by Helen Harper
I close my eyes in dismay. It must be Dante. And she actually said that part about the beau aloud. And how can someone sound handsome? I curse inwardly. ‘He’s just a friend,’ I mutter, gesturing for the phone.
She holds onto it. ‘Is he the one you were going on holiday with?’
‘Mother…’
‘I must say, Dante,’ she says, making me rue the day I was born, ‘that’s a very unusual name. Are you Italian?’
I can’t hear the response. Whatever he’s saying, it clearly delights her because her expression lights up. She even giggles. Good lord.
I’m visibly cringing by the time she hands over the phone. She gives me a little wave and a saucy wink then waltzes out of the door.
Screwing up my face, I muster the courage to speak. ‘Hi Dante.’
His voice is full of amusement. ‘Your mother sounds like a lot of fun.’ He pauses. ‘I’ve never been called a beau before.’ There’s a definite purr.
I tense up. ‘I’m sorry about that. She got the wrong end of the stick. We’re just work colleagues.’ Sort of. Are we? I cross my fingers and wait for a response.
‘“Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”’
I lose the power of speech. ‘Um…Er…’
He puts me out of my misery. ‘How are things at your end?’
I take a deep breath. That one I can answer. ‘Not great.’
‘Bron was in touch.’ His amusement is gone now. ‘He told me what happened with the Department. I warned you about drawing attention to yourself.’
‘It’s not like I had much choice. That dragon…’
‘People could have apparated out.’
‘Not everyone can do that, Dante. And a lot of them were panicking too much to try. There’s something else’ I tell him about the blue-haired boy.
He’s silent for a long moment. ‘I hadn’t heard the Sandman was real,’ he admits finally. ‘It’s possible though. If anyone can see him, it’ll be you.’
‘Because I’m the dreamweaver,’ I respond flatly.
‘Nobody else could have beaten up a cloud dragon.’
‘I didn’t exactly beat it up,’ I mutter. ‘I need to find the boy again. Lilith mentioned something about a boy – she might have meant him.’
‘It’s possible.’
I sense him holding back. ‘Something’s wrong. What is it, Dante?’
‘The Department has a stranglehold on everything. I apparated into the zone here and,’ he pauses, ‘it’s fully in charge. If it’s like this in every zone I’m not sure there’s anything we can do. You might be the dreamweaver but the Department’s everywhere.’
‘More controlling than the Mayor?’
‘Yes.’
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I can feel myself spiralling into despair. ‘They’re threatening a lot of violence here.’
‘Bron said people were standing up to them,’ Dante chides. ‘That the crowd was talking back. And the Department didn’t actually hurt anyone for it.’
‘Not for lack of trying. Besides, it was the boy who stood up to them. The Sandman, or whoever he is. The voice was the same. The protest didn’t start with us.’ My tone becomes bitter. ‘We’re all too scared. I’m too scared. No wonder the Mayor found it so easy to take control.’
‘Control that you broke. And now there are more of us. We’ll work together and we’ll win, even if it means infiltrating the Department and destroying it from the inside. We can do this, Zoe.’
I wish I had his confidence. When I start to overthink things, I am overwhelmed. It’s like leaving the house and wondering whether you’ve left the iron on; you’re sure you haven’t but there’s that niggling doubt which expands until you’re convinced that if you don’t go back and turn it off right now, the building will explode into flames.
That way lies madness. If I can stay focussed, there’s no telling what we might achieve. I force myself to laugh. ‘Either you’re telling me off for being too bold or you’re telling me to stop being so wimpy.’
‘You are a mass of contradictions, Zoe Lydon.’
He has me there. ‘You’re right. I keep doubting myself when I should be concentrating on other things.’ I purse my lips. ‘Have you had any luck tracking Ashley yet?’
‘No.’ He sounds grim. ‘I’ve been catnapping on and off constantly but I can’t find her at all.’
