by Helen Harper
‘Zoe!’ the blonde woman screams. ‘Are you a terrorist?’
For the strangest moment I’m tempted to say yes, just to see what she does. I barely have time to open my mouth to form a sensible answer, however, before she’s joined by dozens of others. They press in on us, as if by crowding and forcing us to push our way through they’ll be more likely to get answers. Adam puts a protective arm round my shoulder for which I’m incredibly grateful.
The clamour grows. ‘Are you plotting to blow up a Swiss bank?’ one reporter yells.
‘Are these your hostages?’
‘Zoe!’
‘Ms Lydon!’
‘Zoeeee!’
The world closes in over my head for a moment and I hear the blood thumping in my ears, then I swallow and compose myself. I carry on walking but I also clear my throat and manage to speak. ‘This has all been a terrible mistake. That is why I’m handing myself in to answer any questions. I’m just an IT specialist. I would never hurt anyone.’
‘Does that mean you’re a hacker?’ someone roars.
I wince. ‘This has all been an awful mistake,’ I repeat. ‘I’m completely innocent of any wrongdoing.’ I maintain a neutral expression, as Rawlins told me I should. No smile – that would make me look like I thought this was a joke. No frown – I’m not a nasty person. I’m nothing more than a worried woman who’s the victim of mistaken identity.
Even with the answers I’ve given them, the journalists are hungry for more. They press in closer, scurrying alongside as we reach the police headquarters. It’s becoming stifling; I gulp in air and try to stay calm. Rawlins takes my hand and squeezes it, murmuring something inaudible. We plunge towards the doors. Almost there; this will soon be over.
From ahead of us, there’s a strange sound like a muffled thud. I look up in time to see a blinding flash of light and instinctively cover my eyes. Time seems to stand still; the air itself appears to pause for breath. Then there’s a rumble of sound pulsating towards us. A heartbeat later, as if from nowhere, flames flash across the windows of the police headquarters. I barely have time to blink before glass shatters outwards in our direction and a multitude of sirens and alarms start to shriek. The screams around us are even louder. Everyone scatters – even the journalists duck for cover.
Rawlins grabs my shoulders, spinning me round and yanking me to the ground. I reach out for Adam. He’s still here. We’re all still here. ‘What?’ I gasp. ‘What’s happening?’
The heat behind us is immense. There’s another boom, far louder this time. The ground beneath us trembles and dark smoke billows over our heads. From every direction the screams seem to grow in intensity. Some of the journalists scramble up and film the police station. Some focus on me.
I twist round and stare. It’s difficult to see much of anything with the smoke obscuring the building. I can already hear the shocked mutters around me.
‘Bomb. More than one.’
Most people are down on the ground to protect themselves or have already sprinted away from the area – but not everyone is cowering. Three figures run towards me from my left-hand side. They’re not wearing suits, they don’t even look like the plain-clothed officers; they are dressed more like soldiers in dark camouflage. I don’t need to see the whites of their eyes to know that they’re not the good guys.
‘Run,’ I whisper. ‘We have to run.’ I scramble up, hauling Rawlins and Adam with me.
‘We need to get the hell out of here!’ Adam yells over the chaos.
One of the nearby journalists lunges towards me but I push him away. I glance over my shoulder. The three figures are getting closer. ‘Come on!’ I shout.
We sprint, heading away from the burning building and back towards the car. My foot slips as I swerve to avoid a piece of flaming debris and I almost fall. Adam yanks me away, however, and I stay on my feet.
One of the real policemen yells at us to stop. I shake my head. No. They’re almost on us.
‘Mum!’ I scream. She’s already got the engine running. We pile in and she revs the car, taking off while the doors are still swinging open. The car screeches as we speed away.
All I can do is gape at the devastation behind us and at the three dark-clad men who’ve come to a halt and are staring back at me.
Chapter Three
The silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails.
