Dream Job (The Dreamwalker Chronicles Book 1)

by Pettit, Gregory

  ***Kelly***

  Kelly stared at the other two women, her oldest friends and business partners, with a feeling of mingled disappointment and sadness. She had hoped so much that it wouldn’t be necessary to pay this price, but Tara and Ena had both insisted on it, making multiple comments in the afternoon leading up to the ritual. They had made it clear that Kelly needed to prove her commitment, pull her weight, and close the deal. She’d thought as recently as a few months ago that these women, who used to be like sisters to her, would never force her to do anything, but it was clear that not only did they now feel that they could, but they weren’t even paying attention to her sacrifice. Kelly crawled forward again, her petite buttocks thrust high into the air as she leaned forward to grasp the length of chain with her well-manicured hands. Immediately, she took a deep breath and shouted, “Eang yw’r byd i bawb!”[4] as she pulled on both ends of the chain with her thin forearms. An otherworldly shriek like an enraged stallion shook the room, and with a sharp ping, one of the thick links of the chain impossibly parted under the small pressure that the IT specialist was able to impart. Kelly braced herself, mentally calling up the names and faces of Janice and Phil, along with the marks that she had made on them with the silver pen, while she waited for the price of the coming assistance to be extracted. Kelly glanced in Ena’s direction as the other redhead let out a moan but otherwise didn’t move. That was followed in swift succession by Tara squealing, but she also held her position. Finally, Kelly felt a pressure like an invisible hand rummaging about in her memories. Then, it was time to pay.

  Kelly saw vividly in her mind’s eye a picture of the three women as they had been six years previously, on the night that Ena’s mother had passed away from diabetes complications. She had held the other young woman for hours while Tara had baked cookies in the kitchen of their shared flat, even though Tara had had a law school exam coming up later that week. Kelly then watched with horror as the scene shifted to herself in a typing course as a teenager, and then finally to an episode of Doctor Who, one of the good ones with David Tennant. A small sob escaped her lips, but she didn’t move a muscle. Then the memories were gone, along with the presence that had shared the room with them.

  Kelly stood up, feeling a sense of loss and momentary disorientation as she walked toward the other women. She wondered what the price had been, what part of herself she had lost. Would she meet someone on the street and not know their name? Would she try to solve an IT issue and get a funny look from one of her members of staff when she suddenly realized she didn’t know the answer to a routine problem, leading to days spent relearning the lost skill? Or would she someday get an e-mail from her parents telling her of a relative who had passed away but that she didn’t recall in the slightest? She knew that each of the other women would have lost some small part of themselves as well, but from experience, she knew that the one invoking the ritual always lost more, and more important, memories than the other participants.

  “That should seal the deal, ladies,” Kelly called out with forced cheerfulness as the three young women converged on the center of the room.

  “It had better,” Tara snapped back peevishly. Kelly recoiled at the harsh tone in her friend’s voice, recalling the first time she had heard it, a little over two years ago, after closing the big insurance company deal down in Canary Wharf where Tara had been on point. Kelly felt Ena’s arm go around her shoulder, as the much taller woman’s large breast pushed into her shoulder blade.

  “Kelly, I’m sure you’ll land this deal, and then we’ll have the Vauxhall office off our hands, our reputations intact, and a nice check in the bank,” Ena said breezily. Kelly felt a small surge of pleasure at the reassurance from her university roommate, but her heart sank as Ena continued by saying: “And if this doesn’t land even with our ‘special help,’ then I think we’ll really need to reconsider your role in this organization. It truly isn’t fair that Tara and I have been carrying so much of the burden recently. Did you realize that I had to spend a week last month relearning double-entry bookkeeping? We need someone that is willing to make sacrifices for the firm on a regular basis, Kelly, putting in the time here and with clients.”

  She was hurt to hear that kind of challenge from a woman that she was…well, that she was sure she used to be close to. Without replying, Kelly turned and ran across the room, grabbing a silk kimono from a pile near the door before exiting the secret space behind the partners’ offices. She managed to hold in her tears just long enough for the door to click shut behind her.

  CHAPTER 9 1500–1600, Wednesday, July 29, 2015

  ***Julian***

  I was screwed. Wait, I should probably back up a bit.

  I had gotten off the phone with Kelly from OMG and started across the office to grab a doughnut when Janice stormed into the room, beckoning to me. I diverted my path from the pursuit of sweet, sugar-coated bliss to stare at Janice’s unhappy visage. Her hands rested aggressively on wide hips as she, rather ineffectually, attempted to use her five-foot-five frame to physically intimidate me.

  “Julian, why haven’t we downselected OMG yet, dear?” Janice cooed in a sugary-sweet voice, her mouth suddenly turning upward in a strange expression that I could only assume was a smile. My brain spent a few seconds attempting to process her instant, 180-degree turn in demeanor.

