by Dima Zales
Eventually, I spot Hekima in one of the nooks.
My sleep grenade has finally worked on him.
I return to the Council meeting place.
“Do you have a plan?” Isis asks when I appear.
“I do. But before we go into that, I want to make sure we’re all good.” I look at each Councilor one by one. “Is my execution canceled?”
Isis raises her chin. “The majority of the Council is here, and we’ve voted for amnesty in your case. Furthermore, I’m still going to heal your mother.”
My heart leaps. “Today?”
“If we survive Hekima,” she says with an eye roll. “Are you ready to talk about your plan in regard to that little problem?”
I take a deep breath and face the Councilors. “The plan is simple. You all try to wake up. Meanwhile, I’ll go into Hekima’s dream to make sure he keeps dreaming and therefore can’t thwart you. Once you’re in the waking world, knock him out.”
“I’ll do it,” Kit says eagerly.
“I’m closer to him,” Chester says.
“Doesn’t matter who,” I say. “Just wake up.”
“How?” Nina asks.
“Will yourself to wake up. If that doesn’t work, use a little bit of pain.”
Chester disappears right away, but most others stand there with expressions of concentration. Then Kit punches herself, and that wakes her up. Colton does the same and also disappears. Nina looks like she’s having trouble, so I give her a jolt to assist her.
When the last Councilor is gone, I take myself to Hekima’s room in the tower of sleepers. It would be extremely unfortunate if he happened to wake up before someone could knock him out.
Making it a point to turn myself invisible, I touch him on the forehead.
Hekima is sitting on a couch reading a book. A confused expression appears on his face. He lowers the book to his lap and raises it again, and even I see the text is different on the second go. His confusion deepens.
Crap. What he’s just done is one of the many techniques lucid dreamers use to determine whether they’re in a dream or not, a bit like what I do with Pom on my wrist. Text often becomes blurry and changeable in dreams. If Hekima ascertains this isn’t real, he could wake himself up.
I gently shoot him with my power to keep him in the dream state. It’s not a surefire method; if he punches himself the way he did in the graveyard, he could still wake up.
As if hearing my thoughts, Hekima stands up and raises his fist to do exactly what I don’t want him to do.
I make his couch grow two plush arms like a giant teddy bear, and the arms grab him by the wrists, preventing him from hurting himself.
He looks right at me. “Ah, Bailey. I’m definitely dreaming.”
To my shock, I become visible.
What the hell? Is this what had happened the last time I’d been in his dream? Maybe I hadn’t forgotten to make myself invisible after all. Maybe he’d done the same thing to me then.
Hekima gives me a level look. “I’m an experienced lucid dreamer. I may not be able to enter other people’s dreams, but I’m not so easy to fool.”
He looks at the teddy bear bindings, and they turn to dust.
Puck.
Before he can punch himself, I teleport to him and grasp his wrists myself. No matter how good he is at lucid dreaming, he can’t wish me away.
“You can’t wake up even if you hit yourself,” I say, hoping he can’t read the lie on my face. “I have you sedated.”
His lips curve in his grandfatherly smile. “I grew up side by side with your kind on Soma. I know all the tricks.”
“Soma?” I ask, partly to stall for time but also because I’m genuinely intrigued. I’ve never heard of this place before, and it sounds like I should have, if it’s where a bunch of “my kind” live.
Hekima cocks his head. “You’re not from Soma? Then perhaps this will work.”
An arc of pulsing red energy streams from his fingers into my head.
Pucking puck.
He’s trying to use his illusion powers inside a dream—and it does work.
Well, sort of.
I’m back in the gladiatorial arena, but I’m also still holding his wrists. This odd state of being isn’t like Pom letting me see through his eyes, but more like the werewolf’s dream, where I’m being torn between two places at the same time.
The biggest orc I’ve ever seen ambles into the arena, and the crowd goes wild.
Hekima tries to twist out of my hold.
