Night Shade (Dreamweaver Book 1)

by Helen Harper

  ‘Hi Lilith,’ I say. ‘Got to go.’

  She moves faster than I’d have thought possible, swerving to block my path. ‘We need to talk.’ She bares her teeth.

  ‘I’m busy,’ I tell her shortly.

  ‘Don’t care.’ She points at one of the trees, her index finger lightly brushing along the Z. ‘You did this.’

  Ah. She’s probably annoyed at the graffiti. Or maybe gouging into it hurt the tree itself. My stomach drops. ‘Er...’

  ‘When?’ She cocks her head and her mane of black hair falls across her face, half covering it. She flips it back in a well-practised movement.

  I shrug. I’ve completely lost track of the days. ‘Last week perhaps? I’m sorry. It’s just I keep waking, I mean apparating, here and I didn’t want to get lost. I won’t do it again.’

  She regards me expressionlessly. ‘Do you know what you’ve done?’

  ‘I said I’m sorry,’ I mutter. ‘I really do have to go.’ I sidestep to go round her.

  Lilith reaches out towards me, exposing her long, graceful arms. For a moment, I think she’s going to grab me but she merely slides one hand down my forearm then pulls away and sniffs her fingers. There’s something so predatory about the action that I almost seize up but I quash the feeling. I can’t afford to lose control in this world as well as the real world.

  I sidle round her. It means I get a shudder of cold from the tree I brush against but it’s better than touching her. Without looking back, I march away.

  ‘Dreamweaver,’ she calls out.

  I halt. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘You are one.’

  I slowly turn round. ‘One what?’

  A knowing smile plays on her lips. ‘A dreamweaver. It’s been a long time since we’ve had one of your kind. No wonder they’re all frightened.’

  I look in her eyes. Despite the smile, they’re cold and hard. ‘What is a dreamweaver?’

  She reaches out for the little Z again. ‘Dreamweavers change things. They control.’

  I almost snort. The last thing I’m capable of is control. ‘Forget it,’ I mutter.

  ‘Learn quickly, weaver. We need you.’

  I stare at her as she starts laughing then she drifts away into the darkness. I search, wondering where she’s gone, before eventually dismissing her. I’m not here for Lilith or her crazy talk.

  I’m not sure what to expect when I reach the town again. I’ve only been here before when it’s night in the real world. Being here in the day could be very different. I’m almost disappointed when I realise everything is the same. A bit quieter perhaps, but it’s still sunny and there are still people. The plus is that it’s unlikely the Mayor will be here. He can’t sleep twenty-four hours a day.

  I keep my head down. I don’t know many people here but after reading the Somnolence message board, I’m pretty certain that most people know who I am. It’s an unsettling thought. Hopefully, they’ll all be too engrossed in their own day to pay any attention to me.

  I know that walking through the front doors of the Department headquarters will do me no good. I may have faced down that guard but there will be plenty more where Officer Effrayant came from. I’m aiming for stealth so rather than heading for the square, I edge right. I know the river is up ahead but that’s not what I’m looking for. I find the street behind the Department and go down it; I need a back entrance.

  I squeeze through a gap between two houses and find myself in a small unkempt area of land. Rubbish is strewn everywhere, patchy grass springs up from between broken cobbles and there’s a distinct smell of eau de rot. I even spot a couple of animal skeletons. It’s like a vision of council housing estates that you only see in tabloid newspapers or in skewed right-wing documentaries. Somehow it fits with the looming Department building next to it. It’s as if the Dreamlands themselves are pointing out that there’s something wrong with the whole set-up.

  I walk along the side of the building, hoping for an open window or a back door but the only windows I see are boarded up and there doesn’t appear to be any other way inside. It’s not until I reach the far end and see a dangling rope that I finally stop. My eyes travel upwards. The rope reaches all the way to the top of the building and, if I crane my neck, it looks like there’s a grappling hook at the top. I give the rope an experimental tug; it feels sturdy and new.

  I glance around. Is this part of the Dreamlands? Is the rope here to help people sneak inside? I feel as if there’s a supernatural being following me and helping me out. I was right: all good adventures really do include rope in them.