  I took a step back to buy time and compose my thoughts, seeing the smile slip off of Janice’s face to be replaced by her more customary scowl. I pondered momentarily: Why did she have to look so much like a bulldog? I then proceeded to explain, as carefully as possible, that discussions with Richard in Accounting and Nick had precipitated a review of some of the numbers and the bidding process. When I finished the explanation a few minutes later, I braced myself in expectation of some kind of outburst commensurate with the way that she’d initially stormed into the office. To my surprise, Janice simply stared blankly for thirty seconds, yawned enormously, and then walked away, muttering, “Okay, dearie. Tell me when it’s fixed.”

  I headed back to my desk to wait for Nick’s call, intending to work on the Swedish office supply contract. In the corner, Janice packed her handbag, leaving her laptop sitting unlocked on her desk. She waddled out the door with a slightly vacant look on her face, air-sucking yawns erupting almost continuously.

  I’d just let out a long sigh of relief, congratulating myself on being a smooth operator, when Phil burst into the room.

  “I thought you were an okay guy, Julian!” Phil roared as he crossed the room with five long strides. “But I got a call from Nick!” he continued, pausing his advance. His face was burning redder than a red thing in a red paint factory, and his rage was a palpable presence that darkened the room. I knew I had to think quickly. I had to convince him that I hadn’t been speaking to Nick. This would certainly take my wittiest, most eloquent rejoinder.

  “Umm…”

  Phil somehow didn’t seem convinced and took another heavy step toward me. Quickly implementing plan B, I edged backward, but before I could cover more than a couple of feet, I felt the laminate edge of a desk press against the back of my legs. My heart was pounding, and as Phil raised his hairy arms toward me, I realized that he intended to do some pounding of his own.

  A switch in my mind flipped, and I dropped into a fighting stance, becoming the man who had successfully slain vampires, zombies, ghouls, and even a forty-foot-tall, giant, purple, singing dinosaur. I probably had perpetrated more physical violence in the last year than a battalion of marines, and my hand-to-hand combat experience was as vast as Kim Kardashian’s backside. Unfortunately, all of that was in my dreams. I hadn’t gotten into a fight while I was awake since I was in my early teens, and then I’d done well just to hold my own.

  Whether or not my body knew how to fight, my mind at least knew how to size an opponent up and properly evaluate his strengths and weaknesses. Looking at Phil, I put those skills to work: he had a couple of inches of height, about thirty-five pounds of weight, and
a pair of long, gorilla-like arms. On my side of the scale, Phil was nearly fifteen years older than I was, not all of his additional weight was muscle, and he had a two-pack-a-day wheeze.

  Glancing around, I couldn’t see anything that might work as a weapon, so I decided that the best course of action—if Phil actually did make the career-ending decision to take a swing at me—would be to get inside of his reach and take out his legs as soon as possible. With that in mind, I stepped to the side to get away from the desk and give myself some room to move.

  With Janice having left the room and most of the team already on vacation, the only other occupant of our small office was Anne from Accounting. Anne was a cute midtwentysomething with blond hair, blue eyes, and an easy laugh, which had helped her catch two husbands so far. Unfortunately, as she also was about five foot two and 105 pounds soaking wet, I knew she wouldn’t be much help. Looking past Phil, I caught Anne staring at the unfolding situation and shot her a look that I hoped said, “Go get help now!” and not, “Do you wanna go get a drink after work?”

  Phil advanced on me, growling: “I spoke to Kelly too, Julian. I know that you’re the one who called her. I know you’re the one who disappointed her. I’m going to give you one chance to fix this. You need to pick up your phone right now. You need to call Kelly and tell her that OMG has won the bid, and then you need to send her an e-mail confirming that they won.” By the time Phil had finished speaking, he was only a few steps away. I was happy to see that Anne had taken the hint and slipped out through the office doors.

  “I’ll call her right now, Phil,” I replied quickly, dragging a battered Nokia phone out of my pocket. I had just started to dial her number when Phil lurched toward me again.

  “Give me that! I’ll dial her number myself so I can be sure that you actually call her!” he shouted, snatching the phone out of my hand.

  Earlier, when Janice had gotten close to me, I’d noticed her behavior shifting from angry to affectionate in barely an instant. Phil’s proximity to me seemed to have also triggered an emotional reaction, but instead of working in my favor, Phil’s expression changed from merely enraged to a rictus of utter hatred.

  “Don’t do this, Phil!” I implored, wondering if Anne had gone for help or was just slipping out of the office.

  “Ginger asshole!” Phil yelled as he charged toward me, his face as flushed and swollen as that of any drunken ogre that I’d dealt with in the land of sleep. It was instantly clear to me that for all of his size, he had never done much actual fighting. I easily ducked under a slow haymaker and stepped to the side. I considered trying to reason with Phil, but a split-second glance was enough to tell me that he wouldn’t listen to anything just now. Instead, I lowered my center of gravity by lunging all of my weight onto my left leg and shot forward in a classic freestyle wrestling move, latching on to the thick mass of my opponent’s thigh from about forty-five degrees to his left. Carrying through the move and lifting forced Phil to his right, leaving him hopping on one leg. He flailed wildly, and I was confident that if I just kept shoving, my good friend Newtonian physics would topple the IT technician at any moment. If I got him down, it would be easy to ensure that he stayed down until help arrived.