‘That doesn’t make sense. She has to be somewhere.’ Dante’s the only person who can find her when she’s asleep because he’s the only tracker. I might be able to change things, but I can’t find anything – or anyone – who doesn’t want to be found.
Silence. Then: ‘The thing is,’ he begins, before faltering.
‘What?’
It’s not like Dante to mince words. I can tell he doesn’t want to answer. I stay quiet, giving him the time he needs to speak up. ‘When I used to work for the Mayor,’ he says eventually, ‘as a tracker…’
My fingers tighten round the phone. ‘Go on.’
‘Sometimes, when he didn’t already have their personal details, he’d get me to track people in real life.’
I stiffen. ‘You mean like you tracked me.’ Dante came to my town and found me, even though I was locked up in jail at the time. He brushed it off with a brief explanation but I feel worry settling in a heavy pool in my stomach.
‘It’s only happened a couple of times.’
‘A couple of times too many,’ I growl.
He sighs. ‘You’re right. Things were different then. I was different. You can trust me. I promise.’
I hope to high heaven that I can. It feels like he’s got my best interests at heart and I push away the nagging thought that it’s only because I’m the dreamweaver. He’s proved himself enough. People are allowed to change. Besides which, I like him. A lot. And I do need him.
‘Why would the Mayor ask you to do that?’ I question, keeping my tone careful.
‘He wanted to know who everyone was. It helped him to stay in control. But there was one man he told me to search for. I did as he asked.’
My dread increases. ‘And?’
‘And he was never heard from again. He never returned to the Dreamlands.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘I was never very sure. I had my suspicions…’
‘Dante,’ I interrupt. ‘What happened to him?’
He curses under his breath. ‘My contact here said that when someone gets out of line, they get a visit in real life from the Department and they’re forced to stay awake. People can only go without sleep for so long.’
I feel a huge gnawing pain inside me. ‘Is that what’s happening with Ashley?’
He exhales. ‘If they think she’s the dreamweaver, it’d make sense. They wouldn’t want her falling asleep because in dreams she has power.’
‘That’s why you can’t find her,’ I whisper. ‘Oh God. They really do have Ashley. We need to do something.’
‘All the records are in the Department building.’
I nod. ‘I’ve seen the room. The Mayor showed it to me. The notes from the Bubble’s doors are there. Is that where the Travellers’ details are too?’
‘Yes. I’m booked on a flight tomorrow. There’s no point staying here any longer when everything’s going to shit with you.’
I massage my neck. ‘It’ll take you too long to get back. We need to find Ashley sooner than that. How long can someone go without sleep for?’
‘The record is eighteen days. Apparently. You’ll need to get Bron and Esme to help, Rob too if you can find him. Get into the room and find Ashley’s address then Bron and Rob can see if they can find her.’
It’s a good idea but Ashley’s in this mess because of me. Flying across the world might be too difficult for me but there’s no way I’m going to stay here at home when she might be suffering. No matter how hard things get.
Chapter Ten
We gain strength, and courage, and confidence by each experience in which we r
eally stop to look fear in the face ... we must do that which we think we cannot.
Eleanor Roosevelt
About the only good thing about lying around my house all day because of the excruciating pain in my back is that, other than my mother, I’ve not seen anyone. And if I’ve not seen anyone I’ve not touched anyone, so I don’t need to worry about tripping through different dreams before I can get to the Dreamlands. I apparate straight into the forest and head for the last place I saw Lilith. My to-do list is long, so the faster I can move from place to place the more I’ll be able to get done.
She’s not far from the tree bough where I found her sleeping last time. Although this time she’s awake, she seems to be in an even worse state than last time. Her beautiful hair looks straggly and there’s a smudge of dirt on her cheek. I wouldn’t profess to know Lilith well but the first time I saw her it was clear that an immaculate appearance was part of who she was. Now she wouldn’t look out of place hanging around Aberdeen bus shelter with a bottle in a brown paper bag.
‘Hey,’ I say softly.
