Dreamweaver

  Not that we were paranoid or anything.

  I’d already noticed that the population of Rouelle was much more diverse than in Luray—probably because of the tourist industry—so it wasn’t surprising that the girl who checked us in was Native American, as were many of the people we passed on the street. Whatever quirk of parallel history had rendered the east coast so aggressively Anglo, this region was a melting pot by comparison.

  The Native American girl took note of my feather as we checked in, giving me a long, narrow-eyed look before handing Sebastian a set of room keys. I wasn’t sure if the wren feather meant something special to her, or she was just annoyed by my cultural appropriation. Or maybe she recognized it as a fake and was disdainful of my low standards. I looked away and saw a map of Rouelle on the wall, with areas blocked out in different colors and numbered. The hotel was in a blue area marked with the number two, while the western edge of town had mostly green threes and yellow fours, with higher numbers beyond that. Sebastian asked what then numbers meant.

  “Risk factors for El Malo,” she told him.

  “Risk factors for what?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Strange mental effects, mostly. Some sensory distortion, often a sense of impending doom. El Malo shifts around, and sometimes the outskirts of Rouelle are affected. But we’re in a relatively safe zone here.”

  Relatively safe. Gee, that was comforting.

  “We post each day’s conditions,” she continued, nodding toward a bulletin board in the corner. “You should check it before you go sightseeing.”

  Today’s weather will be hot and dry, I thought, with 80% chance of insanity or death.

  We went out for dinner, not in a fancy place with panorama windows that would allow us to ‘gaze upon the face of Death’ while eating, but in a coffee shop down the street that had no view of anything. Bison burgers and fries. It was close enough to American food that if I closed my eyes I could imagine myself back home again. God, I missed my family. I missed being in a world where I could take out a phone and talk to them, could tell them how scared I was, how alone I felt. Because as long as you were able to do that, you weren’t really alone.

  It was dark by the time we finished eating. El Malo was reduced to a dark cloud on the horizon, with only a faint tinge of red on a few moonlit clouds hinting at its existence. As we walked back to our hotel I felt the accumulated exhaustion of the entire trip adding weight to my steps. By the time Sebastian opened the door I had no energy left.

  I set up my charger before retiring, resting it on a table by the window so that it would power up come dawn. Sebastian and Isaac both protested, afraid that it might draw attention from the wrong people, but that was a chance we were just going to have to take. I had to have the geographical information that was loaded on my tablet, and unless someone came up with a Gift that could read hard drives directly, that meant I would have to turn it on.

  “Don’t worry,” I told them. “This town has bigger things to worry about than the electricity police.”

  God willing I would be able to get some sleep.

  Midnight, Rouelle time. Two in the morning as far as my body was concerned.

  I sat on the top step of our hotel’s external staircase, staring out over the city. I could sense El Malo’s presence at the edge of my awareness, a kind of mental heaviness. The lower edge of the moon was hazy and reddish.

  I heard footsteps approaching on the concrete walkway and looked up to see that Isaac had come outside. I slid over a bit to give him room to sit down. He hesitated, then joined me, our legs an inch apart.

  For a while we just sat quietly together, staring out into the night. Finally he said, “Bad dreams?”

  “Just restless.” I sighed. “Can’t stop worrying long enough to fall asleep.”

  “Any idea of what you want to do tomorrow?”

  I shut my eyes for a moment. “What are my choices? Give up and go home? The whole reason I came out here was because the reapers are hunting me. Well, they’re still hunting me. Going home and giving up would be a death sentence. But moving forward . . .” I looked to the west and shook my head. “What am I missing, Isaac? There’s got to be something. Some clue, that when I find it I’ll know what to do. Or am I just kidding myself?”

  He shook his head. “I wish I could help you, Jesse.”

  “You do help me,” I said softly. “More than you know.”

  How pale he looked, in the moonlight. I saw that the edge of his latex patch was starting to peel off, and I reached up to smooth it down. I’d reattached it several times for him, but the edge was starting to get ragged from handling and it no longer looked as natural. “We should replace this,” I murmured.

  He reached up and caught my hand in his. His eyes were as dark as the night sky; I could have lost myself in them with very little effort. “You’ll be okay,” he said.

  “Yeah.” I laughed softly. “Sure. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Listen to me.” His hand tightened around mine. “You’re strong, Jesse. So strong. Whatever life throws at you, you just don’t back down, ever. People like that . . . they can do amazing things if they want to.” He drew in a deep breath. “I believe in you.”

  There was suddenly a lump in my throat. “Isaac . . . if I did decide to risk going into El Malo, would you come with me?”

  “You know I would.”

  “Even knowing we might never come back?”

  “Even knowing that.” There was a hint of a dry smile. “It’s not like I have that much to go back to.”

  I couldn’t say anything more. The words were stuck in my throat.

  He reached out and put his hand to my face. His palm was as warm as the desert sun, and I trembled as he ran his thumb along the edge of my lower lip. How alive he was tonight! How vital! This wasn’t the tormented child of undead necromancers, or a lost little boy condemned by this world’s most powerful Guild, but someone real, someone warm, someone who cared enough about me to walk into Hell by my side. Even if we never actually had to do that, the promise had power.