  In the real world, I’d have been nervous about trusting my weight – and my athleticism – to a manoeuvre like this. Here it feels like things are different and I barely hesitate before reaching up and planting my feet flat against the wall. I raise one hand over the other, making astonishing time then, when I reach the top and pull myself over, I look around. The building is so tall that I can see over the whole area. The forest is in front, a cloud of darkness that stretches for what seems like miles. To my left, I see the river. In the other direction, I make out the pub where Bron took me a lifetime ago. I can also see a market and various shops. I realise there’s a lot of the town I’ve not explored yet. The fairytale castle looks inviting.

  I hope to catch sight of the Bubble and the billions of doors containing billions of subconscious minds but it’s misted over. It’s a clear white mist, though, not like the grubby dark smog that’s hazing over a large area to the north. I shiver involuntarily. That must be the Badlands.

  I look down at the square. Ashley’s familiar figure is there, gazing upwards at Salib’s statue. Another woman stands next to her, gesticulating worriedly. As I watch, Ashley squeezes her shoulder then hugs her. Even from this distance, I see the woman relax.

  It’s tempting to stay up here and spend more time taking everything in but I’m not here as a tourist. I need to do something about the mare. Or rather mares – because who knows how many the Mayor has managed to entrap?

  Working on the premise that the rope which helped me clamber up here has to lead to something, I focus on the rooftop. For the most part it’s flat and unremarkable but, in the far corner, there’s something that looks like an opening. I jog over.

  It’s a trapdoor – like the sort of trapdoor you might find in the pages of a comic book. Unlike the rest of this place, it’s made out of neatly sanded planks of wood. There’s a small roped loop for a handle. It’s so incongruous and out of keeping with the rest of the Department’s office block that I assume it’s here to help people sneak in.

  I tug at the loop but the trapdoor is heavier than I expected. I heave, using all my body weight. When it finally lifts, I’m so surprised that I fall backwards. The trapdoor crashes back down loudly. I stay where I am, sprawled on the rooftop, staring at it. Someone must have heard that. Several moments pass, however, and no one appears. Perhaps I’ve gotten away with it.

  I stand up, dust myself off and try again – albeit more carefully this time. It’s a struggle but I manage to re-open the damn thing and then I’m staring down into a fluorescent-strip-lit corridor. Crouching down, I listen. When I hear nothing more than the incessant buzzing from the lights, I duck my head into the space and check again. Finally satisfied that the coast is clear, I lower myself carefully inside.

  The second my feet touch the carpeted hallway, there’s a creaking noise. I frown, just as the trapdoor miraculously closes itself. Now that it’s shut, there’s no evidence of it whatsoever; I’m staring at a normal, smoothly plastered ceiling. That’s good in that any wandering Department worker bees will have no reason to think their defences have been breached, but it leaves me without a clear escape route.

  I move forward on tiptoe. There are lots of doors and empty offices but not much else going on. At the far end there’s a staircase so I make a beeline for it, moving as slowly and quietly as I can. If my incursion into this stronghold wasn’t so serious, I’d be enjoying myself. Nin
ja Zoe!

  I get down to the next floor without incident. Unlike the one above, however, it isn’t silent here. There’s the unmistakable clatter of typewriter keys, loud and old-fashioned. I peer down the corridor and don’t see anyone so I guess they must be inside more offices. What a dream reality needs typewriters for, I have no idea.

  The next floor down is more dangerous. I’m halfway down the flight of stairs when I hear voices, and they’re not far away. I can’t make out what they’re saying but they make me freeze, half crouched. I wait and wait and wait but whoever they are, they’re not in any hurry to move along. Eventually, anxious to move on, I sneak down the remaining steps.

  There’s a small cluster of people near the stairwell although, in my favour, they’re all looking away from me. The last thing I want is for any of them to catch me in their peripheral vision and turn in my direction – and if I speed up to move past them, that’s what’ll happen. Equally, if I go slowly, one of them might look over. My only course of action is to walk down at a normal speed. Hopefully, they’ll be too engrossed in their conversation to notice me.