William Shakespeare
We careen through the streets, swerving this way and that. It’s obvious from the shocked expressions on the faces of the pedestrians around us that the whole city is aware that something terrible has happened.
‘They’ll be putting up roadblocks!’ Rawlins shouts. ‘We need to get out of this car and hide somewhere till we work out what to do.’
My mother slams on the horn as a motorcyclist stops in the middle of the street to gape at the rising clouds of smoke above the roofs of Zurich. He jumps and gets out of the way. We keep on going.
‘Hide where?’ I yell.
‘Stop the car! We’ll be safer on foot.’
I’m not convinced we’ll be safe anywhere. My mother does as she’s told though, pulling into the first space she sees. We leave the keys in the ignition in the hope that someone will steal it and drive it away, then tumble out onto the narrow street. Rawlins points towards an alley and begins running and we follow. All I can think is that this would be an excellent time to wake up because if this isn’t a dream, we’re all screwed.
Halfway down the alley, there’s a large building with a metal door that’s been propped ajar. There’s a pile of squashed cigarette ends outside. Rawlins veers inside and the rest of us duck in after her. I have no idea what this building is but it feels safer than being out on the streets. Inside there’s the sound of running water and clanking crockery; a kitchen, I think dully. We must have found our way into the back entrance of a restaurant or a hotel.
There’s another door on our right. Rawlins shoves it open with her shoulder, revealing a set of stairs. We launch ourselves downwards, stumbling and tripping in the dark. We go down and down and down until we reach a basement filled with bottles of wine and recycling bins. As if by unspoken agreement we all slow down and head to the darkest corner towards the back then collapse.
‘What the fuck…’ Adam yells. He balls his hand up into a fist and punches the floor. ‘Was this the Department?’
Everyone turns and stares at me. I can only nod. ‘Who else would it be? I didn’t think they were this violent but…’ My voice trails off.
‘How could they have pulled it off?’ Adam demands. ‘How could anyone have that amount of power to blow up the Swiss police headquarters?’
Rawlins exhales, twisting her fingers over and over again. I don’t think she even realises what she’s doing. ‘They must have worked bloody quickly. They couldn’t have known we were in Switzerland until a few hours ago. To play their hand as openly as this is crazy.’ She shakes her head in disbelief.
‘We were early,’ I say aloud. ‘We were an hour early.’
‘You think it was timed to go off then? Before we got there?’ she demands.
I shrug weakly. ‘I guess so. Either it was designed to put the blame on us … on me,’ I amend, ‘or it was to stop us from handing ourselves in.’
‘Or both,’ my mother spits. ‘Those bastards. How dare they do this to my daughter?’
At least she’s no longer suggesting that this is my fault. I offer her a weak smile, reach over for the cat carrier, open it up and draw out the Chairman. His fur is standing on end and he’s shaking. I stroke him, doing what I can to soothe both him and myself.
‘Are your abilities really worth this?’ Adam asks.
I can’t dismiss the question; to go to these sorts of lengths seems barely credible. ‘They’ve thrown all logic and reason out of the window. How desperate do you have to be to blow up a damn police station?’
Rawlins’ mouth flattens. ‘I think we can be sure of one thing at least: they
don’t want you because you can help make the world a better place.’
I press my lips together and try not to cry. If I start, I’ll probably never stop. Beneath my fingers, the Chairman lets out a tentative purr; apparently he can sense my skewed emotions. ‘People would have died back there. Lots of people. They’ll stop at nothing.’
Adam sucks his bloodied and bruised fingers. ‘Is this really the Department’s actions?’ he demands. ‘Or Dante’s?’
I can’t believe that Dante would go this far. Killing innocent people like this? He desperately wants to control my dreamweaving powers but would he go to these lengths? Even if he wanted to do something like this, he wouldn’t have the resources. ‘I’m sure it’s the Department,’ I say. I run a shaky hand through my hair and look at Rawlins. ‘Be honest,’ I tell her. ‘Is it going to look like I did this? Am I going to be blamed?’
