by Dima Zales
Kain slams a fist into the wall, burying his arm to the elbow.
Isis pulls a blanket over the body. “We should have Roger—or better yet, a human forensic expert—take a look.”
Roger. That name sounds familiar. Wasn’t he the one who’d made a sleeping drug for Leal?
Isis catches my gaze. “I take it you don’t know who did this?”
I shake my head, and Kain gives me such a murderous glare I fully expect him to drain my blood—or worse—right here and now.
“The werewolf. Eduardo.” I try to keep my voice even. “Did he have a relationship with her?” I glance at the corpse.
Jaw tight, Kain shakes his head.
“He wasn’t in his room earlier,” I remind him. “Maybe this is where he was.”
“Take care of this,” Kain barks at Isis and strides out so quickly I have to run to keep up.
By the time we get back to the werewolf’s apartment, I’m wheezing for breath.
“He’d better be there,” Kain growls.
We barge into the bedroom and find the large man in his bed, snoring like a geriatric dog.
Kain nods at the bed. “Do your job,” he tells me in a low, hard voice.
“He’s not in REM sleep,” I whisper. “We’ve got to wait.”
His voice rises in volume. “I’m running out of patience. Two more Councilors dead. If I were you, I’d make myself useful forthwith.”
Puck. I guess this isn’t a good time to tell him about the dreamwalker’s notes where he talked about the difficulty of entering werewolf dreams.
Wait a second. How could I forget? The black windows in Nina’s dream. They’re—
“There,” Kain says, quieter this time. “Look at his eyelids.”
He’s right. The werewolf has entered REM sleep—a record, considering he wasn’t in bed only a few minutes ago.
Faking confidence, I sidle up to the prone figure and touch his muscled neck.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Pom shows up as soon as I enter the dream world, and I pet him to relax a little before attempting the multibody technique from Leal’s diary.
Just as before, I create a second body for myself far away from where I stand, in case that helps. Next, I exit my current body and will myself to come back into both.
Nope. I end up in the original body.
I do it again, straining my willpower.
I end up in the farther body instead of the original, but not in both.
“I guess that’s still something,” Pom says dubiously. “You’ve learned a type of teleportation.”
“Right, but that’s not what I need.”
Still, Pom has a point. This is a way to teleport around the dream world. Then again, isn’t going to a different dream already teleportation? Or is that building reality around myself?
Leaving the metaphysics for later, I exit my body, create one in the tower of sleepers, and dismiss the original one. Reentering myself, I end up in the tower—functional teleportation.
Hey, it’s something.
For good measure, I test out the multibody technique once more and fail. I guess there’s no helping it. I’ll need to deal with the werewolf the usual way, in one body.
I teleport to his nook, turn invisible, and touch him the same way I did in the waking world.
As soon as I materialize inside Eduardo’s dream world, I see what the problem is—and it’s a big one.
Somehow, the werewolf is having two dreams at the same time, something I’ve never experienced and didn’t think possible. The two dreams are juxtaposed on top of each other, at least from my point of view, like two movie projectors playing different movies aimed at the same screen.
In one dream—a violent nature show—Eduardo is in wolf form, ripping a gazelle to shreds and relishing the feeling of warm blood in his maw. In the other dream, Eduardo the man is doing it doggy style—or is it wolfy style?—with a woman I don’t recognize.
Could she be Albina?
It’s hard to tell, especially with the sex and violence crossing over into each other.
The wolf abruptly stops eating, raises his bloodied muzzle, and sniffs the air. Looking right at me with animal eyes, he howls and bounds forward. At the same moment, the naked man stops thrusting and twists to look at me.
I want to run, but the two environments make it difficult to orient myself, and pain explodes in my neck as the wolf’s teeth bite down.
Before he can shut those jaws and kill me, I wake myself up.
Back in my real body, my heart is hammering so hard I’m afraid it’ll punch a hole through my ribcage. If the wolf had dug his teeth any deeper, I’d have died in the dream and would be homicidal right about now.
Speaking of homicidal, the way Kain is looking at me isn’t good.
“I’m sorry.” I back away. “I couldn’t check his alibi.”
“You what?” His fangs slide out.
“I knew this might happen. Werewolves are difficult to dreamwalk in.”
Kain’s eyes turn into mirrors. “Tell me the truth,” he orders in a tense version of his usual honey-laced voice.
I speak robotically without meaning to. “He was dreaming two dreams at once, one for the wolf side and one for the man side. Before I could manipulate anything, he lunged at my—”
Kit bursts in. “What’s going on here?”
“I release you,” Kain spits at me. He turns to Kit. “I used glamour to finally get some truth out of this useless blood bag.”
She frowns at me. “You’re susceptible to glamour?” Glancing back at Kain, she says, “If you knew you could get her to tell the truth that way, why didn’t you clear her of guilt at the hearing?”
Great question. I bet the answer is he needed me as bait to unmask the killer. Or maybe he’d hoped I’d actually solve the stupid case.
“Why are you here?” he asks Kit harshly.
“Isis woke me.” Her anime-like form ripples and becomes the healer’s. “She told me what happened to Albina, said Bailey mentioned a werewolf.”