She moves slowly, as if she’s walking through an atmosphere made of sludge. She turns from the tree she was examining and looks me over. ‘Oh,’ she replies without interest. ‘It’s you.’
‘How are you doing, Lilith?’
She raises her shoulders in a shrug. ‘Still here.’
‘I need to ask you something.’
‘Dreamweaver,’ she sighs. ‘I don’t have all the answers. I told you there is much I cannot say, much as I may wish otherwise.’ Her eyes narrow. ‘You’re supposed to save me, not bother me with constant questions.’
It’s not like I’ve been here every day. There’s something dying swan about Lilith now that’s irritating, despite my sympathy for her current state. And save her? There are others who are a far greater priority. She’s a succubus: she’s meant to have plenty power of her own.
As soon as the thought forms, I push it away. What’s wrong with me? I know what it’s like to struggle with life.
‘It’s important.’
She plucks a leaf from a branch above her head and stares at it. ‘Look,’ she says suddenly.
I glance down. It’s a leaf. So what? ‘Um…’
‘They came through here last night and now the trees are suffering too.’
I stiffen. ‘The Department?’
Her lip curls. ‘Not everything in this world is related to the humans. You’re all so narcissistic.’
Pot. Kettle. I shake myself and try to focus. ‘The Badlands.’
‘Just so.’ She raises her eyes to mine and I see the desperate plea flickering in them. ‘Do something.’
‘I’m trying.’ That would be a damn sight easier if I could concentrate all my energies on one thing, but I don’t think Lilith will be impressed if I tell her I’m also trying to find Ashley and beat down the Department at the same time as rescuing the Dreamlands. In my eyes, both are important but I’m certain she’d do her best to dissuade me.
I think about the Department’s allegation that all this is the dreamweaver’s fault and draw breath. ‘Why is it happening, Lilith? Can you at least tell me why the creatures from the Badlands are coming here now?’
‘Because you’re weak.’
I step back. ‘That’s not what I meant. Lilith…’
She lifts her hand, allowing the leaf to flutter to the ground. ‘Was that your question? Is that why you’re bothering me?’
I push back my hair. ‘No.’
‘Then get on with what you really want.’
The succubus is definitely one of those people who deals badly with illness. Some suck it up and others let it destroy them. I remind myself that it’s not her fault. Maybe it’s better that she’s not going to tell me why the Badlands are coming.
I swallow and ask for the information I need. ‘Last time I was here, you mentioned a boy. Does he have blue hair?’
For the first time, there’s a spark of interest in her eyes. ‘You have seen him.’ She reaches over and her fingers trail across my cheek. Her touch is icy cold and it takes everything I have not to shudder. ‘It has been a long time since he was here.’
‘Is he…’ I pause, wondering if my question is too ridiculous to voice aloud. Then I straighten my shoulders and get to it. ‘Is he the Sandman?’
Lilith claps her hands together slowly. ‘Zoe, the dreamweaver from the quiet lands. You are not as stupid as I imagined.’
I grit my teeth. ‘Why didn’t you say something before? He can help, can’t he? He has magic dust that he throws into faces.’ I mimic the action.
Lilith doesn’t even blink. ‘Help? You are stupid then.’
He might be a kid but he took on the dragon; I don’t think she’s giving him enough credit. I scan her face but her fragility makes her difficult to read. ‘Where does he come from?’
‘Where do any of us come from?’
Answer a question with another question. Helpful, Lilith. Real helpful. ‘How can I find him?’
‘He comes from the same place that I do.’ She smiles humourlessly.
I step back. He comes from the Badlands? It doesn’t necessarily make him bad – after all, Lilith and the mares came from there – but it’s a troubling answer.
‘Lilith,’ I hesitate, then plunge in. ‘Is he good? Or…’
‘Bad?’ She lets out a delicate snort. ‘The world is not simple, weaver. You know that.’
There’s a sudden high-pitched screech and a thunder of hooves. Lilith’s hand snaps out, snagging my elbow. She yanks me towards her, making me stumble and fall forward. Pain screams through my spine. A heartbeat later, a mare clatters past us at tremendous speed. It’s quite some feat considering how dense the trees are.
