After that the atmosphere became a little more relaxed, my father getting up from his chair to fetch us some long-overdue water, Connor leaning against the back of the couch, looking as drained as if he’d just run a marathon. But I knew he wouldn’t fight me on this any longer, had realized we couldn’t let this singular opportunity slip by.
As my father came back with two tall glasses incongruously decorated with strawberries — probably a thrift store or yard sale purchase — Lawrence said, “You asked for my instruction. I can assist you with this part at least, help train you in the sort of meditation that will help you when it comes time to walk the paths of the otherworld.”
“Today?” I asked faintly. Even though we’d probably been here no more than half an hour, I was already feeling dra
