by Helen Harper
Lilith still doesn’t stir although she does deign to respond. ‘What do they look like?’ she murmurs.
Er… ‘Like,’ I pause awkwardly, ‘like people.’ Unless they sport forked tails and pointy horns. Probably not. Even the Mayor appeared benign on the surface.
She sighs dramatically. ‘Zoe from the quiet lands, you are very tiresome. No one has been here apart from the boy.’
Boy? Which boy? ‘Who do you mean, Lilith?’
‘Please. Go away and leave me in peace.’
I frown. She’s not normally so abrupt. ‘Are you okay?’ I ask.
She lifts up her head and her hair falls down her back in a cascade of ebony silk that I’ll always be jealous of. I take an involuntary step backwards. Lilith is normally stunningly beautiful but right now, with her eyes open and her face turned towards me, she looks gaunt. In fact, she looks skeletal.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, alarmed.
She gives me a tired look. ‘I am hungry.’
‘So eat!’
‘I have tried. Many times. Usually it is easy to find men to do my bidding. Lately, however…’ Her voice trails off as she lifts up a shoulder in a gesture that looks remarkably like defeat.
I can’t help but think all this is connected to the problems I’ve been experiencing, in both Archie’s dream and the ski one. I blow air out through my mouth. ‘Lilith, are people not having normal dreams?’
She falls back down against the bough, closing her eyes once more. ‘They are not. The Badlands are coming.’
A shiver races down my bones. ‘What does that mean?’
She doesn’t answer. I reach out again to shake her out of her stupor but she pushes me away. Even in her apparently weakened condition, she has more strength than is natural. I fly backwards, slamming into a tree. Pain judders through me while the physical contact with the icy bark only serves to increase my shivers.
‘Leave me.’ Lilith’s words are distinct and her tone brooks no argument. ‘Like the mares, I am from the Badlands. Although I choose to make my home here, there is a limit to what I can say. I am bound by oaths far older than you.’ She looks at me. ‘Leave.’
Troubled, and struggling to move properly with the pain down my spine from my collision with the tree, I drag myself away. Now I’m certain I’ve not been imagining things. Something is definitely wrong and it’s affecting more than me, Archie the taxi driver and Lady Zumba. I can only surmise that in some way this is the Department’s doing. The trouble is, I don’t understand how or why.
More determined than ever to find out what the Department is up to, I reach behind awkwardly and try to massage my back as I stride towards the town. It goes some way towards alleviating the pain. I might be walking stiffly like an army recruit out on his first parade, but at least I am walking. I have a feeling I’m going to pay for my dogged need to keep going when I wake up.
As per usual, the moment I step out from the forest I’m blinded by the sunshine. I blink rapidly and move behind the nearest thatched cottage until my eyes adapt. I flick a glance upwards. In the past, I’ve crossed the whole town by skulking from one rooftop to another to keep myself hidden – but then the element of surprise was on my side. I don’t know what the Mayor told the rest of the Department goons about me but I reckon that if they’re worth their salt, they’re going to be looking for anyone darting around furtively. I’ve probably got a better chance of staying concealed as the dreamweaver if I walk openly through the town rather than clamber around in the shadows.
My suspicions are confirmed when, rounding the first corner, I catch sight of a shadow from above that’s definitely not part of the building. The Department has posted look outs.
I remind myself to breathe and walk normally. I relax my shoulders and swing my arms. I’m almost tempted to whistle but that would probably be taking things a step too far. The trouble with consciously trying to look normal is that every step and little movement ends up becoming entirely abnormal. I keep my expression blank and try not to overthink what I’m doing. I’m only walking; there’s nothing strange about that.
‘Hey!’ There’s a sharp call from my left. No doubt the eagle-eyed watcher up on the roof has signalled my approach to a buddy.
I look round. Casual, Zoe. Act casual. ‘Hey,’ I say, calling out in a surprised tone to the frowning figure that is approaching me.
