by Lee Isserow
The children stared at her with wide, green eyes. Greener than the eyes of any mundane Shana had ever seen.
Her smile appeared to bring an end to the children's tears. The corners of their lips lilted into smiles that mirrored Shana's. But the moment of calm was not to last, and light poured out of the small square window in the door for a fraction of a second. Raven―or Faith―had called in reinforcements.
The door exploded from its hinges, torn apart into sawdust and a glittering rain of glass by the force of the blast, as Raven led a tactical team of five into the classroom. Each of them had castings primed, each of them aimed at the children.
The air prickled, as the children felt under attack once again. The teacher of Leon's class was so cold to him. . .. A boy in another class had punched him with a fist that felt like a damn rock. . . The girls in Yolanda's class were total bitches. . . The teacher in another class was disgusting around girls and so slimy. . . and now these people, they looked as though they were going to hurt them.
Raven and the tactical team screamed in agony, as every pain receptor in their bodies burst to life. It felt as though pins were rocketing through their veins, that sandpaper was being run against their muscles, that salt was being rubbed into every iota of their raw flesh.
But Shana was unaffected. She watched as her colleagues collapsed to the ground, unable to cast, unable to do anything but scream. She turned to the children, with tears in her eyes.
“Stop,” she begged. “Please, you do not have to do this.”
The siblings cried, still terrified, still feeling under attack. They shook their head as Shana attempted to approach, tried to warn her away.
“I understand,” she told them. “You cannot control this, not yet. . . your imaginations, your fears, they are in control.” She forced a smile to her lips, even though her glassy eyes betrayed her true feelings. “But I want to help you. I can help you. But first you have to stop this. . . you have to be calm, you have to understand that nobody will hurt you if you do not hurt them.”
The children exchanged glances, their grip on each other so tight that their fingertips were white from the pressure. They nodded, and turned back to Shana. Slowly they relinquished their grip, and wiped their tears.
“Please,” Yolanda said. “Please help us. . .”
Shana nodded, and took small steps towards them as she wiped her own tears, and dropped down to her knees to get to their level.
The shouts and screams from Raven and the tactical team petered out, replaced by deep and heavy breaths as they recovered from the assault. Shana smiled wider.
“Thank you.”
She reached for the hand of the boy, who reached to her in return.
And as their skin made contact, panic shot across his face. And in an instant, the boy burst into flames.
The girl shrieked. and skittered across the ground away from the blaze of her sibling. New tears began to shed, a frantic hyperventilation to her breath as she stared at his remains, his flesh seared, his face burned beyond all recognition.
“This isn't. . . what it said this would be. . .” she stammered. “This isn't what it taught us. . .”
“Who?” Shana asked. “Who taught you?”
“The whispers!” the girl shrieked, as her gaze shifted from her brother to her own hands. “It told us. . . the dream was so perfect, it was so easy. . . it didn't say that―” Her hands erupted into flames that rocketed across her body, under her clothes and up her neck. Her tears instantly turned to steam as her brain began to boil in her skull, her eyeballs burst from the pressure within. And then finally, her clothes took to the flames, filling the room with smoke as they melted on to her remains.
When the smoke cleared, Yolanda was left as charred and unrecognisable as Leon. Both looking just as the man in the bank had, when he had self destructed.
But there was a small glimmer of hope that came from this tragedy, and Shana was determined to see it as that. It took the death of these children to inform them how the mundanes were able to gain control of magick. And if it was through dreams.
Now that they knew the person or thing responsible was using the Dream Realm to pervert the order of the Natural World, they were one step closer to putting a stop to it.
13
Evidence of how they thought of him
EPICENTRE, THE CIRCLE
Faith sat in his office, and stared out at the main floor as his operatives milled around. The order had gone out for a dream adept to come in, and all they could do was wait for whichever adept answered the call.
He hated to admit it, but he was not sure whether he had taken the best course of action. This was the first major crisis that had come across his desk since he had taken control of The Circle, and he couldn't help but wonder whether Comstock would have handled it better. He was certain of one thing, that Three would have given his predecessor more information than they had given him, and that irked Faith to no end.
Three had one simple job, to warn of impending threats to the Natural World. And yet for some reason, they deemed that his command did not deserve the same amount of foresight that Comstock's received, and he couldn't help wonder if that was a reflection of him. Or perhaps, evidence of how they thought of him, his leadership style and choices. Or, and he did not wish to dwell on the matter too much, it was evidence that they knew something of him that they did not wish to share. A future for him that they had seen, a path that they dare not wish to push him on, or pull him from.
He was glad to catch sight of a door opening on the far side of the Epicentre, as it brought that train of thought to a dead halt. A man emerged across the threshold in a tweed suit and bowler hat, and proceeded to walk from operator to operative, introducing himself to one and all. Each received a firm handshake and a wide smile that came and went with every new person, causing his pencil-thin moustache to stretch and contort as though it were doing reps on a mundane gym machine.
Faith rose to his feet and stepped through the door towards the man, his heavy footsteps warning everyone present to get the hell out of the way. He shot out a hand to the new arrival, in the hope that his introduction would put a stop to the adept's socialising, and force the investigation to move forward.
