*continued from Matilda and Hopper Pt. 1*

Matilda slept fitfully. Hopper watched from his bed as she shifted on the mattress, her body trying to get comfortable even while her mind was locked in dream. He lay comfortably in his own bed set on top of a tall table directly under the east facing window. While some humans might force their gremlins to sleep in a crate lined with linens like a mere pet, Hopper had a bed similar to one a human might sleep in, just gremlin-sized. Matilda had a local carpenter carve it from a large maple that had fallen on the cottage property. It’s sleigh-style head and footboard were decorated with intricate engravings befitting the bed of a nobleman. No partner of mine is sleeping in a crate like some barn cat, Matilda had said. Hopper remembered his breath catching at the word partner - not foundling or familiar. Partner. The memory made him smile. They were partners, sharing ideas, having debates, supporting each other within a relationship built on mutual respect. He knew this was rare, even among human-human relationships, so he debated with himself extensively before deciding to do what he did next.

Matilda shifted again in her sleep. Her brow furrowed, as if she were trying to put together something that wouldn’t fit. He recognized that look from her many hours spent reading through her case notes when some piece of evidence hadn’t yet revealed itself. Hopper got out of bed, opened the top drawer of his small wooden night table - made of the same maple as his bed - and picked up a small, glass orb. Muttering in Gimlish, an ancient language spoken by gremlins sounding as though a choir were humming in harmony, Hopper rotated the glass orb three times in his hand.

Wisps rose out of Matilda’s head. The blueish vapour swirled above her for a moment before stilling into the distinct shapes of Matilda and Hopper, bent over the prone figure of the satyr - a still-life of the crime scene from earlier that day. Hopper beckoned with a long finger and the image floated towards him. As the first image stopped inches from Hopper’s face, another rose from Matilda’s dream. He beckoned it closer, and another rose.

Hopper stood with four images from Matilda’s dreams hovering in front of him. The first was of the crime scene, perfectly replicated down to the precise location of the glass shards from the broken vial next to the satyr’s body. The second was of the satyr, alive and in some sort of apothecary with jars filling shelves from floor to ceiling. The figure behind the counter was blurred, but the satyr’s body language and facial expression appeared angry. In the third, the satyr was alone. His expression was wide-eyed and fearful. He clutched an intact glass vial to his chest.

He stared at the fourth image for a long time. In it, the satyr knelt in front of a man sitting on a throne. The man was leaning forward, holding the glass vial between his thumb and forefinger. The satyr was reaching for it, a look of relief and gratitude on his face. The man’s face was expressionless - neither menacing nor welcoming. It was utterly blank. An uncomfortable tingling ran down Hopper’s back.

With swift movements, Hopper reordered each scene from Matilda’s dreams. He’d long suspected Matilda had psychic gifts. Judging by the way the scenes jumped in time in her dreams, it wasn’t surprising she hadn’t realized it herself, dismissing these visions as random images generated in her dreams.

He moved the scene of the satyr in the shop to the front. The scene of the man on the throne second. Fear and the glass vial third. And, finally, the crime scene. A timeline of events, albeit an incomplete one, lay in front of him.

With a few more words in Gimlish, the images drifted one by one into the glass orb. When the second image started to drift, Hopper had the sudden urge to throw it out the open window and let it evaporate in the night air. It was the image that bothered him the most, but it was the best place to start their investigation. Though the image of the apothecary would be the logical first step, he did not recognize the shop. He did, unfortunately, recognize the throne and the man who sat upon it. With a sigh, he watched the last image disappear into the glass orb and resigned himself to the task of taking Matilda to the see the man on the throne tomorrow.

On the other side of the room, now freed from dreams of the satyr, Matilda slept peacefully.