He makes an odd gesture with his thumb and ring finger, pressing them against each other. I stare, confused and he abruptly drops his hand. ‘What are you doing here?’ He has a faint accent, maybe Eastern European though I can’t be entirely sure. Accents were never my strong suit.
I furrow my brow and look innocent. ‘Excuse me?’
‘It’s the middle of the day. What are you doing here?’
‘Ohhhh.’ I nod sagely as if I’ve just worked out what he means. ‘Night shift. I usually end up here during the day.’ I shrug and give a disarming grin. ‘It’s crap, I know. Things are far more fun around here when there are other people about but I’ve got to make a living. One more month and I reckon I can persuade my boss to let me switch to day work.’ I silently congratulate myself. I’m becoming quite the consummate liar.
I cock my head and eye him curiously. He’s in his late forties, judging by the liberal sprinkling of grey hairs in his hair and beard. He has tanned skin which is so smooth that it has to come out of a bottle, and a small scar above his eyebrow. I note that his fingernails are perfectly manicured. Not only is this someone who takes care over his appearance, he also probably has time and money to spare.
‘I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,’ I say lightly. I stick my hand out in a friendly gesture. ‘I’m Zoe. What are you doing here?’
He gazes at my outstretched hand as if it’s covered in flesh-eating bacteria. I take the hint and drop it. I’m not particularly offended; I don’t want to touch him either. ‘There’s a meeting tonight,’ he grunts, without introducing himself or answering my question. ‘You need to be there.’
‘A meeting?’ I evince as much surprise as I’m capable of. I didn’t spend enough time around here before the Mayor died to know whether meetings are a typical occurrence. ‘I can’t make it. I told you. I work nights.’
With stunning speed, he grabs me by the throat and slams me against the nearest wall. My spine, which has only just started to recover from Lilith’s blow, screams in agony. ‘You will be there or I will hunt you down. I will find out everything about you and I will make your life a living hell.’
I squeak. I can’t talk, not with his hand wrapped around my neck.
‘Understand?’ he snaps.
I nod mutely.
He releases me and jabs a finger in my face. ‘I’ll be looking for you,’ he promises. Then he stalks off.
I cough as I watch him depart. The viciousness and speed of his reaction shocked me. For all his faults, the Mayor’s menace was steel lined with silk. This guy doesn’t seem to care; he’ll do whatever it takes, regardless of what people think of him. For some strange reason that makes me feel slightly better. Brute force is more predictable and it might give me something to work with. All the same, I’m aware that the rooftop stalker is probably still watching me so I do my best to look scared before I skedaddle off in the opposite direction.
The Department thug’s curiosity at seeing me wandering around wasn’t misplaced. At this time of day, the Dreamlands are remarkably quiet. I see a couple of other people but they scurry past me with their heads down. Clearly no one is in the mood for pleasantries. It feels like they’ve gone from being a band of merry dreamers, grouped together by nothing more negative than their suspicion of someone like me, to everyone being out for themselves. The cold inside me increases.
After my confrontation, I alter my plans and avoid the square – and the ugly grey Department building. Instead I keep to the outskirts, hurrying along the pretty cobbled streets until I’m on the other side of the town and facing the daberhashery.
As always, Esme’s little store looks quaint from the outside, the sign in front in curling black script and the old-fashioned panes of glass in the window smoky and dark. I can’t see or hear any signs of activity inside so, after catching my breath, I grasp hold of the wrought-iron doorknob and enter.
The shop is a tip. Shelves have been overturned. There’s a pile of ripped fabric on one side of the room and old socks scattered everywhere. I take a step forward, my feet crunching on broken glass, and am overtaken by dismay. What on earth has the Department done?
A shadow appears from the back. I look up to see Esme herself, framed against the doorway. She looks pale but there’s an anger in her eyes that I sympathise with.
‘It’s you,’ she says disdainfully and turns to walk away.
I dart forward before she disappears. ‘Esme, what the hell happened here?’