  Unfortunately, it seemed that Phil had never had much time for physics, and he seemed to pivot unnaturally quickly, slamming his leg to the ground and bringing his opposite knee around in a wicked attempt to crush my nose. Fortunately for my good looks, I managed to drop my head enough to protect my face but not enough to keep the knee from connecting with my forehead just above the eye, snapping my head backward violently. I lost my grip on Phil’s leg completely and staggered backward, trying to gather my thoughts.

  Before I could do anything else, Phil was coming at me again. His look of hatred abated for maybe a couple of heartbeats, but then he stepped toward me and bellowed with rage, “You’re ruining my dream!” as he sent another haymaker flying at me. This time, I barely had space to throw up an arm to slow the incoming punch, which still impacted the side of my head with a blinding flash of pain, and I staggered. Some addled part of my brain even found time to think that the lights blossoming in front of me were pretty. I’d have preferred that my entire brain spent its time trying to get me out of this mess, but you take what you can get.

  Phil didn’t give me any time to clear my thoughts before he was on me again. First, a hard shove sent me flying over the side of a desk; the pain of colliding with the sharp metal edge was soon forgotten as a kick to my ribs lifted me off the ground. The sucking sensation of having the wind knocked out of me actually helped to clear my mind, and I became sure that there was no way that I could beat Phil in a fair fight. I needed to buy myself a few seconds, find a way to slow the big man, and hopefully wear down his stamina. Phil had lost his balance momentarily after kicking me with his size-twelve loafers, but now he came at me again with nostrils flaring and sweat starting to gleam on his brow. A slight dipping of his shoulders telegraphed another wild punch, which I managed to dodge with a sidestep that also put a chair into my reach; I quickly shoved it between myself and the wild man from IT.

  I may have killed dozens of vampires and hundreds of zombies in my sleep, but I’m a realistic man, and I realized that this was the perfect moment for a strategic reverse charge. In other words, I turned on my heels and put shoe leather to floor.

  Maybe I hadn’t recovered from the blow to my head, or maybe there was something else going on, but before I had taken three steps, there was a blurring of the air and Phil was in front of me again.

  “What the hell,” I groaned, skidding to a stop and seeing a wicked grin spreading across Phil’s face. Anger, confusion, and pain started to give way to real fear as I glanced higher and saw that Phil’s normally brown eyes were black. I’m not saying that the center of his eyes were black. No, it seemed that the onyx orbs of some nocturnal creature glittered in front of me. Stunned, I didn’t even move as another walloping punch came at me, this time connecting just under my eye and jerking my head backward. I stayed on my feet with an effort of will, but I could feel my eye swelling closed as blood began running freely down my cheek.

  Perhaps he was too self-confident, perhaps he was having fun, or perhaps it was something else motivating him, but Phil just stood in front of me, unmoving, a mad grin plastered on his face. I edged to the right, trying to find a clear path around Phil to the door and hoping desperately that help would arrive soon.

  “You don’t have to do this, Phil. We can explain this away,” I slurred out, trying to find a way through the haze of rage that filled the other man’s eyes. He slowly shook his head and blocked my path with a single step to the left. Acting on years of training, I made a quick jab toward his head, and, as I’d hoped, his hands shot up instinctively to protect his face. With his hands out of position, I snapped a quick kick off toward the madman’s groin, connecting solidly with his testicles. However, instead of doubling over in pain, he simply grunted, snarled, and lunged toward me with both hands outstretched. Off balance, I couldn’t avoid him, and I felt large fingers wrap around my throat. My handful of short jabs didn’t have any effect except to use up my oxygen more quickly; brown spots danced at the edges of my vision.

  Tensing my thick neck to gain space to breathe did no good, and as I felt power leaking out of my limbs, I thought of Dana getting an unexpected call this afternoon. I thought of Olivia asking, “Where’s Daddy?” I thought of the hours that I’d worked, staying after everyone else in the office had left so that I could earn enough money to provide a decent future for my daughter. I thought about the hours that I’d toiled in my sleep, trying to bring a little ease to the dreamers of the world. Maybe it was confusion, and maybe it was sheer desperation, but as I felt my consciousness starting to slip away, I reached back with one arm, focusing all of my will on obtaining some weapon that could break Phil’s grip.

  Still on the verge of passing out, I distantly heard the door opening and shouts coming from that direction,
but those sensations were completely secondary to the sweet and unexpected feel of leather under my fingertips. This wasn’t just any leather either, but the hilt of a weapon that I knew from many nights of nightmare slaying, a weapon that I’d never before held in my waking life: my gladius.

  Letting my legs collapse under me, I felt the heat of Phil’s breath—smelling oddly of moldy hay—on my face. As my vision closed down to a single pinprick, I heard him growl, “You won’t ruin my chance to be with her…” Using the last of my strength, I whipped my arm around, aiming the gladius instinctively at Phil’s kidney.

  “Julian, no!” A female voice that must have been ten thousand miles away yelled as my wrist shook with the meaty thunk of the short sword driving home. I felt myself falling, a heavy weight crashed down on me, and then…there was darkness.

  CHAPTER 10 0800–1000, Friday, July 31, 2015

  ***Julian***