  I keep my eyes down and my gait even but my heart is in my throat as I reach the end of the stairs. I glance quickly over their heads and see offices stretching beyond them – certainly not anywhere to keep potentially lethal mares – so I keep going down. I’m waiting for someone to yell and for a clatter of footsteps behind me but there’s nothing. There are only two more floors – although admittedly the further down I go, the more dangerous it gets.

  The next landing reveals more damned offices – how many does this place need? Surely people wouldn’t come here in their dreams just to work. I start on the next set of stairs, still trying to work it out, when I hear footsteps heading up towards me.

  I panic and dash into the corridor on my left. There’s nowhere to hide – not without opening doors. The only option is to sprint down to the far end of the corridor and hope that whoever is approaching has poor eyesight and isn’t heading there. But before I can lift a foot, I hear a whistled tune: ‘She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain’.

  I freeze, abandoning all thoughts of running or hiding. I don’t consciously plan it but I find myself slowly turning to face the music. I even place my hands on my hips. I bloody knew Dr Miller was involved in all this somehow.

  I don’t wait for him to notice me; he’s no doubt a damn sight stronger than I am. Despite my predicament, however, there’s a burning anger licking through my veins at the way he tried to manipulate me. He’s supposed to adhere to the Hippocratic oath but he’s been plotting to send me to the dogs. Bearing that in mind, the moment the top of his head appears, I launch myself at him.

  He flies backwards with a surprised grunt as I grab his lapels with one hand and clamp his mouth with the other. Straddling his chest, I glare at him. He not only looks shocked, he also flinches – which is enormously satisfying.

  ‘No wonder you were so keen to make an unscheduled home visit,’ I hiss. ‘What was in that second batch of pills? Were you trying to poison me?’ Alarmed, he shakes his head. I don’t loosen my grip ‘You told the Mayor who I was.’

  This time he makes no attempt to deny my words. His eyes plead with me. I can feel his body underneath me; this is someone who works out. He could escape in a heartbeat if he wanted to but he’s not even struggling; he’s just gazing at me imploringly.

  ‘I’m going to take my hand from your mouth.’ I shift my weight, lifting one leg so that my knee is just by his groin. ‘If you try anything, you can say goodbye to those two-point-four children.’

  Miller nods and I slowly remove my hand.

  ‘Get up the damn stairs! There are others right behind me!’ he says.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ I reply sarcastically, although I feel a little gnawing niggle of worry. He still doesn’t seem to be lying.

  ‘Zoe, so help me God...’

  There’s a clatter down below and an irritated curse floats up to us. Miller jerks his head to indicate that they are on their way. Annoyed, I stand up, holding his shirt to force him to his feet. I move behind him and jab his neck. ‘What I didn’t tell you over the phone,’ I whisper, ‘is that I’ve not been wasting my time while I’ve been stuck inside. I work out. It calms me. I’ve had a lot of time to develop my self-defence skills.’ It’s all bullshit, of course, but he can’t see my face. He’s taking a gamble if he chooses not to believe me.

  I nudge the small of his back and force him upwards, just as we hear the first footfalls below.

  As soon as we reach the landing, I propel him to the right and down the corridor. He’s taller than me so it’s awkward to keep him moving and watch in front of me. When we reach the first open door leading to an empty office, I push him inside. There’s a lock; it’s only one of those push-button ones and not particularly effective against a real onslaught but it serves my purpose for now.

  I grab a chair and press down on his shoulder, making him sit. ‘Why?’ I snarl.

  ‘You’ve got this all wrong. Yes, I told the Mayor your last name but I had to give him something. I have to make sure he trusts me so I tell the truth sometimes.’

  My eyes narrow. ‘Does he know where I live?’

  ‘No, no, definitely not!’ Miller protests. ‘I told him I don’t have that information because you contacted me by phone.’

  Again, he doesn’t appear to be lying but maybe I’m thinking that because I want it to be true. ‘No wonder you specialise in sleep disorders,’ I growl. ‘You must be able to accomplish a lot from here.’

  He grimaces. ‘Not as much as I’d like.’

  We’re getting nowhere. I lean down until we’re eyeball to eyeball. ‘Explain to me what’s really going on.’