Puck. To fight the orc, I’ll need to let go of Hekima’s wrists. But what would happen if I didn’t fight the orc? I’m dealing with an illusion, but inside a dream. For all intents and purposes, there’s no difference between those two, so if the orc kills me in a dream, I might die, and the consequence would be murderous insanity. If this is similar to the werewolf situation, though, maybe the solution is the same as it was there.
Leal’s so-called multibody technique.
The orc is almost upon me. I don’t have time to dwell on the fact that the multibody thing failed the last time I tried it. I’m just going to have to trust in the mind-boosting power of sleep.
I zoom out of my body and create a second Bailey in the path of the orc, this one with fiery hair. Straining my bodiless self to the point of fainting, I will myself to enter both bodies.
Bam. The orc smashes his fist into my stomach—the stomach of the me with fiery hair.
It worked!
Fiery Me crumples in pain, but the me still holding Hekima’s wrists feels nothing but the illusionist’s struggles. Fiery Me hits the orc with everything I have, and the orc flies through the arena and crash-lands in a crater.
The crowd pees their pants in excitement.
Hekima tries to headbutt me. I make my head the consistency of a plush pillow to make sure he doesn’t feel any pain.
At the same time, Fiery Me teleports to the weakened orc and waits for the crowd to quiet. As soon as it does, the flaming hair rises from my head and torches my opponent to a crisp.
Some in the crowd have heart attacks.
Hekima bares his teeth. “You’re powerful. Even some of the dreamwalkers on Soma couldn’t do the multibody technique.”
Soma again—and the place sounds more interesting by the moment. Both of me reply in unison, “Tell me more. What is Soma? Where is it?” At Hekima’s incredulous stare, both of me add quickly, “I’ll do my best to get the Council to go easy on you if you tell me the truth.”
Kit or Chester must be about to knock him out by now, but I almost wish they weren’t. My question isn’t a stalling tactic. If Soma is where dreamwalkers live, I want to learn all about it. With Mom refusing to speak about our roots, I’ve always wondered if—
Hekima’s face twists. “We never should’ve left Soma. Siti would still be alive. On Soma, we—”
A shriek of unspeakable pain erupts from him as his dream bursts like a soap bubble, and I find myself back in the tower of sleepers.
Puck. Just when he was getting to the good part, someone knocked him out. Oh, well. Hopefully I’ll be able to question him when he recovers. They didn’t execute me right away, so there should be time.
I give myself a jolt and wake up.
Chapter Forty-Nine
I feel amazing—and not just because of more sleep. My pain and injuries are gone without a trace. I open my eyes and see why. Isis is moving calmly around the Council meeting room, healing everyone with her powers.
Rising to my feet, I look for Hekima—and instantly avert my gaze, wishing I could rub sanitizer on my eyeballs.
So much for my plan to question him.
Hekima is no more. At least I assume those are his remains in a pile approximately where he last stood. Someone has done something unspeakable to the grandfatherly illusionist.
His skin—all of it—is missing.
Kit grins at me. “He won’t be bothering anyone ever again.”
I swallow down a surge of
nausea. “What happened? You were supposed to knock him out.”
Kit shimmers briefly, and I catch the outline of a drekavac. “A promise is a promise.”
Oh, right. She’d said she would kill Tatum’s killer as a drekavac. This raw meat is the result. I don’t know what it says about Kit that she was able to do this—or me, that I’m more upset about losing out on a chance to learn about Soma than the unspeakable torment Hekima must’ve experienced in his final moments. Then again, he did murder all those Councilors and was going to kill me and my friends, not to mention some members of the Council who had nothing to do with his daughter’s unfortunate fate.
“Speaking of promises,” I say, pushing aside all thoughts of Hekima and Soma for the moment. “I need to talk to Isis.”
It’s time the Council gave me my reward and healed my mom.
Kit follows me, and we wind our way through the confusion of Councilors, catching up with Isis as she heals her last patient.
“Can we go to Gomorrah now, as agreed?” I ask.
She wrinkles her nose. “One condition: You need to take a serious shower. Or maybe ten.”