“Isaiah Faith,” he said, as he took the stranger's hand with a firm grip, and proceeded to demonstrate no sign of a smile.
“Wilbur Dickensian-Workhouse,” the stranger said, his moustache stretched wide with the accompanying smile, eyes fixed on Faith's as if to impart that he would not end the encounter until he at least garnered the slightest of lip-curves in response.
Faith raised an eyebrow, more at the name than at the handshake that did not seem as though it was going to end.
“It's a family name,” Wilbur explained, a chuckle under the words.
“Of course,” Faith grunted, never one to question the curious nomenclatures that magickians chose for themselves.
“Lovely to meet you. Lovely to be called in. It's rare to get a call from the ol' roundy-round.”
The handshake continued, much to Faith's reluctance to participate. He put extra pressure on, and felt Wilbur's knuckles crack.
“Strong grip you have there my dear boy, strong indeed.”
“Are you ready to get on with the task at hand?”
“At hand! Ha! I love a pun―”
“Wasn't a pun.”
“Ah, well, yes. . . I do have a few more of your fellows that I haven't introduced myself―”
“You don't need to make introductions. You need to help us stop the end of the bloody world.”
Wilbur's smile weakened momentarily.
“Yes, so I hear. . . Rather a nasty bit of business.” The smile then returned, wider than before. “It will be a pleasure to be of assistance. Do you have a room for me? I'd rather not get naked in front of so many people, if that's alright with you?”
Faith let go of Wilbur's hand, and stared incredulously. “Naked?”
The dream ade
pt nodded. “Yes, rather a curious habit that was imparted at an early age, I'm afraid. Only way I can traverse into the Dream Realm.”
Faith's stare said more than any words he could muster, and Tali jumped in, with a whisper in his periphery.
“He was the only one available, I'm afraid. . .”
“No alts? Not a single bastard one?”
“What was that, old chap?” Wilbur inquired, unable to hear Tali's side of the conversation.
“Nope. . .”
“Fine, set him up with a room. One with bloody blinds. Don't need the whole damn Epicentre getting distracted by a naked toff flapping his todger about. . .”
14
A dark abyss
Tali ushered Wilbur into a conference room and closed the blinds before she left, as she had as little interest in seeing the nude adept as Faith.
Shana and Raven gave it five minutes before they knocked on the door and waited for a response.
“Come in!” Wilbur shouted all too cheerfully.
The two women exchanged a glance, sighed with reluctance at the task ahead, and entered.
Inside, they discovered Wilbur stark naked, flat on his back against the large mahogany table at the centre of the room. The heat from his body radiated out onto the shiny surface , and created a condensation outline of his nude form.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked, eyes closed, yet aware that the two women were still standing in the doorway. “Be sure to hit the lights before you join me.”
“Join you?” Shana asked.
“No way I'm getting my kit off for you, mate,” Raven spat. “This ain't a date.”
“You don't have to be naked, darlings. You do however need to hop on up to the same horizontal plane. . . Dream Realm doesn't work like the other realms. . . not by a long shot.”
Another glance was exchanged between the two women, and they acquiesced, sitting themselves on either side of Wilbur's nude body.
“Lights!” he shouted.
Raven rolled her eyes and gestured towards the light switch. It flicked itself off, and the door slammed shut. Light still slipped through the blinds and from the door frame, but Wilbur did not seem to mind that they were not in complete darkness. Shana couldn't help wonder if this was all part of the show, that he neither needed to be naked nor in an unlit place to cross realms. But she could not save the sure, and she did not wish to enquire for fear of appearing ignorant.
“Lie back,” Wilbur instructed. “Get nice and close now.”
Shauna could feel Raven's gaze burning into her, a scowl on her brow that imparted just how much she hated every second of this. All Shauna could do was shrug in response, and given that it seemed as though Wilbur was not going to flip realms until they did as he asked, she took the lead and shifted over to lie on the table
He stretched his arm behind her whilst she did so, and as she lay down Shana found her head resting on his thin, frail bicep. She shot a look at Wilbur, who expressed no emotion, his head still faced the ceiling, and he gave no indication that he took pleasure from the curious embrace.
“Are you coming?” he asked Raven.
She rolled her eyes, grumbled under her breath, and lay down next to Wilbur. As he moved his arm under her neck, she jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. “I feel that hand going anywhere I don't want, you're gonna lose it, y'get me?”
“Oh but of course, my darling girl. I assure you there shall be no impropriety on my part!”
“Best bloody not be,” she muttered.
Wilbur did not respond, not with words, at least. His breath changed, became deeper, held for longer, exhaled in short and sharp bursts. Shana craned her neck to catch Raven's eye, but before they could meet, the table beneath them gave away, and the two women found themselves falling fast into a dark abyss below.
15
Constellations
THE DREAM REALM
Despite the almighty wind that lashed towards them as they plummeted, Shana and Raven did not stray from their formation. Their heads still rested against Wilbur's arms, their bodies side to side with his as they cascaded down through an infinite expanse, that seemed as though it might never come to an end.