Rawlins licks her lips. ‘I don’t think so,’ she says slowly. ‘As you’ve already pointed out, we were early. The more I think about it, the more it seems that someone set the bomb – or bombs – to go off on a timer. We were lucky it happened before we arrived. Those cameras and journalists would have captured how shocked we were. And there was no way we could have entered the police station without them knowing.’
‘Can we be sure of that?’ my mother asks.
I grimace. ‘We can’t be sure of anything.’
‘What are we supposed to do?’ Adam asks no one in particular. ‘How are we supposed to outwit people who are prepared to use explosives? How can we hide from them? How can we…?’ He’s working himself into a frenzy. Strangely, the more panicked he becomes, the calmer I feel. I’m not the only one; Rawlins puts her hand on his arm and gives him a reassuring squeeze.
‘I’m going to have to confront them,’ I say. ‘Find out what they really want.’
Rawlins watches me. ‘Go into the Dreamlands and talk to them, you mean.’
I nod again. ‘It’s the only way.’
‘But,’ my mother quavers, apparently beginning to believe me now, ‘they can still hurt you in there. And we won’t be able to help. They’ll still be able to kill you.’
‘No. They don’t want me dead, they want me to work for them. But right now we’re fighting an anonymous enemy whose motivation we don’t understand. We need to know more about them or we’re never going to survive.’
Adam’s shoulders droop. ‘I had a life. I had a job. Things were going well for me.’
I look at him. He’s a good guy; he’s kind and thoughtful and he’s been more than patient throughout all this. He doesn’t deserve what’s happening to him. But the more time I spend with him, the more I can’t remember what I originally saw in him. Dante’s dark good looks and hard body flash into my mind; I grimace in distaste and push the image away. ‘Welcome to my world,’ I growl. ‘We can’t whine or pull out our hair and tear our clothes. We have to find a way to wrest control from the Department. I don’t know how, but talking to them is going to be a start. Do you think we’ll be safe here?’ I ask Rawlins.
She snorts. ‘Unlikely. We probably have a few hours at best. We’re not far from the car; as soon as it’s found the police will start door-to-door searches. The city will already be on lockdown.’
I chew my bottom lip. ‘The Department must have had an exit plan for us. I’m no good to them in a prison cell. Maybe if I promise to help them, they’ll help us.’
I get three almost comical looks of disbelief. I sigh. ‘Yeah, yeah, I know. But unless anyone else has a better idea…?’
There’s only silence. I take a deep breath. ‘Okay then. I’ll have to sleep.’
My mother stares at me. ‘You can sleep? Now?’
‘Time is limited,’ I remind her. I swallow. ‘I can do this.’
***
I’m too hyped up to drop off immediately. I force myself to empty my mind. Sleep is one of those things where the more you think about it, the more elusive it becomes. Even with my increased ability to crash out at all hours, the events of today make it difficult to achieve the state of relaxation I need. I lie down and encourage the Chairman to settle on top of me. Adam hands me his balled-up jacket to use as a pillow. I imagine that I’m back in my own house, in my own bedroom and stretched out on my own bed. It’s not easy but eventually my ears prickle and I gain entrance.
I’ve had a lot of skin-to-skin contact today but it’s still barely the middle of the afternoon and no one else is sleeping. I won’t end up in anyone else’s head. I pass go, do not head directly to jail and open my eyes in Central Europe’s Dreamlands.
Most Travellers apparate in the Dreamland towns but I don’t. When I look around, I’m unsurprised to find myself in a forest, one which is almost identical to the one in my native Dreamlands. The trees seem a bit taller and sturdier, and the plant life at my feet isn’t quite the same; I’m not exactly at home but I’m not far off.
I swivel round, my eyes piercing through the gloom as I try to find the best route. Considering the time of the day, things will be quiet. I might not find more than one or two Department members lurking around – though I’m fairly confident there will be some. They wouldn’t dare leave this place unattended, not when they know there’s every possibility that I could show up.
