by Helen Harper
Chapter Twelve
A dream doesn’t become reality through magic; it takes sweat, determination and hard work.
Colin Powell
I open my eyes and look around. This time there’s no fog and no bridge and no strange woman covered in blood. Instead, there are bare wooden floors beneath my feet and a reassuring feeling of solidity from the cream walls around me. A house. I glance round at the artwork, which is more modern than I’d have expected, and then at the array of photos propped up on a sideboard. I spot two older people who resemble Ingold enough to be his parents, along with other photos of his beaming face. So far, so good.
There’s a humming sound coming from my left so I head towards it, eventually entering a messy-looking kitchen. It’s Ingold himself who’s humming. He has a rag in his hand and he’s cleaning the windows, stopping every so often to pull back and admire his handiwork. Doing chores in your dreams doesn’t strike me as particularly exciting but who knows what counts as fun when you spend your days working with Interpol?
Although his conscious self knew that I was going to apparate into his dream, his unconscious self has no clue that I’m here. It’ll remain that way until I announce myself so, for now, I simply wait and watch. I want to glean as much information from him as I can. After a few moments, he tosses the cloth to one side and spins around in a manner that oddly puts me in mind of Wonder Woman. Then he opens a nearby door and walks through, while I trot behind him.
We emerge in a garage. I eye the boxes stacked neatly to one side, along with the dustsheet-covered car. Ingold strolls towards the vehicle. I expect him to pull off the sheet and go out for a drive but instead he hunkers down and lifts the whole car upwards from the bonnet, upending it with superhero ease to reveal a trapdoor underneath. I smirk. A bit of dream wish fulfilment; maybe Ingold fancies himself as Batman.
He flips the trapdoor open and drops down into a dark hole. My curiosity well and truly piqued, I follow him.
It’s a longer drop than I expect and I jar my knees when I land. I spy Ingold up ahead, striding through the gloom to his Batcave – or wherever this leads. Of course he doesn’t feel the pain that I do. I grimace and straighten up, wincing as I jog after him. It doesn’t help that he’s still humming that damn tune.
As the corridor deepens, it gets darker. I’m catching up to Ingold when he stops and purses his lips. ‘Hallie,’ he intones in a deep voice, ‘give me light.’
‘As you wish, Markus,’ comes the robotic answer. Almost immediately, the corridor is flooded with light. I blink, adjusting my vision. Ingold thrusts his hands in his pockets and continues on his way.
I estimate we keep going for another half a mile through endless, twisting corridors; there is nothing remarkable about them except their uniformly concrete grey walls. Ingold doesn’t talk to Hallie again. In fact, I’m starting to think that this is it – that his dream is nothing more than a walk through an underground network of tunnels, perhaps symbolising his career as an investigative police officer – when we finally come to a ladder. Ingold wastes no time in shimmying up and pushing through to the other side. Sunlight glimmers down briefly from above and then he disappears from sight, closing the door behind him. The lights immediately turn off and I’m plunged back into darkness. Hissing softly in irritation, I hurry up after him.
The trapdoor is far heavier than I expect. Ingold seemed to have no trouble opening it but I struggle to move it. I shove my shoulder against it and slam it with my palms but nothing happens. Tutting at myself, I drop down a rung or two and concentrate. I’m the dreamweaver, I remind myself; I have the ability to change whatever I damn well please.
The door vanishes completely. I scurry into the daylight and start searching for Ingold. A car whizzes past, almost knocking me over, so I nip to the pavement. Rows of nondescript shops stretch in front of me. Most would barely merit a second glance but there’s one that stands out. I make a beeline for it.
It’s a flower shop or, to be more specific, an exotic flower shop. I spot Ingold inside, lightly touching the petals of an extraordinary looking orange thing that puts me in mind of The Day of the Triffids. I hope it’s not going to eat him; I’d like to talk to him first. Fortunately, as I go in to join him, he abandons it in favour of some smaller purple plants. Even though the orange flower doesn’t so much as twitch, I still give it a wide berth. It doesn’t hurt to be cautious and, considering it smells more of rotting food than of sweet fragrance, I suspect I’m doing the right thing.
