by Dima Zales
Dressed in multicolored hooded robes similar to the one Kain put on, the New York Councilors look as though they took their fashion advice from some creepy secret society.
“Good morning,” I say politely, and even contemplate curtsying. “I’m ready to learn why I’ve been detained.”
“Finally,” Felix says in my ear. “I thought you’d never snap out of it.”
Kain stands up. “Please state your name for the record.”
“Bailey Spade.” I scan the room for allies, but it’s hard to recognize anyone in these hooded getups.
“Thank you,” Kain says. “I’ll be the designated neutral party in these proceedings.”
“I think that’s good,” Felix whispers. “He let your Gomorran tech slide. Maybe he’s more than neutral.”
In the third row, a slender figure in a magenta robe stands up and pulls her hood back.
I know her. This is Kit, the shapeshifter I met through my rehab job. She’s currently in her favorite guise, that of a round-cheeked blonde straight out of a Japanese role-playing game or anime.
“I’m serving as the Defense for today’s proceedings,” she says in a high-pitched voice that matches her video game appearance.
Another woman in teal robes stands up and pushes back her hood, revealing high cheekbones in a familiar oval face. “And I’m Gertrude, the Plaintiff in today’s proceedings.”
Puck. I know her as well. I just hadn’t realized she was on this Council.
Gertrude came to see me on Gomorrah, complaining of symptoms that sounded like REM Sleep Behavior Disorder. People with that condition physically act out their dreams, sometimes by speaking and sometimes by moving their arms and legs. I told Gertrude I couldn’t help with that, or anything else physical, because my powers only work inside the dreams. Instead, I advised her about obvious safeguards she could take, like installing a padded floor, removing dangerous objects from reach, and sleeping alone. Something—probably the sleeping alone bit—really upset her, and now it seems like she’s been holding a grudge this entire time. At least enough of a grudge to want to speak against me today.
Has she never heard of the whole “shooting the messenger” thing?
“Be careful. This Gertrude has a scary power,” Felix whispers in my ear. “Her skin mortifies any tissue it comes into contact with.”
That’s just great. A gangrene-giver has a grievance with me. Can things get any worse?
“Why don’t I explain the charge?” Gertrude offers. When no one argues, she says, “The Defendant has revealed her powers to humans.”
I did what? When?
There are hushed whispers in the audience.
“Crap, that’s like breaking the Mandate,” Felix says in the earpiece. “Not good.”
I wish he’d stop with the pessimistic commentary. I’d silence the earpiece, but if the Council realizes I have it, I could get Felix into trouble.
“I’m sure whatever happened was an honest mistake.” Kit turns herself into a version of me, with an unnaturally innocent expression.
“What did you do?” Felix whispers.
I still have no clue. I certainly never revealed anything to any humans. Why would I?
“Why don’t we all decide for ourselves?” Gertrude fiddles with a phone.
A moment later, Filth comes into the room rolling a cart holding a 75-inch TV.
“Thank you.” Gertrude’s smile shows too many teeth, and Filth bows to her before leaving.
Gertrude descends from her seat with feline strides. At the first row, she pauses next to a hooded figure. “Hekima, do you mind helping with this?”
The hooded figure stands up and reveals his face. His frizzy gray hair and kind, deeply weathered features make him look how I’ve always pictured my grandfather—not that I know anything about my grandparents. Mom always refused to speak about them.
“That’s Dr. Hekima,” Felix says. “He’s a good guy. I had him for Orientation—a sort of school for the young Cognizant here on Earth.”
That makes sense. His grandfatherly looks fit a wise teacher to a T.
Hekima joins Gertrude next to the TV and addresses the crowd in a deep, melodic voice. “Please speak up if you don’t want the illusion of immersion.”
“Oh,” Felix says, “forgot to mention. He’s an illusionist.”
Another illusionist? Valerian, the guy who hired me for the Bernard job, said he was this type of Cognizant. Illusionists can make you see what they want you to see, creating a sort of virtual reality without the need for any hardware.
