Dream Stalkers

by Tim Waggoner

He touched the end of the devitalizer to his wrist as if it were a hypodermic needle and thumbed the switch once more. I half-expected him to throw back his head and draw in a hissing breath as the Threshold energy flowed through him, but his reaction wasn’t quite so dramatic. He blinked twice, frowned slightly, and said, “Interesting.”

  He returned the device to his pocket, then walked over to the Dreamer and sat down on the floor next to him. He crossed his legs and closed his eyes, as if he were preparing to meditate. He then reached out and placed a hand gently on the Dreamer’s head. The boy moaned softly, as if he were having a bad dream. He shifted on his bed of palm fronds, momentarily restless, but then he fell still and grew quiet once more. Moments passed, but neither the Dreamer nor Menendez stirred.

  “That’s it?” Jinx said. “Talk about anticlimactic.”

  I tried to think, to come up with some plan for stopping Menendez, but I was so weary. I hadn’t been able to rest or meditate for well over a day now, and the blood loss from my shoulder wound wasn’t helping my condition. I felt lightheaded and my vision swam in and out of focus. I wasn’t sure how long I could remain conscious, but probably not more than a few more minutes. We had to do something before I passed out, but I had no idea what. My brain felt clogged with sludge, and my thoughts refused to coalesce.

  Luckily, Jinx picked up the slack for me. He tucked Cuthbert Junior away, pulled the can of aerosol string from his pocket, and tossed it to me.

  “There’s not much left, but there should be enough to make a quick and dirty patch for your shoulder.”

  He then walked to the edge of the cage and began his shrinking trick again. When he’d reduced himself to twelve inches in height, he slipped through the bars easily. Once on the other side, he quickly returned to his normal size. While he did this, I shrugged off my jacket, unbuttoned my shirt far enough to expose my shoulder wound, shook the can a couple times, and sprayed pink goopy string onto my shoulder wound. It hurt like blazes, but the goop stuck fast and plugged the hole caused by Menendez’s bullet. I dropped the can and didn’t bother putting my jacket back on or re-buttoning my shirt. I was too damn tired and in too much pain to care.

  Menendez sat motionless next to the First Dreamer, his hand on the boy’s head. Both of their eyes were closed, and both remained completely still. The atmosphere in the Sacrarium had changed, though. The sourceless light that illuminated the chamber had grown brighter, and the air felt denser and charged with power, like when a violent thunderstorm is imminent.

  “What do you think?” Jinx asked. “Should I walk over and bash in Menendez’s skull while he’s communing with Little Boy God?”

  “Menendez’s mind is connected to the Dreamer’s right now. If he dies while that connection still exists, the Dreamer could experience a severe psychic shock. It could drive him mad or even kill him. If a being like him can die, that is.”

  “So we’d stop Menendez, but reality would be fucked,” Jinx said.

  “Yep.” I thought for a moment. “You’re a lot stronger than normal because of all the unshielded M-energy around us. Do you think you’re strong enough to bend the bars?”

  Jinx shrugged, grabbed hold of two of the bars, and tried to pull them apart. But, although he was stronger than ever before, they refused to yield.

  “If you can’t break me out of here, can you move the cage next to the Dreamer’s bed?”

  Jinx took hold of the bars once more, planted his gigantic shoes firmly on the chamber’s floor, and leaned backward. At first nothing happened, but then the cage slid several inches. Jinx put more muscle into it, and the cage slid a few feet this time. He kept at it, and, in fits and starts, he dragged the huge M-energy cage – which had to weigh a literal ton, if not more – to the Dreamer. He slid it to within a few inches of the boy, on the opposite side from where Menendez sat. The noise of the cage being moved hadn’t disturbed either the Dreamer or Menendez. Their eyes remained closed, their bodies motionless.

  I stepped to the edge of the cage close to the Dreamer and sat down. I turned to look at Bloodshedder.

  “I don’t know if this is going to work,” I said. “But no matter what happens, take care of Russell for the both of us, okay?”

  Bloodshedder whined softly, but she thumped her tail once. I got the message.

  I turned back to face the Dreamer.

  “What are you going to do, Audra?” Jinx asked. “Whatever it is, I don’t think I’m going to like it.”

  “The real fight is taking place inside their minds right now,” I said. “I’m going to see if I can get in on the action.”

  I wasn’t a Somnacologist, but I was an Ideator. I had a profound connection to the Maelstrom too, just like Menendez, and I also had energy from Between inside me. Nowhere near as much as Russell had, but it might be enough to help me connect with the Dreamer and try to stop Menendez.

  “I won’t let you do this alone,” Jinx said.

  “I wasn’t planning to,” I smiled. “No way I’m going into psychic battle without my favorite crazy clown at my side.”

  Jinx grinned and sat on the floor next to the cage. I held out my left hand, and he took it. I reached out with my right hand, ignoring the pain in my shoulder as I did so, and took hold of the boy’s hand. His skin felt like that of a normal human, warm and smooth. He didn’t move or make a sound when I touched him, but his fingers interlocked with mine and squeezed gently. I could feel Jinx through the link we shared, which was stronger than ever. We were ready.