Kit sniffs the air. “Oh, yeah. I’m on board with ten. And I should have some clothes in your size.”
“Deal,” I say, doing my best not to inhale my own stench. As much as I want to get Mom out of the coma right away, I doubt she’d want to wake up to the perfume of the sewers.
The three of us go to Kit’s quarters, where she grabs a box of garbage bags, an entire rack of clothes, and two big bottles of soap and shampoo. We take it all back to my quarters.
“I’ll be back in an hour.” Isis looks me over. “Or do you think you need two?”
“Two should do it.”
They leave, and I bustle into the bathroom with the soap, shampoo, and garbage bags.
The first thing I do is take out Leal’s comms from my pocket. I hope it’s a waterproof model—or if not, that Felix can get the info from it anyway. Cleaning the thing, I put it into a bag.
My stinky clothes go into another bag. That bag goes into another bag and so on until I run out of bags. Then I turn on scorching water and begin lathering and rinsing. Even after I run out of products, I stay under the spray, hoping to wash off any remaining cooties. Eventually, I get pruney enough to improve the stools of an army of cannibals. Reluctantly turning off the shower, I dry off, use my last remaining hand sanitizer on my body, and dress in Kit’s clothes.
Pocketing the bag with the comms gizmo, I inhale the air.
No stench.
But hmm… Now that I’m paying attention, I do detect a faint pine scent.
Wait a minute—
Someone clears his throat.
“Valerian?” I look around the empty room with wild eyes. “I just smelled you.”
“You did?” He materializes two feet away, as gorgeous as the last time I saw him. “I’m losing my touch.”
Pom, I mentally shout. Pom, wake up!
What is it? Pom’s voice is groggy. Can I not get uninterrupted sleep anymore?
Quickly, what does this guy look like?
Pom sounds thoroughly bored. Tall and muscular. Wide in the shoulders. Dark hair, blue eyes. Chin dimple, well-defined cheekbones.
Don’t describe him—show him to me, I mentally growl.
Why? You’re seeing what I’m seeing.
I feel the tension leave my forehead. I am? There’s no illusion? He really looks like a pucking sex god?
A beat of silence, then: I don’t know what a pucking sex god looks like.
A silly grin threatens to stretch my lips. Right. You can go back to sleep now. Thank you.
How about you only wake me up in emergencies going forward? Pom grumbles.
Whatever, I reply as Valerian arches a black eyebrow in amusement.
Puck, I’ve again been staring at him in silence, like an idiot.
Pulling myself together, I scowl up at him. “How long have you been hiding there?”
His sexy lips quirk. “Are you asking if I saw you like this?” He casts an illusion, conjuring up a more attractive version of me—who looks exceptionally naked thanks to the sanitizer glistening like oil on her perfect skin.
“Or this?” he continues as I stare at him openmouthed. This time, the modelesque Bailey is engaged in what looks like the Playboy version of showering. I doubt my movements were remotely that sensuous, and I doubt even more that I paid that much attention to my boobs.
Still, my cheeks—and other places—feel hotter than the surface of the sun. “You watched me in the shower?”
A mischievous grin appears on his face, reinforcing the feeling that I’ve met him before. Except I haven’t. He’s the kind of man I’d remember forever. “I came here to thank you.” He dispels the shower illusion. “Bernard made the breakthrough I needed. The money has been transferred to your account on Gomorrah.”
Right. The money. He’s got me so off balance I almost forgot about that.
“Good,” I manage to say. “But that doesn’t excuse your invading my personal space.”
His grin turns wicked. “You’re right. It’s rude of me. You showed me yours; the least I can do is show you mine.”
Another Valerian appears to the side of us, gloriously naked and covered in some liquid.
Oh. My. Estrogen.
Sex god doesn’t even begin to cover it. My blood rushes to all sorts of private places, and I feel a bizarrely unsanitary urge to lick every one of those toned muscles.
The fully clothed Valerian winks as his naked doppelgänger steps into the shower and lathers himself with soap.