A few Councilors raise their hands to indicate that they don’t want their minds messed with, but most are okay with it. I keep mine at my side as that will let me see the evidence better—plus I’m not sure if I’m allowed to refuse.
As Gertrude turns the screen toward the people who won’t be subjected to Hekima’s power, Hekima dramatically raises his arms, as if planning to conduct an orchestra.
Before I can blink, pulsing red energy streams from Hekima’s fingers into everyone’s heads.
As if switching from one dream environment to another, the meeting hall vanishes, replaced by an art gallery. Only three people are there to enjoy the countless paintings: Kain, Gertrude, and a very familiar human—a painter from my past.
Puck. I’m beginning to have an inkling as to my crime.
Kain’s eyes go into glamour mode, and he directs them at the human painter. “You will answer all questions honestly.”
“I will,” the painter says robotically.
Gertrude points at the wall opposite them. “Why did you paint that?”
“Crap,” Felix says.
Crap, indeed. The painting is of me—the way I look in the dream world, with fiery hair.
“This is my dream muse,” the painter says. “She appeared in my dream on the night I got the idea to explore a completely new medium. Ever since then—”
Hekima must do his thing, because the gallery is whisked away, replaced by a bedroom I recognize as belonging to the painter. The Enforcers scour the room like crime scene investigators until Filth snatches a single curly brown hair from the carpet and gives it a disgusting sniff.
“That’s it for now,” Gertrude says as the coliseum reappears around us. “To clarify, the Enforcers used that to find the dreamwalker.”
“Vampires can do that, use DNA to locate someone,” Felix explains needlessly in my ear.
“Furthermore,” Gertrude continues, “Kain and his team followed her for several weeks. They witnessed her breaking into the homes and apartments of various humans, no doubt revealing her powers to them as well. The Enforcers finally caught her red-handed and brought her here.” She looks at Kain. “Isn’t that correct?”
He shakes his head. “We have no evidence that she showed herself in the dreams of anyone but the painter. And some of the apartments she broke into belong to fellow Cognizant.”
Kit loudly clears her throat. “How is any of this news? We’ve all heard Bailey’s nickname of Freda Krueger.” She morphs into the burn victim and horror movie villain that inspired the nickname I dislike. “And we all know of Bailey’s reputation as a Cognizant private detective of sorts.”
Kain gets an unreadable expression on his face.
“When we need secrets stolen,” Kit continues, “we go to her. Obviously, she does her thing by dreamwalking. It’s like accusing me of shape-shifting.” She demonstrates by morphing into several random people and animals.
Gertrude gives Kit a nasty smile. “If anyone hired the accused to expose herself to humans, we should hold similar hearings for them.”
Expose myself? She makes it sound like I was hired to work in a strip club.
I’m unsure of the proper protocol here, but this has gone on long enough. “Maybe I could explain?” Before anyone can say no, I rattle out, “Nobody hired me to show my dream form to that painter or anyone else. I was hired to encourage him to work for a VR company—that’s all. Dreamwalking is us
ually performed while invisible, but I forgot to conceal myself that time. It was an honest mistake. It hasn’t happened since, and it won’t happen again.”
Actually, it almost happened today with Bernard, but they don’t need to know that. Everything else I said is absolutely true. Valerian, the illusionist who hired me for Bernard’s job, wanted me to “inspire” the painter to create masterpieces in VR. I think Valerian owns a VR company, likely the one where Bernard works.
“We can verify this claim and question the other victims,” Kain says.
Gertrude frowns. “It doesn’t matter. There’s physical evidence of her crime. If she were under the Mandate, it would’ve activated when she ‘forgot’ to hide herself in that human’s dream—assuming she’s telling the truth about that, which I doubt.”
“I think we should vote,” Kit says. “I’m sure Bailey will be exonerated.”
“I agree,” Kain says, “and there’s something unrelated to this case I want everyone to bear in mind.”
