Everything about it felt wrong. The surface was cold—icy, almost painful to the touch. Every instinct urged her to put it down immediately, but she resisted. She grabbed the card and the few things she was taking with her, then shut off the lights and left.

Maybe Thimble knows what this is and what it was doing on my bed.

“Thimble,” she called apprehensively as she descended the stairs. “There was another card on my bed. It’s unfinished and looks all sorts of messed up. It was like that when I found it. I don’t know what happened, but whatever it was, I didn’t do it.”

Thimble waited patiently, snickering at the comment as she sat atop the newel post. She glanced up, and her expression hardened when she saw the card in Allison’s hand.

“May I see it, please?” she asked. Her voice was carefully neutral, but her whiskers had flattened.

Allison crouched and extended the card to Thimble. Thimble took it in her paw and slowly turned it over, bringing it close to her face. Nose twitching, she sniffed the card—delicately, methodically, the same way she investigated everything, cataloging scents with her keen sense of smell.

Then she licked it. Her face pinched. Her whiskers bristled. She pulled the card away, frowning with disgust and concern. It confirmed an unwanted suspicion.

“Hmm, sulfur,” she said softly. “And something else. Something…” She smacked her lips, moving her tongue as she tried to identify the horrid taste. “Hmm, tar. That’s weird.”

Wherever this card came from, I know for sure that it doesn’t belong here.”

Thimble tucked the card into her satchel without a word. Allison noticed the shift—fur raised along her spine, her paws tightening on the card, the edge crinkling slightly. She caught herself and stopped before she damaged it further.

Very little ever raised Thimble’s hackles—whatever it meant, it made for a disconcerted raccoon, and that made Allison incredibly uneasy.

“Do you know what’s going on with that card?” Allison asked cautiously.

“I have an idea, but I need to look into it further. No time now. Gotta hurry. We’ll talk about it later,” Thimble said. “Right now—the portal. Ready?”

Allison eyed the front door, looked back at Spud for a moment, then back to the door. The light pulsed and shimmered, the portal’s surface rippling like light on water. She was nervous. It was hard to resist; it pulled at her, beckoning her through the swirling threshold to a home she had never known.

She gripped the Spark Quill and felt it respond before shoving it, along with everything else in her hands, into her bag. She held onto the Quill; it was comforting, a surge of warmth traveling from the brass through her fingers, up her wrist, into her chest. The Quill knew what was coming. It had been ready since its transformation from a purple gel pen into something extraordinary.

“Thimble,” Allison said. “How does this work? Walking through on purpose? And what about…” 

She looked back at Spud again, tearing up as if it were the last time she’d ever see him. “I’m going to be right back, little man. You won’t even know I’m gone. Enjoy your nap.” She said softly, trying to keep her voice even.

Thimble looked at her, eyes bright with cautious determination to keep Allison focused and out of panic. “You’ll come back. I’ll make sure of it, but you must be calm. Centered. The Quill only works as a key if you steady it—which is why the veil thins when you’re half-awake or tired. Your defenses drop, and the creative mind opens without you trying to fight it. Find that same state while fully conscious.”

“Calm. So like, grounding?” Allison repeated. “You want me calm while walking into a front-door portal to save a magical dimension. Sure. Totally calm. No problem. But what…”

“Yes, exactly. And most importantly, don’t forget to breathe,” Thimble interrupted again. “Hold the Quill tightly in your hand. Let it guide you. Allison—if you get lost crossing, remember the feeling: the warmth, the hum. That’s your anchor.”

Allison looked down at Spud, still asleep on the couch, one paw twitching in a dream. She briefly wished she could be that unbothered.

Standing before the door, she took a breath, let it out, and closed her eyes, clutching the Quill with both hands and pressing it against her chest, lest she lose her grip and be irretrievably lost without her anchor.

The Quill hummed steadily, warm and patient in her hand. She let the vibration travel through her, as she’d done before, guided by the memory of Felipe’s breathing exercise in Dreamspace. In through her nose. Out through her mouth. The living room sounds softened: the clock, the kettle, her dog’s snores, the house’s quiet hum. Everything went silent except for the Quill’s pulse and her own heartbeat.

She opened her eyes. She freed one hand and instinctively reached down for her companion’s paw, which found hers just as easily—small and warm.

“Together,” Thimble said, blinking up with her gentle smile, one Allison was really starting to revere.

The portal grew deafeningly loud as they moved closer, and the force pulling them in became too strong to ignore.

“But wait,” Allison shouted, trying to be heard over the din, “what about my…”

Before Allison could finish, the power became too much to withstand and pulled them both in, like an undertow in a churning sea. A sharp clap of thunder followed as the portal snapped closed behind them.

The crossing battered them; nothing about it was gentle. They felt compression and stretching, as if they were being forced through an esophagus experiencing peristalsis. Colors whirled. Sound distorted—a rushing, whistling tunnel roared against their eardrums. She felt Thimble’s little furry paw clutching hers, trying to keep them both grounded. Allison knew this crossing was not normal. In her other hand, she held The Spark Quill; its heat grew the farther they went, nearly burning her, but she held fast as if it were the only thing keeping her safe through the passage.