Shana strained to keep her eyes open in spite of the powerful gust, and as she did, the darkness adopted a hue of deepest, darkest blue. The blue gave way to dark purples, and as they continued to fall, the darkness began to shed. The purples became reds, becoming brighter and more vibrant, giving way to oranges and yellows, and brighter still. They blinded Shana with the most brilliant white she had ever seen. So bright that she couldn't help but look away and close her eyes.
And in an instant, they were no longer falling. But they had not landed either. They hovered, with no ground beneath their feet.
“First floor, Dream Realm!” Wilbur exclaimed, in a tone that was far too cheery for either of the women.
Shana and Raven opened their eyes, and much to Shana's confusion, there was no sign of the brightness that had blinded her. They were in an eternal void of darkness once again, the only light the glimmer of millions upon millions of twinkles that looked as though they might be stars in the night sky. But she knew they were not stars. They were dreams.
“So , where are we headed, ladies?”
Raven looked around in an attempt to get her bearings. “No idea, you're the bloody expert. . .” she growled.
“That may be, but your superior wasn't so kind as to furnish me with the locale in which to initiate our investigation. It's rather hard to put a pin in a map when you're looking at a map of the entire world.”
Shana's jaw dropped. “This is the entire world! I have read of this, the Dream Realm is not constrained to geography as the other realms are. . . We are seeing all the dreams of every person, all at once!”
“You know how some people's excitement is infectious,” Raven grumbled, “well your excitement is bloody annoying. . .”
“What exactly are we looking for?” Wilbur asked.
“As you were briefed, we believe that the mundanes are becoming connected in their dreams, being taught magick by some force that communicates through them.”
“Ahh! So we're looking for constellations!”
The glimmers around them shifted, and spun wildly. Shana realised that it was not the glimmers that spun, but them. They rushed towards one shining star, then to another, inspecting tens, then hundreds, then thousands of dreams in mere seconds, as Wilbur searched for ones that were connected.
They flew for what felt like miles in moments, then came to a dead halt ahead of close to sixty glimmers that orbited one another, and blinked in unison.
“I believe this is the blighter you're after,” Wilbur said, with a cheery chuckle.
“Where's the connection coming from?” Raven asked.
Wilbur glanced around the darkness that surrounded the glimmers. With an awkward motion, he raised his hand whilst insuring his arm stayed behind Raven's head, and made a gesture in the air. Thin threads of light began to appear between each of the interconnected dreams, a haze of glittering pink and purple fog came into view around them. The cloud was coming from a single point to the far side of the constellation, where it disappeared into the ether.
“Can you tell where it is going, or where it is coming from?” Shana asked.
Wilbur shifted them around it to investigate. He brought them closer, the stars of the dream becoming larger. As they approached them, they were no longer pinpricks―they became the size of windows, and then doorways. Beyond the threshold of each of the stars was activity, the action of the dream going on within. But that was not the focus, the content of the dreams was less important than where they were coming from.
As they closed in on the source of the power that connected the dreams, Shana and Raven could feel Wilbur's naked body shake against them. Tremors, that rippled through his bones.
“I. . . Can't get. . . any closer. . .“ he stammered, through gritted teeth.
“Why not? What
is it?”
“I don't know. . .” he grunted. “But. . . I fear. . . It might tear us apart if we get any nearer. . .”
In a flash, he whipped back, pulled the three away from the origin point of the cloud that had united the dreams. He caught his breath, and glanced to Shana, then to Raven.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I've rather let the side down, haven't I?”
“Yes,” Raven snarled.
“No,” Shana insisted. “If it is too dangerous to approach the cause of this, then we will find another way. There is no point risking ourselves at this juncture.”
“Well then this was just a bloody waste of time, wasn't it?”
“Not necessarily,” Shana said as her eyes meandered across the constellation of dreams. “We might not be able to find out who or what is responsible, but there is nothing stopping us from entering the dreams, and experiencing what it is teaching for ourselves. . .”
16
So much avoidable death
For the first time since any of them had lived there, in a grey and lifeless housing block in Banane, right in the centre of the 20th arrondissement of Paris, the residents were finally getting to know one another. They varied in ages and race, from pensioners to students, French natives to Caribbean immigrants, each of whom struggled to afford the thousand euros a month for their apartments.
'Apartment' was an exaggeration to describe the spaces in which they lived―and that was the first thing that united them when they first met, and began to realise just how similar they were. Each of them had barely three hundred square feet to call their own, and their apartments resembled prison cells more than they did habitats for free citizens. The walls were grey, bare concrete. None of their landlords had ever considered painting them, nor had they thought about providing more than a single spring bed and paper-thin mattress―even when the families had two, three, or four children.
Each of the apartments was identical in layout, a door thinner than any the residents had ever seen before, that led in to a corridor that was two and a half feet wide. So slim was the door, that some of the larger occupants of the building had to force themselves through the slim gap. Once they had entered, there was a plastic curtain to the left, which led to a combined shower and toilet. If the square footage had been greater, the idea of a wet room might have been illustrious, but with a four-by-four area, it was certainly not anything close.