Ingold grabs some seed sachets and starts putting them in his pockets. I raise an eyebrow, wondering if he’s planning to steal them. Regardless, I’ve seen enough. I tap him on the shoulder, clear my throat and say his name. It’s time to let him know I’m here.
Initially he appears befuddled then his brow clears and he starts to smile. ‘You’re here.’ He glances round as if seeing the shop for the first time. ‘You’re in my dream.’
I give a half smile. I wasn’t sure how clear this would be for him. I probably shouldn’t do it but I can’t resist having a bit of fun. ‘How do you know you’re not just dreaming me?’
He cocks his head. ‘Huh. Good point.’
I pat his arm. ‘Don’t worry, I really am here.’
‘And? What do you think?’
I look around. ‘I think you’re cultivating some potentially dangerous sources,’ I comment. ‘That orange flower is a monstrosity.’
He looks at it. ‘Who’s to say it’s not just a flower?’ I shrug. Ingold grows more serious. ‘Are you willing to trust me now?’
I think of his secret tunnel. ‘I think there are things you’re still hiding,’ I admit, ‘but I’m coming round.’
He seems relieved. ‘Good, because…’
The door jangles and another person walks in. I freeze. Shit.
‘Hello Zoe,’ Dante drawls. ‘What’s new?’
I stare at him, my jaw working uselessly. To be honest, with everything that’s been going on lately, I’ve barely given Dante a second thought. Now, confronted yet again with his smooth good looks and the dangerous glint in his silver eyes, I feel a jolt of desire. And fear.
‘This isn’t really a good time,’ I say.
He glances at Ingold, recognition flickering in his eyes. ‘I’ve seen him before.’
‘He’s Interpol,’ I mutter. ‘He touched my skin when he arrested me earlier today. As I said, this really isn’t a good time.’
‘When is?’ he asks. ‘Are the Badlands still on your tail as well?’
‘No. I managed to…’ I swallow hard and hope my lie is convincing ‘…I managed to put them off for the time being.’
Dante merely nods then darts a dismissive look at Ingold. ‘Is he giving you anything useful to use against him?’
Fortunately for both of us, Ingold can think on his feet. He doesn’t look directly at either Dante or me but busies himself around the plants, examining each one in detail. I let out a tiny breath. If Dante finds out I’m even thinking of colluding with Interpol – or that they’re aware that the Dreamlands exist – all hell could break loose.
‘Nothing yet,’ I reply. ‘Unless I can turn into a bloody tulip.’
Dante walks up to me until he’s less than inch away. His expression is inscrutable. ‘Where did he arrest you?’ he asks. ‘In the airport? Or the hospital in Zurich after Adam was shot?’
How in hell does he know all this? So much for my career as an incognito spy; clearly I’m useless at keeping a low profile.
‘Bloody hell,’ I snap, ‘does it really matter? I’m locked up in a damned Interpol cell.’
‘They can’t hold you. There’s no real evidence.’
I draw air into my lungs. ‘How do you know that, Dante? Was it you who tipped them off in the first place?’
His eyes narrow. ‘And just when I thought we were getting somewhere. Baseless accusations aren’t going to improve matters.’
Welcome to my world, I think sardonically. I remind myself to
tread carefully before my thoughts can betray me. Because I might have the power of Interpol on my side doesn’t mean that Dante isn’t still dangerous. ‘It’s not easy for me to trust you,’ I respond in a softer tone. ‘Not after everything that’s happened.’
For a long moment he doesn’t answer. I fix on the throbbing pulse at the base of his cheek. Eventually he reaches out and touches me lightly, his thumb brushing against my bottom lip. I shiver. ‘You suit your hair like that,’ he comments. ‘It makes you look more vulnerable.’
Right up his alley then. At least this time I manage to keep my mouth shut. He draws even closer, making it harder for me to think coherently. ‘I’ve heard things,’ he tells me. ‘That you’ve managed to unmask one of the Department members.’