Gertrude’s frown deepens, but the other Councilors regard Kain with curiosity.
“As you know, we have a very puzzling investigation on our hands,” he says, causing hushed murmurs to start again. “And Bailey is a sleuth.”
I’m as much a sleuth as I am a ballerina, but I see no need to counter what he’s saying if it could help me.
“I don’t think anyone should worry about matters unrelated to her crime,” Gertrude snaps. “It’s time to put this to a vote. If you think the dreamwalker should die, as consistent with our laws regarding the exposure of our powers to humans, please stand up.”
Die? Is she kidding me?
My heartbeat skyrockets as the hooded figures rise to their feet one by one.
I’m so pucked.
Chapter Eleven
Except they don’t all stand up.
Kit and Kain sit down, and as I scan the room, I realize only a minority of this Council wants me dead.
Whew.
“That settles the matter,” Kain says. “Now I move that we vote to task Bailey with our investigation.”
“You know,” Felix whispers, “I’m getting a feeling that the whole exposure thing was a ruse to get you to comply with the next bit.”
He might be right. After dodging execution, I do feel quite ready to do whatever they want. Besides, this might be an opportunity I can’t pass up, for Mom’s sake. The Council has resources that—
“All for, stand up,” Kain says.
Most of the Councilors rise to their feet, including the ones who wanted me dead a second ago. Flip-flop much? Either way, it sounds like I just got some kind of a job thrust at me.
As people begin to leave their seats, I speak up. “Isn’t there something you’re forgetting?”
“What are you doing?” Felix shouts in my ear.
Everyone looks at me as if my hair has caught fire—something I can’t do safely in the waking world.
I fold my arms across my chest and stare them down. “My payment. I don’t work for free.”
Kain gives a rare smile. “You don’t know what we want you to do.”
“Whatever it is, I need to get paid for it,” I say. “My mother was in an accident. Machines keep her alive, and my jobs barely cover her life support bills. So as payment for this job, I want you to heal her. Not with vampire blood—that didn’t work—with an actual healer. Do that, and I’ll do whatever it is you want.”
Kain doesn’t look surprised in the least. He glances at a woman two rows from him, who pulls her hood back to reveal fine features surrounded by glossy black hair.
“That’s Isis,” Felix says. “She’s a healer who recently got a Council seat.”
“Solve the case, and I’ll help your mother.” Isis levels an arrogant look at me. “I hope you realize what such a payment is worth.”
Oh, I realize, all right. It would take all the money I’ve seen in my life multiplied a thousandfold to hire a healer on Gomorrah.
“Let’s talk details,” Kain says and strides out of the coliseum.
I follow his silent form through the castle and up a narrow staircase into what must be a tower. The rusty iron hinges screech as he pushes open the massive door, and we enter a circular room with stone walls.
“Hey, your camera just cut out,” Felix says worriedly. “Did you—”
“So,” I say to Kain, ignoring Felix’s technical problems. “What is it you want me to figure out?”
“Before I explain, you should know that this is a delicate matter.” Kain leans against the wall and folds his arms across his chest.
Great. Delicate matter, powerful people. What could go wrong? “I keep all my work confidential,” I say, eyeing him warily.
“Good. But I still want to highlight how sensitive this situation is.” He flashes his fangs, turning his already unattractive face practically ghoulish. “If news of this gets out, I will personally kill you. Slowly.”
The threat is delivered in the casual tone I’d use when asking a coworker what time it is. Wow. I thought Kain was on my side, but it seems he only protected me from Filth because he needed me intact for this job.
I raise my chin. “If news of whatever this is gets out, it won’t be because I blabbed.”
“Fine.” His fangs disappear. “Here’s the deal. Four members of the Council have died under strange circumstances. At this point, everyone thinks it’s murder and that a member of the Council must be responsible.”
Felix whistles in my earpiece, reminding me that the secret is already out.