‘They are restless,’ Lilith comments. ‘They know the Badlands are coming and that this time they want to stay.’
I stare after the mare but it’s already gone. It wasn’t Pegasus; I’ve not seen her for weeks. I sigh. ‘Can you help me up?’
Lilith ignores me. ‘I’m very hungry, dreamweaver.’ She flits out of reach. ‘You’re going to have to go to the Badlands. You’re going to have go to their heart and stop him there.’ Her voice drops. ‘Go soon.’
And then she’s gone. The forest lapses back into silence and I’m alone once more.
I struggle to my feet. When I’m finally standing again, my fingers fumble round to my back to massage away the pain as best as I can. At least I’ve managed to confirm the blue boy’s identity and get a clue as to his whereabouts. I mull over Lilith’s exact words. Stop him, she said. Not stop them. She may be bound to speak in riddles as a result of goodness knows what, but she may also have given away more than she intended. I think of the Sandman’s innocent face and I shudder.
***
I leave word at the Dreamlands pub for Bron to meet me there in an hour, and Rob too if anyone sees him. I don’t know Dante’s elusive cowboy friend very well so this would be a lot easier if Dante himself were here. I catch myself brushing the base of my thumb against my lips and stop. This is hardly the time to entertain myself with fantastical daydreams. I’m fighting a war on two fronts and I need to stay focused.
The atmosphere in the pub is so despondent that it’s a relief not to linger. Not that my mood is any brighter once I’m back outside.
I scowl in the direction of Dean Salib’s statue as I stride past the square. Fine mess he left me to deal with, I think sourly. I note that there appear to be even more Department people hanging around; they seem to be spawning themselves, like gremlins. I avoid meeting their eyes and drop my head in order to appear humble. It’s not particularly hard.
When I’m sure they’ve lost interest in me, I march towards the fringes of the town, my heels scuffing against the cobbles. I duck my head into the daberhashery as I pass but it’s empty; stale silence clings to every corner. There’s only one other place I can think of where Esme will be.
I’ve not been to the Dreamlands castle since I free
d the long-term sleepers there, the coma victims who were slumbering in the giant ballroom on the second floor. At the time, back in the real world, the press made much of the sudden awakening. Nobody could explain it and, when questioned, no one who’d abruptly regained consciousness said anything that made any sense. A few enterprising people took advantage of the situation and spun tales of lights and tunnels and strange voices, but even the best medical minds couldn’t explain how several hundred people who’d been unconscious for days, weeks and even years suddenly returned to the waking world. Neither can anyone explain why so many people are now experiencing terrifying sleep paralysis or stalking nightmares. I damn well wish I could.
The castle is like a frothy Disney concoction from every little girl’s dream. When it was filled with Esme’s sleepers, the Travellers avoided the place, as if afraid that they too would be tainted. It’s still deserted, maybe because it’s too perfect. It promises happy, fairy-tale endings where the bad guys get their come-uppance and the good guys always win and get a great big passionate kiss at the end. We all know life isn’t really like that and yearning for it won’t make it any more real.
I glance around, double-checking that I’m not being watched. I bend down, tie my shoelace and look over my shoulder once more. When I’m absolutely certain that I’m in the clear, I jog up the steps to the entrance and duck inside. My back has settled into a dull ache which is preferable to sharp, searing pain any day, but the stairs don’t help matters. If I were queen of this particular castle, I’d install escalators.
Running up to the old ballroom, I’m relieved to see Esme sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. She doesn’t look up, even when I call her name. There’s a solitary sadness about her that tears at my insides.
I pad over to her and sit down, arranging my limbs into the most comfortable position I can. ‘I know you’re frustrated with me,’ I begin, ‘but I think I’m getting somewhere. I have a plan.’ Sort of.
She traces a figure of eight on the floor with the tip of her index finger.