There’s no obvious indication as to where the town is so I set off in a vaguely northerly direction. I’ll just have to hope that I come across it soon. I keep my senses peeled for the approach of any night mares or, heavens forbid, succubi like Lilith. It appears, however, that I’m completely alone.
Aware that we could be discovered in the basement back in the real world at any time, I move quickly, jogging in and out of the trees. I quash my last vestiges of fear and panic and focus on the matter in hand: find the Department and find out what they want. Beyond that, I’m going to have to wing it.
Because this forest is unfamiliar, it takes me longer than it normally would to find the town. When I finally step out into brilliant sunshine and cobbled streets, I breathe a sigh of relief. I crick my neck in preparation, first one way then the other, and glance up and down. There’s not a soul in sight.
The British Dreamlands is like Brigadoon – a picturesque place seemingly lost in time. This place is no different. The style and architecture of the buildings are more continental but it’s still quaint looking. The sky seems slightly less bright and sunny than I’m used to but there’s nothing particularly strange about this zone. If circumstances were different, I’d take time to look around but I’m not here to play tourist. I straighten my back and march off in the search of the centre. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’ll find the Department there.
I round a corner and spot a gangly teenager ambling along and picking at crumbling bit of stone on the walls around him. That figures; the only Travellers likely to be asleep at this time of day are the very young and the very old. I shout to him and he turns, bleary-eyed.
‘Hey,’ he says.
I force a smile. ‘Hey.’
‘Not seen you around here before.’
‘No.’ I don’t have time for social niceties. ‘Where is the Department?’
He draws back with a hiss. Apparently here they are regarded in the same light as they are in my neck of the dream woods. ‘Are you one of them?’ He looks me up and down warily.
‘Do I look like one of them?’
He doesn’t answer, just continues to stare. I sigh. ‘Tell me where they are. I assume there are some of them around even at this time of day.’
His brow furrows slightly. ‘What time is it?’
‘Mid-afternoon.’
He winces. ‘Shit. I promised my mum I’d—’ He stops abruptly. ‘Never mind.’
I tap my foot impatiently. ‘I told you, I’m not with the Department, I’m looking for them.’
‘You can’t trust them,’ he says darkly.
‘I know that.’ I wait.
He sighs as if it’s a great imposition then jerks his head to his right. I nod my th
anks and take off. He shouts something after me but, when I turn back, he’s already disappeared, disapparating to complete whatever task his mother requires of him. That’s probably for the better: I wouldn’t want him to get caught up in what might be about to go down.
I pick up speed, zipping past a few shop fronts that make me think of Esme. She was barely on speaking terms with me the last time I saw her but I still miss her company. I hope she’s alright. I’ve got few enough friends as it is.
Before long, I come out into a plaza. There’s a large fountain in the middle that makes me think of Italy. Smack-bang behind is an ugly, out-of-place building. No prizes for guessing who’s inside. I don’t waste any further time; I start walking towards it with my head held high.
I don’t get very far, in fact I’ve barely reached the fountain, when two people – one male and one female – leap down from the roofs where they were no doubt concealing themselves and watching my approach.
‘You’re the dreamweaver,’ the woman says. I look her up and down, estimating her age at around mid-forties. She might be wearing jeans but, judging by the fit, they’re made to measure. Her hair is in a tight, shiny bun and there’s a sharp gleam in her eye. ‘I told the others you’d come. There’s no point resisting, we’re always going to win. There are too many of us and we’re too powerful.’
I tilt up my chin and meet her eyes. ‘Are you in charge of the Department?’
She snorts. ‘We’re not a dictatorship. No one’s in charge.’ She’s lying. There might be no overall leader but Dante told me there were individual leaders in each time zone. About this at least, I believe him.
‘I’ve been told otherwise.’
‘By whom? Your boyfriend? Just because he dreams of being the overlord doesn’t mean that one already exists.’