I swallow hard. Someone killed four of the most powerful Cognizant on this world? How the hell am I supposed to solve something like that? I can’t even figure out which of my coworkers at the rehab facility keeps eating my leftovers—at least not without invading their dreams.
Oh. He can’t mean that.
“I’ll convince everyone to give you access to their dreams,” Kain says, way ahead of me already. “You’ll be able to see their memories and figure out the culprit, right?”
“Maybe.” I try to keep my voice even. “It’s not as straightforward as that. Sometimes I have to work on—”
“Don’t worry about the details. Whatever it takes, you’ll do it.”
“Yes, of course I will,” I say, more to hype myself up than to reassure him. “My mom’s life depends on it.”
“Indeed.” His fangs show up again. “And in case that’s not motivation enough, your own life depends on it, too.” Leaning in, he whispers into my ear, the one without the earbud, “I didn’t inform the Council about the full extent of your crimes. Bringing Gomorran technology to this world is forbidden, and as you can imagine, if forced to vote again, especially after your failure, the Council would not let you off so easily.”
I back away, my heart rate uneven. Around my wrist, Pom has turned pitch black. “You don’t need to threaten me,” I say, amazed by how steady my voice is under the circumstances. “I’ll do anything to heal my mother.”
“All the better,” he says. “I just wanted us to be on the same page.”
I straighten my spine. “I need the details of the murders and access to everyone’s dreams, as well as the authority to interview people and review any records I wish.”
“You’ll get all that. I’ll make the arrangements. Wait here.” He disappears from the room with vampiric speed.
Felix clears his throat. “An unsolved murder case must look bad for him, what with being the new head of the Enforcers and all.”
I hadn’t thought of that. Still, he didn’t need to be so—
“Hello, Bailey,” comes a smooth, deep male voice from my right. “Given the circumstances, I decided we need to talk.”
Chapter Twelve
“Who’s that?” Felix asks in the earpiece.
Great question. I peer intently at the location the voice came from but see no one there.
Then a man materializes in front of me.
And what a man. Tall and broad-shouldere
d, he’s wearing a bespoke suit that hugs his muscled body in all the right places. His face, framed by thick, silky-looking dark hair, is even more impressive. Ocean-blue eyes glint at me from beneath straight black slashes of eyebrows, and his high cheekbones appear to have been carved by a sculptor, along with his chiseled jaw and dimpled chin. Oh, and there’s a hint of stubble on that gorgeous face, as if he hadn’t shaved this morning.
It’s official. He’s hotter than Adonis, the most popular uber singer on Gomorrah. Wait—maybe he is a celeb. Something about his face does look familiar…
As I study each feature, I catch myself wanting to kiss those firm yet plush lips. Which is beyond insane. We’ve just met, and I have huge problems with touching in general, let alone touching that leads to the exchange of bacteria-laden bodily fluids.
Puck. I’m still staring at him. How long is it socially acceptable to stare at someone? Worse yet, my furry wristband has just turned an embarrassing coral pink—the color of sexual arousal.
At least this guy doesn’t know that my looft displays my emotions this way, or what each color means.
Hold on. All this time, he’s been staring at me just as intently. I’ve got to say something. Anything.
What comes out is a lame “Hi.”
A sensual smile touches those kissable lips. “Hi, Bailey.” He extends his hand. “I’m Valerian.”
On autopilot, I clasp his palm, noting with some small corner of my mind just how big and warm it is. He squeezes my hand gently, then releases it, his smile widening at my continued dumbstruck silence.
For four straight seconds, I don’t reach for the sanitizer—a record of some kind.
Then my common sense kicks in, and I get the bottle out and sterilize my hand, finally processing his introduction.
Valerian. That’s the guy who hired me for all those VR-related jobs.
This is what he looks like? Until now, we’d been communicating via encrypted email. If I’d known all the facts, our meetings would’ve been in person. Maybe even in some romantic, scenic locations, like the shore of that beautiful lake on—