Her mouth twists. ‘What do you think happened?’ She throws an arm wide. ‘The Department came and took everything they thought they could use. Everything else they destroyed.’
I shake my head. ‘But why? It doesn’t make any sense.’ Her shop deals in exchanges: find an item lost in the real world, which somehow makes it way to the dream world, and you can exchange it for whatever you want. Even the Mayor let the place run mostly unimpeded – unless you were trying to arm yourself with a weapon.
I stare at the grubby socks and the broken ornaments and fripperies. What danger is there in an old clock or a child’s lace-fringed teddy bear?
‘Intimidation. Bullying. Everything you’d expect from a bunch of shitheads like them.’ Her lip curls. ‘Ridiculous, isn’t it? For the first time in decades we get a dreamweaver. The one person in the entire world who might be able to stop the Department in its tracks. It’s just our luck that the person we get is you.’ Scorn drips from her, pooling in the atmosphere until it almost suffocates me.
‘That’s not fair,’ I say quietly.
‘Isn’t it?’ She bends down and starts picking up some of the destroyed items, placing them in a box.
I sigh and move to help her but she hisses at me to back off. I understand her anger. I managed to release all of the sleepers in the fairy-tale castle round the corner. Each of them was a coma victim, just like Esme. Unlike Esme, however, they remained unconscious which was probably why I was able to wake them and return their souls to the real world and their physical bodies. Although I tried it with her once the Mayor had been dealt with, nothing happened. I’d suspected as much beforehand but it didn’t stop her from thinking that the failure was somehow my fault. Perhaps it was. There is still so much that I need to learn about what I am.
‘Where are the Department thugs now?’ I ask softly. Dante seemed to think there were eight of them altogether but it will be difficult to achieve much until I am sure of their exact numbers.
Her answer is terse. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Will they come back?’
She throws her arms up into the air. ‘Here? Why would they come back here? There’s nothing left to come back for!’
Shit. It’s taken her years to build up the dabershashery from scratch. No wonder she’s taking it so badly. I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. I don’t want to broach this with her but I’m not sure I have much choice. ‘Listen, Esme, there’s something going on. The dreams I’ve been apparating in have been different, and not in a good way. Lilith is ill. She said something about the Badlands. Do you think the Department has done something to affect them?’
Esme gives me a dull stare. ‘Who cares?’
I’m startled. I get that she’s upset with the destruction of the shop but this isn’t like her at all. ‘But the Badlands, well – they’re bad, aren’t they? They’re where nightmares come from.’
‘You know more about the mares than anyone else,’ she says tiredly.
‘No, I don’t mean the unicorns, although I was told they came from there as well. Don’t real nightmares that people experience all spring from the Badlands?’
‘And what is all this,’ she asks, shoulders slumped, ‘if not a nightmare?’
I stare at her. She seems to have completely given up. ‘Esme…’
‘You are not helping, Zoe. Just go. I want to be alone.’
I search her face. The desire for solitude is something I can empathise with. I don’t want to leave her in this state but I don’t think I’m going to help by sticking around. She starts picking things up again, holding up a shard from what looks like a snow globe and sighing to herself. I reach over and touch her arm as gently as I can. For a moment her eyes meet mine in shared pain, then she pulls away.
‘Please.’ Her voice is strained. ‘Just go.’
I nod and do as she asks.
I feel like I’m out of options. Everyone is consumed with the Department’s arrival but I can’t help feeling that there are other things we should be worrying about. I bite my lip. If it is something to do with the Badlands that’s causing all these problems, then it’s clear where I ought to go. I just really, really don’t want to.
Chapter Five
There’s no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it.
Alfred Hitchcock
I’ve never had cause to come to this part of town before. I’ve seen it from the roof of the Department headquarters but I’ve never been this close. Despite the sunny skies and warm air, looking at the dark grubby mist of the Badlands turns my insides to ice.