Can you faint from arousal? Or have a heart attack?
He makes his showering self disappear. “Are we even now?”
I just stand there, doing my best not to fan myself.
He steps closer, ocean-blue eyes gleaming. “You know, I still feel like we know each other from somewhere.”
I dampen my suddenly dry lips. “Same.”
“I wonder if there’s a way to jog our memories?” He leans toward me, and the room around us transforms into a familiar lush bedroom with a king-sized bed covered in silk sheets and rose petals.
My lungs cease functioning, and my body feels like I’m in the middle of a heat wave. For some reason, the thought of those sensual lips on mine doesn’t—
The door to the room bangs open, making my heart spring into my throat.
“Ready?” Isis asks as if Valerian isn’t here—and I bet for her, he isn’t.
“Yeah,” I reply breathlessly. “Let’s go.”
“Rain check,” Valerian whispers in his heated molasses voice. When I look back, he’s gone.
I blow out a shaky breath. Mom better appreciate the sacrifices I’m making to heal her.
Isis leads me to the parking lot, where a limo is already waiting for us. I spot Ariel and Felix walking to another car and call out to them.
“Can you give me a second?” I ask Isis.
“Sure.”
She climbs into the limo and closes the door as I hurry over to my friends. Their nice clothes are ruined, but their bodies seem fine—at least Ariel’s. Felix is more covered up, so it’s harder to tell.
“How are you guys?”
Ariel makes a check mark in the air. “Killed not one but two vampires, yet didn’t drink any blood.”
I beam at her. “I think you’re officially cured.”
Felix shuffles from foot to foot. “Kit said Hekima made me fight you. I’m so sorry I hit you.”
“Well, I knocked you out.” I grin and pantomime a punch. “I think that makes us even.”
The limo with Isis honks.
“I’ve got to go.” I take out the bag with the comms device and hand it to Felix. “This is the gizmo we spoke about. I’d be grateful if you could pull anything you can from it, especially if it has to do with a place called Soma.”
Felix’s unibrow comes to life. “Is that a whole Otherland or a town?”
“No idea. I just know it has something to do with dreamwalkers. I’d like to learn more.”
He pockets the bag. “I’ll work on this ASAP.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you guys later.” Suppressing all thoughts of germs, I give each of them a hug.
It’s amazing what a little swim in the sewers does to one’s squeamishness.
The ride to JFK happens almost as it did in my dream, but when we get to Gomorrah, I don’t waste time on snacks. I get us a car right away, so anxious to get to the hospital I almost forget to breathe.
No one brings up the billing as I locate Dr. Xipil and introduce Isis. As he did in my dream, the gnome doctor gathers a few colleagues in Mom’s room. My heart squeezes as I look at her. Her brain activity is flat, and the pucking machines make her look so frail.
“Do we unplug the patient?” Dr. Xipil asks Isis.
“No,” she says, “not until I’m done.”
“Makes sense.” He stares intently at her hands.
Again—or rather, for the first time in real life—Isis shoots my mom with an arc of golden energy as I watch with bated breath.
With an eerie sensation of déjà vu, Mom’s brain activity goes from flat to frantic, and my heartbeat spikes alongside it. I can already picture all the things I’m going to say to her, how I’m going to apologize for the fight we had, for all the times that—
“Remove the machines,” Isis orders. “Now.”
The medical staff does as she says, while Isis keeps the healing energy pouring into my mom. If someone were monitoring my heartbeat, the needle would be jumping up and down like a seismograph during an earthquake.
The machines get disconnected, but unlike in my dream, Mom’s eyelids stay shut. Isis stops the flow of healing energy and touches Mom’s forehead.
“There’s nothing more to heal,” she says, “but something seems to be wrong. Is she sleeping?”
I try not to panic as Dr. Xipil looks at the brain scan. “It doesn’t look like regular coma activity,” he says. “It is reminiscent of sleep, but something seems off. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Oh, that doesn’t sound good at all. I clench my hands, the nails digging into my palms as Isis says, “How about we wake her up?”