  Slowly he leaned toward me. Or maybe I leaned toward him first. Our kiss was all hunger and fear and loneliness and desire, and it left me breathless. He slid his arms around my waist, pulling me close, I responded in kind, pressing myself so tightly against him that I could feel his heartbeat against my chest, while I ran my hand up into his hair. We had been lost, the two of us, adrift in a world beyond our control or understanding, but now we had found each other. When I kissed him there was no El Malo, no Guild of Shadows, no Morgana—only heat, and solace, and desire. And for the moment, that was enough.

  The air is dry. So very dry. As soon as sweat appears on my skin it’s gone, but that doesn’t cool me at all. Beneath my bare feet the ground is hot as burning coals, and I try to balance on my toes as I stand at the edge of the canyon, minimizing contact. Ghostly voices are swirling around my head, and the wind that whips at my face is full of sand, making it hard to see. Each windborne grain is as sharp as broken glass, and each gust leaves behind it streaks of blood on my skin. Now I am red, like El Malo.

  It would be madness to enter the Badlands. I understand that now. No matter what I might say to Isaac—no matter what I might try to tell myself—the place is impassable, and no amount of determination on my part is going to change that. Whatever secrets the Badlands guard, I will not be the one to discover them.

  The revelation is anguish.

  Suddenly the ground begins to tremble, and I step back from the canyon’s edge quickly, not wanting to lose my footing. The dust storm in front of me is starting to break up, coalescing into whirlwinds that sweep up and down the canyon. Between them I catch glimpses of the ground that was hidden from my view before, and I can see it is littered with broken bones. Human bones? I can’t look at any of them long enough to be sure.

  The whirlwinds begin to dr
aw back from me, gathering north and south of my position. They form a canyon-like passage between them, and I see a carpet of sun-bleached bones at the bottom. And yes, some of them look human. Am I supposed to go down there? Even in a dream that seems like a really bad idea. I peer down the length of the wind-canyon, trying to see how far it extends, and suddenly I realize that there is someone standing at the far end, watching me.

  The avatar girl.

  Fear and elation rush over me. If she’s dreamwalking, then we’re both in terrible danger, as neither of us have the power to escape if a reaper appears. But she’s here. I needed her, and she has come to me. Tears of relief begin to gather in my eyes, but they evaporate in the dry air before they have a chance to run down my cheeks.

  “Where should I go?” I cry out. The sound of rushing wind is loud; it takes effort to speak over it. “What am I supposed to do?” When she says nothing I beg, “Tell me!”

  But she doesn’t speak. She spreads her arms to both sides of her, as if inviting me to look, but all I see around her is dry earth and scraggly brush. Is that supposed to be an answer? I’m frustrated now, and starting to get angry; it takes all my self-control not to yell at her, Stop playing games with me! But if I do that she might leave me, and if she never comes back, where will I look for answers? Like it or not, I need her.

  Then suddenly I realize what I’m looking at. She sees the stunned look on my face and nods. Yes, the gesture seems to say. Now you understand.

  The whirlwinds close in again, red winds crashing and churning as the narrow passage between them disappears. I can’t see the avatar girl any more. Nor can I see the land that surrounds her, hot and dry and spotted with brush. But I know that the landscape is there, and I think I understand why she showed it to me: El Malo doesn’t affect the whole of the Badlands, just a narrow strip at the border. If we can find a way to cross it, we’ll be safe on the other side.

  It’s not much to work with, but it’s infinitely more than I had before this dream started.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

  The dream is still brightly colored when it ends.

  14

  LURAY

  VIRGINIA PRIME

  ALIA MORGANA

  WHEN FRONT ROYAL’S Guildmaster of Domitors arrived, Morgana was sitting in the garden, going over a list of apprentices who were up for promotion. When she looked up and saw him a smile spread across her face, but there was also a flicker of concern in her eyes. The Domitor rarely came to Luray on casual business. “Russell. I didn’t realize you were in town.”

  “I thought I would surprise you.” He leaned down and air-kissed her cheek. “You look well.”

  She smiled slightly. “Stress must be good for my complexion.”

  He was a stocky man with broad Mediterranean features, a striking contrast to her own delicate paleness, and was dressed casually as always, with no hint of his rank. He didn’t need hints. His Gift was strong enough that anyone within ten paces could sense it, and even if he wasn’t actively giving them orders they sensed that he could give them orders if he wanted to, which they would then have to obey. In his youth it had made him unpopular at social events. “Have time for some serious business?” he asked.

  The smile vanished. “Of course.” She tucked her list into a front pocket and stood. “Walk with me.”

  She knew exactly how far from the Guildhouse she had to be to guarantee that no one could overhear them, and she led him to that place, butterflies scattering in their path as they walked. He admired a few flowers along the way. Small talk.

  When they finally stopped he asked, “Do you remember Jennifer Dolan? The girl that you asked me to watch out for, and tell you if she passed through the Front Royal Gate?”

  “Which you did. It was very helpful. Thank you.”

  “Who is she, Alia?”