There’s no point lying, it will only land me in deeper, choppier water. And confessing might make Dante think that I trust him. I nod. ‘Frederik Jepsen,’ I say. ‘He’s the CEO of a Danish company. That’s why I was in Copenhagen.’
Dante watches me like a hawk. ‘You realise that this is going to make the rest of the Department even more determined to find you. Now that you’ve reneged on your deal with them and you’re on the offensive, they’re not going to hold back.’
From behind my back, Ingold nudges me. He mutters some more about plants and giving them the right nutrients to make them grow. I bite my lip and focus on Dante. ‘I’m the dreamweaver,’ I say. ‘I have the ability to change things in the Dreamlands.’
‘You’re saying you have a plan?’
I nod, making things up as I go along. ‘If I can find out the identities of the Department members, I can unmask the lot of them. They’re afraid of people finding out who they really are because they don’t want anyone to disturb them in real life. I can change that. I can stop them in their tracks.’ I grab Dante’s arm. ‘You can help me. You were right before – if we work together, perhaps we can beat them.’
‘Revealing their identities might make them angrier. It might not solve anything.’
‘Or it might make them realise that if they can’t stay hidden in the real world they can’t try to rule the dream world. We aren’t the only Travellers, Dante. The others can put pressure on them once we know who they really are.’
Dante nods slowly. I try to ignore the lock of dark hair that falls artlessly across his forehead. It doesn’t work; my fingers itch to brush it away. ‘Interesting,’ he says. He mulls it over. ‘Okay, I see how it can work. Once the majority of the Department are taken care of, we’ll be free to take over and make the Dreamlands a better place. The Mayor had the right idea, you know. He just didn’t have enough ambition.’
I feel a bit sick but I swallow it down and stay on target. Cocking my head to one side, I make use of the opening Dante has already provided. ‘You used to work for the Mayor…’
He winces. ‘Don’t remind me.’
‘The Mayor was good at keeping track of people in the Bubble and all the Travellers in our zone. Did he have any records on the Department? If he knew who some of them were, he’ll have done half our job for us.’
Dante’s eyes glint. ‘There are some records. You’re right.’
I manage a smile. If there are any records of the Department’s identities, Dante’s probably responsible for most of them. I seriously doubt he’d let me get my hands on them. If he wanted me to see them, he’d already have mentioned the records to me. Trying not to let my thoughts betray me, I clutch his arm. ‘Can we get to them?’ I ask, my eyes wide.
‘They’re back in our own Dreamlands,’ he says. ‘To get to them we’d need to get back to Britain.’
How convenient. I scowl. ‘As I keep telling you, I’m stuck in an Interpol interrogation room.’
He rubs his chin. ‘I’ll come and find you. I’ll help get you out.’
I pause. ‘Legally, right? I don’t want to stay a wanted criminal.’
He laughs at me. ‘Yes. I’ll get what’s needed to make sure your name is cleared.’
Yatzee. I paste on an expression of delight mixed with what I hope is a tinge of adoration. ‘You can do that?’
He curves an arm round me and draws me close. ‘Babe, I can do anything.’ Then he kisses me. Squirming butterflies flash into the pit of my stomach and, as gently as I can, I push him away. ‘What’s the problem?’ he asks huskily.
I point awkwardly at Ingold who’s still pretending to be absorbed with his plants. Dante rolls his eyes. ‘He can’t see us.’
‘I know,’ I mutter, worried that I’m flushing red. ‘But it feels weird.’ Because I can’t think of what else to do, I reach up and brush my fingers against his cheek and smooth away the lock of hair from his forehead. ‘I’d rather do this in person,’ I breathe.
Triumph lights Dante’s expression. ‘Then your wish is my command. I’ll be in Zurich first thing in the morning.’
I offer him a small smile. ‘I can’t wait.’
There’s a crackle and he disapparates out of the dream. I double over, breathing hard. There’s a tightness in my chest that is almost suffocating me. I feel Ingold place a hand on my back. ‘It’s alright. He’s gone.’