My attention drifts back to Eduardo. Despite seeing me in his dream, despite my waking up, and despite everyone’s raised voices, the werewolf is not only still sleeping, he’s dreaming like a baby.
“We should take this conversation elsewhere,” I whisper, figuring that if they force me to go back into his dream—something I’d like to avoid at all costs—it’s better if he stays in REM sleep.
They both glance at the sleeping werewolf and head out, with Kit assuming her usual guise on the way.
As we exit the apartment, a soul-wrenching noise blasts through the castle. It sounds as if someone’s trying to replicate a bomb explosion with some infernal string instrument.
“What was that?” I exclaim when the noise stops.
My ears are still ringing.
Kit turns into a woman I’ve never seen. “Emergency meeting call for the Council.”
“That sound could wake the dead.” I sneak a glance at the werewolf’s quarters.
“It’s what happens when you let a siren onto the Council.” Kain grabs my wrist. “Let’s go.”
I blink at that. “Your siren is a siren?”
“Hey, the monks used trumpets before that,” Kit says, turning back into herself. “This is much better.”
Without comment, Kain herds me through the corridors until I see Filth standing next to a familiar door.
“If she leaves her quarters, kill her,” Kain tells him.
Filth gives me a look that seems to say, Please leave. Pretty please with a blood cherry on top.
“See you soon,” Kit says as Kain pushes me in and slams the door behind me.
Great. The Council is going to meet, and I’m not going to be there to speak for myself.
I’m so screwed.
Washing my hands in the sink soothes me a little; sanitizing them after calms me even more. Grabbing a banana, I pace the room as I chew. When I tire of pacing, I sit on the chair and eat four m
ore bananas in a row.
It’s been at least an hour. How long does a stupid Council meeting take? I’ll go crazy if I keep waiting here.
I grab hold of Pom’s fur and enter the dream world.
“Doesn’t this make the wait even worse?” Pom asks when I apprise him of my situation. “Time feels like it passes much slower here.”
“But here, I have you.” I fluff the fur on top of his head. “Besides, I can also do something useful here.”
I teleport to the tower and float around a bit, looking at the sleepers available to dreamwalk in. There’s Felix, but I leave him alone. He deserves some sleep after that sleep deprivation marathon I put him through. I look for Nina but don’t find her, which is too bad. I want to discuss something important with her. It makes sense she’s not here, though; she’s at the Council meeting.
Interestingly, though, some other Councilors are sleeping—skipping the meeting to do so. This includes Eduardo the werewolf, the deep sleeper himself.
“Is that good for you or bad for you?” Pom asks when I point this out.
“Good, I guess. Most of the sleepers voted to kill me, so if there’s another vote taking place right now, their absence will help my cause.”
Pom gives the sleeping werewolf a pouty glare. “Do you plan to enter his dreams again?”
“No pucking way.” I fly past the werewolf’s room without a second thought. “I’ll just work on Bernard again.”
I approach the Mario/Wario doppelgänger.
Yep. He’s still got clouds indicative of a trauma loop—and I already saw his child get kidnapped and his wife leaving. How much worse can it get?
Bracing myself, I touch his forehead.
Bernard is sitting on the edge of his seat in a courtroom. His wife and daughter are in a separate section, and he gives them a longing look they don’t return. He turns to glare at the defendant, a wiry, balding middle-aged man with shifty eyes. As if he feels Bernard’s death stare, the man turns around and winks at him nastily, then looks back at the judge, who’s holding a paper in her hands.
“The bastard did it,” Bernard mutters under his breath. “He did it, and he’s mocking me.”
The judge begins to speak, commanding Bernard’s full attention. He looks like he’s holding his breath.
“…find the defendant not guilty,” the judge states.
Bernard leaps to his feet. “That’s bullshit! The—”
The dream cuts off before he can be held in contempt of court.
Wow. I feel another trauma loop coming on. This is probably a record number. Most people have one, maybe two. Did Valerian know how tough this job would be? Is that why he paid me extra? Or maybe he simply needs the final results that badly—results I’ve yet to produce.
Speaking of Valerian, I feel a sudden urge to take a break from Bernard’s doom and gloom and revisit my uber-attractive employer in my dream bedroom. I can think of many ways his simulacra could make the time pass. He could feed me plump, juicy grapes, massage my feet with his strong, warm hands, use that sensual mouth for—
“Bailey,” Kit’s voice booms. “Wake up.”
There goes that idea.
I come out of my trance, the taste of sweet grapes fading from my tongue.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“You’re one cool cucumber,” Kit says when I open my eyes. “I don’t know if I’d be able to sleep under such circumstances.”
“I wasn’t sleeping, per se.” I sit up. “How screwed am I?”
She perches on the edge of the bed and puts down the stack of papers she’s holding. “The good news is they won’t kill you outright. I had to use all my oratory skills to pull that off, but Kain helped.”
“He did?” I move from the bed into a chair opposite her. That doesn’t sound like the vampire I know.
She turns into Kain. “He’s not as bad as he seems. He’s just in a shitty position. Since he’s the head of the Enforcers, everyone blames him for not preventing the murders. Clearly, he’s decided to shift some of that pressure onto you.”