  Morgana’s eyes narrowed slightly. “A young girl from Terra Colonna.”

  “You know what I mean. Why is she significant?”

  “Why are you asking?”

  “Because Virilian wants to know about her . . . and your connection to her. One of my people has been questioned. I’d like to know what’s going on.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Who’s been questioned?”

  “The apprentice I sent to give her family nightmares. Or rather, to suggest that they have nightmares.” He waved a hand. “Don’t worry. He knows how to keep secrets. And even if he did slip up, he has no idea that you were the one behind that order.” He paused. “What was all that about, anyway?”

  She shrugged. “The girl was becoming too comfortable. I needed her to act before we all died of old age.”

  “Which brings us back to my original question.”

  “Virilian questioned your apprentice?”

  “One of his people did. He’s asking about Soulriders, too. Are any of them involved with this girl?”

  Alia was silent for a moment. “I asked one for a favor.”

  “Aaron?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, that answers another question. Though it’s not an answer I’m happy about.” Sighing heavily, he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “We have a leak, Alia.”

  “In the consortium?”

  He nodded.

  “You mean—”

  “A spy. Someone who told Virilian about your business, and also told him Aaron was helping you.” He paused. “Unless Aaron himself is the leak. We can’t rule that out. At any rate . . .” His expression darkened. “Our consortium is useless now. Worse than useless. Whoever betrayed you knows all our names. This could go downhill very fast. So if your secret project is what’s bringing enemies to our door, I’d like to know about it.”

  A delicately painted eyebrow arched upward. “You bring me news of betrayal and then ask for trust?”

  “And I’m standing in front of you as I say that, knowing that you have the ability to sense a man’s intentions. Good God, why else do you think I came all the way from Front Royal to tell you this in person? Do what you need to do as Seer to be sure of me, and then let’s have a real conversation.”

  She looked at him for a moment, considering, then reached up and touched his temples gently, fingertips resting on his skin so lightly he would barely feel it. “Think about betraying me,” she whispered. “Think about the Shadows.” His emotion flowed into her fingers, suffused her flesh, and unfolded in her mind like a blossoming flower. She studied its form, tasted its quality, and at last nodded.

  “So what’s with the girl?” The Domitor said.

  Morgana drew in a deep breath. She hadn’t wanted to reveal her plans so soon, but circumstances were forcing her hand. It’s all moving too fast, she thought. Too uncontrolled. “She’s a Dreamwalker.”

  He took a step back. “Damn. Well, that would explain Virilian’s recent tirade in your Council.” He sighed. “Are you sure?”

  “That she has the Gift in her blood? Yes. That it’s manifesting?” She hesitated. “She’s been very careful who she talks to about it. But all the signs are there.”

  “And what about the ‘going insane’ part? There was a reason all the Dreamwalkers were killed off, you know.”

  “There was a reason,” she agreed. “But that may not be it.”

  His jaw twitched slightly. “May not?”

  She spread her hands. “We’re playing for high stakes here, Russell. Sometimes that means you have to take chances.”

  “So what’s your end game? Why risk your reputation like this? And possibly your life, if the wrong people find out who you’re protecting?”

  Morgana looked away for a moment. She’d envisioned this conversation many times, and had figured that when the time came she’d be ready for it. But this was too early. Jesse was still a wild card, her Gift not fully understood, her role in Morgana’s plans not yet establis
hed. Morgana needed more time to refine her plans before revealing them to others.

  But if she’d been betrayed by an ally, there was no more time to be had. Virilian had made it clear in the Council meeting that he suspected her of something, and since he’d spent the whole meeting talking about Dreamwalkers . . . it was not good. She needed allies by her side who were fully informed, if she was to weather this. “I believe the ancient Dreamwalkers may have known how to communicate between worlds, without needing Shadows to assist them. Possibly they even knew how to travel between worlds on their own.”

  The Domitor’s eyes widened. “If that was true, it would be . . .” He floundered for the right word. “Monumental.”

  She nodded. “And it might explain why the Dream Wars were launched in the first place.”

  “The Shadowlords wanted to destroy their only rivals? Because with the Dreamwalkers gone, they would have absolute control over passage between the worlds?”

  Lips tight, Morgana nodded.

  “That’s if you’re right in how you’re reading all this.”

  “That goes without saying.”

  “What about all the other Guilds? The Shadows weren’t the only ones hunting Dreamwalkers, back then. Surely the others wouldn’t have joined in unless there was damn good reason for it.”

  “Or the illusion of damn good reason. Think about it, Russell. I used your Domitor to influence dreams. You could convince any man that he’d seen delusions, if you wanted to. A skilled Farspeaker could insert voices so close to someone’s head that they would sound like they were coming from inside it. Madness isn’t hard to fake. Or inspire.”

  “You think the whole insanity story was a setup? That the Shadows wanted to convince the other Guilds the Dreamwalkers were dangerous, so everyone would join in the killing?”

  “That’s my current theory.”

  “But even if it’s true, you’re only talking about one girl. No matter how powerful her Gift is, it won’t be enough to bring the Dreamwalkers back.”