For one disorienting moment, she couldn’t tell which way was forward. Allison couldn’t understand why Thimble was so nonchalant about crossing these portals. They were awful. The pathways were degrading. She liked it better when she was unconscious and didn’t know it was happening.

The portal forced them through, contracting and relaxing in waves. She remembered the damage happening in Dreamspace made each crossing through the unstable portal, right now, more dangerous than it should be. She clung to the Quill, Thimble, and the determination in her chest that declared, “You chose this.” Keep going. It’s too late to go back now. The portal is closed.

They finally broke through.

Allison tumbled out of the portal and struck the cobblestones hard. Thimble somehow made it into her arms and curled up tight against her chest. Both came out gasping. The impact rattled their bodies.

She looked up, blinking the bleariness from her eyes, and looked down at Thimble in her arms, stroking her head as she held her tight.

“You’re ok. You’re ok. We made it. We’re here. Thimble, can you open your eyes for me?” She said softly.

Thimble blinked, shook her head, and let out a little gasp. “Ow.” She rubbed her head with a paw. “That was a rough one. If we waited any longer, I don’t think we would have made it through.” Looking up at Allison, she placed a paw on her cheek. “I’m ok now. Thank you, friend.”

Allison carefully set Thimble down, making sure she was steady on her feet, then looked up at the shield above them. She gulped hard as her heart jumped into her throat. The Dreamspace was dying. No other word fit. The crystalline dome overhead—the vast, iridescent cathedral ceiling she’d marveled at days before—was shattered and dull. Jagged fissures traced the entire surface, dark webbing dulling the iridescence. Through the widest break, harsh lightning flashed across the protective structure above. Shards broke from the dome and drifted downward—slow, spiraling, catching fractured light. Each vanished before striking the ground, dissolving into a shimmer like dying snowflakes.

The distant carnival flickered. String lights blinked erratically. The carousel had stopped, animals frozen mid-stride. The calliope was silent; the boardwalk was barely visible through mist and failing light.

Beneath her feet, the beautiful lantern mosaic pulsed weakly—tha-thump… tha… tha-thump…; its rhythm faltering. Overhead, fireflies swarmed in chaotic patterns, their light stuttering and dimming. Some winked out, dropping like embers from a dying fire. Then the ground shook through the cobblestones, like a small earthquake. The bonds holding this place together were failing.

“Oh no,” Allison breathed. “Oh no. Oh, my cat. It’s so much worse than it was when I was last here.”

Thimble straightened from Allison’s arm to look around, then dropped back to the ground. “The damage has even accelerated since I’ve been gone to get you. The portal crossing—every crossing that you or I have been putting a strain on the already delicate matrix of this place.”

“How am I supposed to fix THIS?” Allison’s voice cracked. She scrambled to her feet, clutching the Spark Quill, and turned in a slow circle. Everywhere she looked, devastation. “I can barely keep my own life together. I can’t… this is too much. I don’t even know where to START.”

The fireflies scattered. Their gentle drifting became a frantic zigzag, their lights flickering wildly. For a moment, they couldn’t settle. Then, one by one, they resumed their lazy flight.

Thimble watched them, unease prickling beneath her fur. They had been peaceful until Allison spoke.

Dreamspace needed its Sparkkeeper. Thimble knew Allison could be that person—but how could she help Allison believe it, when every doubt threatened the very place she was being asked to save?

Right on cue, from somewhere to the left—moving fast, small legs going as fast as they could—a flash of rainbow shimmer and a voice: “They made it back! She came back!”

Felipe burst from between the trees at a full sprint; his little legs blurred. His shell still dimmed with stress, but his eyes beamed with relief and joy. He skidded to a stop on the cobblestones, looked up at Allison with those dark, crinkled eyes, and without a word, launched himself onto her legs, clutching at her jeans for dear life. Behind him, Sol emerged from the tree line at their measured, mechanical stride, faster than usual, their golden eyes at full intensity.

She reached down, picked him up, and cradled him close to her chest. He was warm—almost hot, like a living ember—his shell plates radiating heat against her arms. His belly fur was softer than she’d expected. When he nuzzled her cheek, his whiskers brushed lightly against her skin; his little pink nose was cold and wet, and the sensation felt so absurdly normal and comforting. It helped.

“Did you come back to help us?” he whispered against her ear.

Allison held him tighter, laughing at his whiskers tickling her face. “I think so,” she said softly. “But I don’t know where to start.”

Felipe pulled back just enough to look at her. His dark eyes were wet. “You start by following Sol. They have something to show you.”

Sol had stopped beside the mosaic. Their golden eyes dimmed briefly, then brightened again as they focused on Allison.

“You came back,” Sol said.

“I said I would.”

“You did.” Sol’s mouth turned up slightly at the corners. “Come. There isn’t much time. But there’s something you need to see before you can begin.”

Allison carefully set Felipe down; he went reluctantly, clearly having been enjoying the snuggles. She looked at Sol. At their golden eyes, blazing against the failing light, and at the Dreamspace, falling apart behind them.

“Lead the way,” she said.