  His Adam’s apple bobs nervously. ‘The Mayor is in charge.’

  ‘I know that.’ I slam my hand down on the armrest and he jumps. ‘And you’re working for him.’

  ‘Yes. No. It’s complicated.’ He fidgets. ‘He’s got a stranglehold over most all of the Dreamlands. He’s choking it to death because he wants more power and wealth. He created the Department ostensibly to investigate the Bubble. Instead they’re more like the Gestapo. They don’t just search the Bubble to map out the doors, they also make sure no one here gets in their way. I’ve been trying to gain the Mayor’s confidence for two years! He wants to control when people sleep so he can get into their dreams. I’ve been developing a serum for that. If you can control someone’s subconscious and see their dreams, you can change their actions and thoughts in the real world too.’

  It makes a sick kind of sense. ‘This serum. Is that what you gave me?’

  ‘No! The serum doesn’t work. What I give him is just a placebo. What I gave you was to try to stop you from coming here. It’s too dangerous right now, you need to stay away. You were too strong for it though.’

  ‘Why should I stay away?’

  ‘Salib. He told me...’

  I grab his shirt again, twisting the fabric in my fists. ‘Salib? You know him?’

  Miller nods miserably. ‘I’ve not seen or heard from him in months though.’

  ‘Because he’s dead,’ I say flatly.

  His face sags. ‘Then we’re lost,’ he whispers.

  ‘What did Salib tell you?’

  ‘To look after you. To make sure you didn’t come here before you were ready. That’s all I know,’ he stutters, ‘I promise.’

  ‘But you told me you’d not seen him in months,’ I say slowly. ‘When did he tell you this?’

  ‘A year and a half ago.’

  I release my hold on him and step back. ‘That’s when my agoraphobia started.’

  ‘That was nothing to do with me!’ he protests.

  I try to think. A lot of those initial weeks are hazy. I had such a concoction of pills and saw such a procession of doctors that, come to think of it, I can’t remember how Miller got involved in the first place.

  ‘I made up a referral,’ he mutters, reading my mind. ‘It was th
e only thing I could think of. When you withdrew from medical help, I kept tabs on you via your mother. She worries about you a lot, you know.’

  I might have known. ‘How do I know I can trust any of this?’

  ‘I...’ His eyes dart around as if searching for something to offer me. Before he can come up with anything, there’s a sharp knock on the door. Both of us freeze.

  ‘Doctor Miller? Are you in there?’

  I give him a nod.

  ‘Yes,’ he calls out shakily. ‘Just give me a minute.’ He looks at me. ‘You need to hide. When the coast is clear, get the hell out of here. I’ll get rid of them.’

  ‘Where is the mare? The Mayor captured one last night.’

  ‘Not here. They’re being held near the Bubble. Next to the daberhashery.’ I stiffen. So the Mayor has kidnapped more than one.

  There’s another knock at the door, more insistent this time. ‘Doctor Miller, I’m going to need you to come out.’

  ‘Coming!’ He moves towards the door, gesturing to me to hide behind it.

  ‘Wait,’ I say, ‘why me? Why did Salib want to protect me and stop me from coming here?’

  ‘Because you’re a dreamweaver of course!’

  Before I can ask what that means, he thrusts me to the side and unlocks the door.

  ‘What have you been doing, Doctor?’ asks a suspicious voice.

  ‘I just needed some peace and quiet,’ he answers. ‘All I get from you people are complaints about why the serum’s not working. I needed a break.’ He walks out, closing the door behind him.

  I press my back flat against the wall and close my eyes, waiting for Miller to sound the alarm and guards to burst in. Nobody comes.

  Chapter Twelve

  Live free or die. Death is not the worst of evils.

  John Stark

  It’s a while before I leave the room. When I do, the corridor is quiet and empty. I glance up and down, wondering where Miller went. I can’t worry about him now though; I still have to find the mares.

  I turn his words over in my head. Everyone keeps mentioning dreamweaver to me but I’m still no closer to understanding what it actually means. I force myself to ignore it for now so I can concentrate on getting out safely.