  “One for the money,” I said.

  “Two for the show,” Jinx continued.

  “Three to get ready…”

  * * * * *

  “I like Times Square,” I said.

  “It’s too Disney for me,” Day Jinx said. “It doesn’t have any real character.”

  “You like Broadway,” I said.

  “Yes, but I prefer Off-Broadway.”

  We stood on the sidewalk in front of the Times Square McDonalds, which was located on Broadway, but not the Broadway. The distinction is often hard to explain to tourists. It was half-past noon, and, although it was a clear day and the sun was shining, the December air had a sharp bite to it, and I held a large cup of coffee I’d just bought from Mickey D’s, as much for the warmth as the caffeine. I wore a dark gray winter coat over my suit jacket – the Shadow Watch’s official winter uniform – but it only did so much to ward off the chill. Jinx also wore a gray coat, but unzipped. He might be (mostly) human during the day, but he rarely gets cold.

  “Sometimes I think you buy that swill just to annoy me,” he said.

  I took a tiny sip of the warm coffee, smacked my lips several times, and said, “Ahhh, that is good.”

  Jinx grimaced and shook his head.

  “The next time you’re jonesing for caffeine, let me know. There are a dozen places less than ten minutes’ walk from here that serve much better coffee.”

  “Yeah, for ten dollars a cup.”

  Pedestrians flowed past us in both directions, and there was a steady stream of traffic in the street. Chicago is a busy city, but when Jinx and I first moved to Manhattan, I wasn’t prepared for the never-ending tides of people and vehicles. The constant busyness of it all still got to me sometimes.

  I took a bigger sip of my coffee this time and enjoyed the warmth as it trickled down my throat. Although Christmas was weeks away, a lot of pedestrians were loaded down with shopping bags, and most of the businesses had put up holiday decorations to one degree or another. I’ve always enjoyed the holiday season, but Day Jinx gets annoyed at the “onslaught of consumerism.” But right then, neither of us were in a particularly festive mood. We were working.

  “I’m not sure this is the best meeting place,” Jinx said. “Approximately three hundred and thirty-three thousand people go through here every day, you know. Probably more right now, since it’s the holiday season. We don’t even know who we’re supposed to meet.”

  “Nyx said that she’d get in touch with t
he man and tell him to meet us here during the day around lunchtime. I trust her.” I gave him a sideways glance. “And you’re hard to miss, even in your Day Aspect.”

  Nyx – the Greek goddess of the night – was an ancient Incubus who was New York’s equivalent of Deacon Booze. She owned and ran Lucidity over on Fifth Street, the premier night club for Incubi in the city. An Apneator – a predatory Incubus that drains sleepers’ life force by feeding on their breath as they sleep – had been killing people on Central Park West. Nyx had told us she knew a human who was something of an expert on Apneators, a kind of Van Helsing for sleep-breath vampires, and she’d promised to hook us up with him.

  “It’s never a good idea to trust Nyx,” Jinx said.

  “You’re still mad at her for cheating on you with Hypnos.”

  “Maybe I am,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t make her any more trustworthy.”

  He had a point. Ancient Incubi always have their own agenda, and rarely does it work to anyone’s benefit but theirs. Take the Fata Morgana. She…

  I frowned.

  “Something’s wrong,” I said.

  “No kidding. I was planning on going to see the new Jasper Johns exhibit at MoMa this afternoon. Instead we’re wasting our time trying to catch a fairy tale.”

  “We don’t work in New York,” I said. “We still work in Chicago. I mean, sure, Sanderson offered us a transfer to New York, but we haven’t accepted it yet.”

  Jinx looked at me as if I’d gone insane. But his incredulous expression only lasted a moment before I saw realization enter his gaze.

  “You’re right. We’re not supposed to be here.”

  We looked at the people, the traffic, the signs, the buildings, the sky…

  “Is any of this real?” Jinx asked.

  “Looks real,” I said. I inhaled through my nose. “The car exhaust smells real.” I reached out and pushed a passerby on the shoulder. The man – a stocky fellow in a thick coat with a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face – stumbled a bit, shot me a death-ray look, and then kept going.

  “Feels real,” I said.

  “It’s somewhat real,” said a familiar voice.

  Jinx and I turned to see Nathaniel and Mordacity – the latter in his Day Aspect – standing behind us, both dressed for the cold weather. They smiled at us, and seeing them like that should’ve made me happy, but for reasons I didn’t fully understand, it made me unbearably sad.

  “Just like us,” Mordacity said. “We’re only somewhat real too.”

  “You died,” Jinx said in a soft voice. “Both of you.”

  I knew his words were true as soon as he spoke them, although I had no memory of their deaths happening.

  “Yes,” Nathaniel said. He smiled, but his eyes were serious. “We’re… echoes. Memories made flesh.”

  “You made us that way,” Mordacity said. “We’re reminders.”

  I frowned. “Reminders of what?”

  “Of what you’re doing here,” Nathaniel said. “And what this place is.”