I squeeze my eyes shut and straighten up. ‘I know. It’s just…’
Ingold smiles. ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I take it he’s the tracker? The one who helped you in my other dream?’
I nod. ‘You know about him?’
‘We have some files on him.’
I squash down my desperation to see them. Despite everything, there’s still part of me that wants to bring Dante round to my side – even though I don’t think it’s ever going to happen.
‘It’s good to see you don’t trust him,’ Ingold continues. ‘He’s done some good things but all the evidence suggests he’s not a good person.’
‘I get that,’ I sigh.
Ingold throws me a sympathetic glance but it doesn’t make me feel any better. ‘It’s smart keeping him on side and not pushing him out of the Dreamlands just yet.’
I’m not sure I’ll ever have either the guts or the will to do that but I don’t tell that to Ingold. ‘You should wake up,’ I tell him softly. ‘There’s a certain Dane I need to find before morning.’
He meets my eyes. ‘Then I’ll see you on the other side.’ He coughs and looks around. ‘How do I find the door?’
I smile slightly. ‘Just pinch yourself.’
‘That really works?’
‘Yep.’
He shrugs, grabs the fleshy part of his arm and pinches hard. He winces and opens his mouth to say something else but it’s too late – I can already feel myself being jerked away. ‘I’ll see you soon,’ I call.
And then I’m back in the clearing in the Dreamlands forest.
***
The first street I come to in the town is very busy. There are people everywhere and many of them have worried expressions on their faces. I wonder if it’s because the sky seems even darker than last time; there’s a definite tinge of gloomy grey to it that seems out of place. I gaze at it warily for a moment then tuck my hair behind my ear and step out from the cover of the trees, falling in behind a group who are chatting to each other and oblivious to my presence.
One of them is saying, ‘I heard a rumour that the Department have the dreamweaver.’
‘That’s not what I heard,’ someone else interrupts, ignoring the gasps from the others. ‘I heard that she’s got them on the run. They’re terrified of what she’s going to do.’
‘She? How do you know it’s a woman?’
‘I have a contact in England,’ the speaker says smugly.
I wonder who she’s talking about and I wonder how my old acquaintances back home know what I’m doing. Maybe Lilith has been spreading tales. Or maybe Esme and Bron and the rest are simply trying to do me a favour by spreading positive gossip. Perhaps the old barn, with its network of whispers in the walls, has been passing on the information for me. I shrug; either way, it’s not going to affect what I’m about to d
o. And if the Department really are running scared, it can only be good for me. It’s about time someone else felt the same fear that’s dogged me for years.
When we reach the first crossroads, I peel away. I’m heading directly for the main square and the Department headquarters where I’m hoping that I’ll find Jepsen. I might be in a different country but Copenhagen and Zurich are in the same time zone so they share the same Dreamlands town. If Larry, Curly and Moe are here too, then it’ll be an extraordinary bonus. I hope I get all of my dreamweaving powers to work otherwise this could end up very badly for me.
I pull back my shoulders and march through the quaint, cobbled streets. I spot the teenager who directed me to the Department before. He opens his mouth as if to say hello or pass the time of the day but seems to think better of it when I get closer. Hopefully the expression on my face shows that I mean business. I stride past him and then stop. What the other group were saying about the Department running scared was helpful; perhaps I can add some fuel to the fire.
I whirl round and walk back to him. Another boy of a similar age is standing next to him, slouching against the wall. I guess it doesn’t matter whether you’re a teenager in the real world or the dream world – your attitude is exactly the same. I realise that I recognise him as the kid who was trying to gain access to the Bubble when I’d gone after Ingoldby. I could use that sort of foolhardy curiosity. For now, I focus on the first kid. ‘You,’ I say. ‘What’s your name?’
His friend nudges him in the ribs. ‘Got yourself a cougar, eh, Lucas?’
I roll my eyes. Lucas, meanwhile, groans audibly. ‘Nice going. Now you’ve told my name to the fucking Department.’
His friend blinks, apparently realising what he’d said. I smile. ‘I told you already, Lucas, I’m not with the Department. And I know you don’t like them any more than I do.’