They stretch along the northern side of the Dreamlands and, at this level, are generally obscured by banks of pretty flowers. Even from this distance, though, looking towards them makes my eyeballs prickle. I guess it’s like looking directly at the sun: you know you shouldn’t do it but sometimes you still try. The trouble is that I don’t know the Badlands well enough to tell whether there’s anything different about them.
Licking my lips nervously, I push ahead. I’ve ruined enough flowers in the last twenty-four hours so this time I pick my way carefully through them to avoid crushing them. They have a sweet heady smell but it’s not pleasant. It reminds me of visiting the morgue to identify my father’s body. All I could smell there was strong disinfectant – and it was obvious what the reason for that was. I wonder if these flowers are here to hide the reek from the Badlands. When I get past the colourful border, I know I’m right. There’s a sulphurous reek which turns my stomach.
I halt in my tracks. The dark cloud reaches high into the sky, towering over me like a vaporous wall. It’s got to be twenty feet high. As far as I can tell, the entire northern side of the Dreamlands, which I estimate to be a couple of miles long, is bordered by it. I think of the black cloud monster I came across in the dream jungle. It would certainly be a match for this place.
Taking a deep breath, I edge forward. Tendrils of black smoke uncurl from the mist and stretch out towards me. I swallow hard and lift my hand, letting a tendril curl round my index finger. It snakes itself across my skin with little more than a faint tickle. When it starts to wrap round my wrist, however, I shake it off and pull back. I should be making myself wake up by now. But then, maybe I should enter the Badlands and see what’s going on. I feel distinctly underprepared for such a venture, however.
I’m startled out of my reverie by the distant ringing of a bell. Flummoxed, I spin round then I realise it’s my own phone ringing, back in the real world. The sound makes up my mind and I force myself to disapparate. I wake up on my sofa with a crick in my neck and my back in agony.
I push myself up, my limbs stiff and awkward, and pick up the receiver. ‘Hello?’ I say cautiously.
‘It’s me.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Of course, Dante,’ I say. ‘Because if anyone is going to sneak up and surprise me, it’s going to be you.’
‘I’m telephoning, not playing hide and seek.’ He pauses. ‘Were you asleep?’
I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue. ‘Yes.’
‘In the Dreamlands?’ I don’t answer. ‘I don’t suppose telling you that you shouldn�
�t go there is going to make much of a difference.’ His tone is surprisingly mild.
‘No.’ I’m emphatic. ‘It’s not. Has anyone found Ashley?’
His voice tightens. ‘No. I fell asleep for a while on the plane and tried tracking her but I couldn’t sleep for long enough to get more than the vaguest impression of her.’
‘Maybe she’s just being more sensible than me and keeping well away,’ I suggest.
‘Maybe,’ he agrees, although we both know that neither of us believe it.
A steel hand grips my heart and squeezes. Everything is going to shit. Silence stretches out between us.
‘I’m sorry,’ Dante says suddenly. ‘I had no right to get so angry earlier about the dream.’
I tilt my head from side to side, attempting to work out the pain in my neck but it doesn’t help. Dante’s abrupt apology surprises me and I soften. ‘I didn’t go looking for Adam,’ I say quietly. ‘He came to my house. And,’ I add unnecessarily, ‘it was after the panic attack. Not before. I wasn’t trying to end up inside his head.’
‘I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions,’ he admits gruffly. ‘I was … jealous.’
I almost drop the phone. An unexpected frisson of happiness zips through me, despite the dire situation.
‘Jealous?’ I squeak.
‘You’re my dreamweaver.’ He says it matter-of-factly. I should be irritated but, for whatever reason, I’m not. ‘What were you and Bron doing anyway?’
‘He was showing me the rumour mill. I think he was trying to make me feel better about everyone gossiping about me.’
‘You can’t blame them. Things started getting really freaky once you showed up.’
‘They wander around a dream town and can see inside people’s heads when they sleep. How is that not already freaky?’
‘I take your point,’ he answers drily. There’s a brief pause. ‘So there’s nothing going on between you and Adam?’
‘No.’