As I thought. “Makes me feel so much better. What a saint.”
Kit shifts back into herself. “The head of the Enforcers before Kain left very big shoes to fill.”
I take in a deep breath. “What’s the bad news?”
“You’ve got three more days to find the killer,” Kit says. “And, if anyone else dies, that’s it for you.”
“Pucking great.” I leap out of the chair and start pacing the room. I’m failing. Failing badly. If I don’t get my act together, Mom stands no chance.
“I swear I did my best,” Kit says. “But when Kain told everyone about Hekima and Albina’s death, Gertrude made it sound like they voted to spare you in the hope that you could solve this thing. She said we needed to revote. Then Kain chimed in to give you another chance. I told them you can’t prevent someone as powerful as one of us from murdering, but they didn’t care.” She shimmers, transforming herself into Eduardo. “You’re lucky a few negative ninnies like their beauty sleep so much. As unbelievable as it sounds, the vote could’ve gone worse. One of the options was to kill you now.”
I grimace, stopping in front of her. “Why don’t I feel lucky?”
“If you want, I can help you escape.” She turns into me. “There’s going to be a Mandate ceremony soon, and we can disguise you to sneak out along with the guests. I can pretend to be you for a while, give you a head start.”
Tempting. Very tempting—and very nice of her to offer.
Regretfully, I shake my head. “I need Isis to heal my mom. Besides, Kain has my DNA. I don’t want to have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my days.” It’s the same reasons I had to turn down Valerian’s offer in the beginning.
Like it or not, I have to see this through.
Kit turns into Isis. “You’re also lucky no one’s killed her yet.”
She’s right. That wouldn’t be good at all. “Speaking of luck,” I say, pushing away the upsetting possibility, “did Chester vote for or against me just now? He had an alibi, but I still wonder if he could be behind it all.”
“He voted to give you another chance,” she replies in Chester’s voice while still wearing Isis’s face. “Chester can be a pain, but I don’t think he’s the culprit.”
“Fine,” I say tiredly. With the adrenaline leaving my system, the sleep deprivation is hitting me again, hard. I sink back into the chair. “Now what?”
Kit assumes her preferred anime blonde guise and hands me the stack of papers. “Kain made everyone write down what they were doing during the murders. They all swore to go to sleep in a bit, and Kain will check everyone’s compliance shortly. The idea is that you’ll dreamwalk in the rest of the Council as soon as possible.”
“Not a bad idea.” I glance at the papers. “I haven’t finished connecting with everyone, though.”
“That’s where I come in. I’ll walk you into the right people’s bedrooms.” She waggles her eyebrows lasciviously.
Ugh. Leave it to Kit to make the necessities of my power feel dirty.
“There’s another problem,” I say. “Some of the people I suspect didn’t attend your meeting.”
“Kain thought of that also. All but Eduardo”—she points at a highlighted section on the top paper—“were in the company of fellow Council members at the time of the murders, so you can clear multiple people for the price of one alibi.”
“I already know what Eduardo was doing, or at least what he said he was doing.”
“Kain mentioned your difficulties with his werewolf nature.” Her forehead creases in a concerned frown. “What will you do?”
“I figure I’ll start with the others and leave him for last. The more people I clear, the worse he looks, right?”
“Makes sense. Well, if you’re ready, how about we—”
There’s a knock on the door.
“Yes?” Kit asks in my voice.
“It’s Nina,” says a familiar voice.
Nina walks in. Her gaze flits between Kit and me. “With all this waking up in the middle of the night, I guess I should be grateful I’m not seeing triple.”
“Thank you for your vote,” Kit says, still as me. “You’re one of the good ones.”
Nina heaves an exasperated sigh. “Can whichever one of you is Kit give us privacy?”
I look at Kit, and Kit looks at me.
“I can do this all day,” I say.
Kit pouts.
“What I have to say wouldn’t interest you that much, anyway,” Nina says reassuringly.
Kit’s pout gets poutier.
Nina raises her hand. “I solemnly swear we’re not going to Netflix and chill without you.”
“Fine.” Kit trudges toward the door. “Be like that.”
“If you leave looking like me, Firth might try to kill you,” I say to Kit’s back.
Her nails grow to the size of talons. “In that case, I’m definitely not changing. Might be fun to see him try.”
Outside the door, I hear Filth say something nasty. Before I can figure out if he’s calling me a B- or a C-word, a thud stops his rant in its tracks. In the silence come heavy footsteps.
Nina rolls her eyes. “I wonder if she turned into Colton or some orc.”
“Anything’s possible with her.” I tilt my head, studying Nina. “I think I know why you came.”
She sits on the edge of the bed. “Kain said you cleared me already, which means you’ve been into my dreams.”
“I did and I have.” I draw in a breath. “And I saw the black windows.”
“So you did. Do you mind?” She points at one of my water bottles.
“Not at all.”
Before I can get up and give her a bottle, she uses telekinesis to make it fly into her hand. Swiftly, she drains it and then sits, chewing on her pierced lip.
“You came to me,” I remind her as the silence wears on.
She floats the water bottle back. “Sorry. This isn’t easy.”