  “This is Times Square,” Jinx said. “Such as it is.”

  “This place is only half-real,” Mordacity said. “Maybe not even that much.”

  He crouched down and touched his hand to the sidewalk. He gripped the concrete, its substance yielding to his hand like putty. He pulled and a portion of the sidewalk peeled away like paper, revealing a roiling strip of Maelstrom energy beneath.

  Mordacity stood without replacing the section of sidewalk. The people hurrying past us took no notice of what he’d done.

  “Menendez is struggling to wrest control of the Maelstrom from the First Dreamer,” Nathaniel said.

  “Since they’re distracted, you were able to create this place,” Mordacity said, then he smiled. “And us.”

  “Very impressive for your first attempt at being God,” Nathaniel said.

  As the two of them spoke, my memories came drifting back. I suppose that was the reason that I’d created them in the first place. Like Nathaniel had said, they were reminders.

  I turned to Jinx. “You tracking?”

  He nodded. “I remember now. I almost wish I didn’t, though.”

  I knew exactly how he felt. The thought that this Half-hattan I’d created was all that remained of Existence was disorienting and terrifying in equal measures.

  “This is a wonderful backdrop for the final scene in this little psychodrama,” Mordacity said. He turned to Nathaniel. “Isn’t it?”

  “Oh yes,” Nathaniel agreed. “After all, it’s drawn from her discomfort about the transfer Sanderson offered. All very symbolic.”

  Something wasn’t right. Their voices had taken on an almost-mocking edge, and slyness had entered their gazes.

  “Unfortunately, it won’t be long before Menendez realizes you’re here,” Mordacity said.

  “And when that happens, he’ll attack, using what you created against you,” Nathaniel said.

  As if in response to Nathaniel’s words, Times Square fell silent. Every pedestrian stopped moving, every engine cut out. The sudden stillness was more than startling. It struck with almost physical force. I’d never experienced a quiet so loud – or so threatening. Then, one by one, pedestrians began to turn toward us, faces expressionless, eyes cold and dead.

  Nathaniel and Mordacity smiled. Their teeth were black, and very, very sharp.

  “Oops,” Nathaniel said. “Too late.”

  Dark clouds rolled in from all directions and blotted out the sun. Shadows descended on Times Square, and, as they did, the men, women, and children around us took on the mantle of darkness, becoming featureless shadowy creatures with lean bodies, curving talons, and wicked teeth.

  Darkuns.

  Nathaniel and Mordacity became Darkuns too, and they flexed their claws, as if eager to begin rending our flesh.

  Jinx and I drew our trancers, wordlessly moving back to back. We didn’t wait for the Dreamers to attack. We started firing. Great swaths of M-energy erupted from our weapons, obliterating any Darkuns unfortunate enough to be in the way. The energy outburst was a hundred times greater than normal trancers were capable of producing. Maybe that was due to our being in an oasis of semi-reality in the middle of the Maelstrom, or maybe it was because I had created these trancers to be super weapons. Whatever the reason, I was grateful we had something to give us a fighting chance.

  I knew the Darkuns Nathaniel and Mordacity had become were in the first wave that attacked us. They were dead, but, since they hadn’t been fully alive, I told myself that I shouldn’t feel bad about their deaths. But I did.

  How many people had Jinx said passed through Times Square in a day? Over three hundred thousand? It seemed like at least that many Darkuns swarmed toward us from all directions. Jinx and I kept firing, turning in slow circles as we did to make sure we didn’t miss any of the shadowy monstrosities coming at us. We kept at it for what seemed like hours, but the onrushing tide of Darkuns never let up. Thankfully, our trancers showed no sign of losing power, and I wondered if they were able to draw directly on the Maelstrom’s energy instead of on rechargeable power packs. I was grateful my mind had designed them this way, and also grateful that my body no longer suffered from the injuries I’d sustained to my ribs and shoulder. Evidently my new status as a demigod came with some nice perks.

  After what seemed like more hours mowing down Darkuns, Jinx said, “This isn’t going to work.”

  “Seems to be working so far,” I said.

  “It’s a stalemate. We keep destroying Darkuns and Menendez keeps making more.”

  He was right. And, while I wasn’t sure if Jinx and I were here in a physical sense or if we were just psychic projections of our personalities, and our real bodies remained in the Sacrarium, I could still feel myself growing weary. But the hordes of Darkuns that continued rushing toward us remained as fresh as ever. If this kept up much longer, Jinx and I would make a mistake – stumble, maybe lose our grip on our weapons – and the Darkuns would b
e on us. I didn’t know if we’d die for real if we died in this half-place my mind had created, but I didn’t want to find out.

  “You’re fighting like we would in a normal battle,” Jinx said. “You need to start fighting like a Dreamer.”

  He was right. My original intent in linking with the First Dreamer’s mind was to be able to fight Menendez on his own terms. I’d forgotten that, but luckily I had my partner to remind me.

  As Jinx and I continued firing at Darkuns, I thought a single word: sunshine.

  The clouds parted and light poured down into the Square. The Darkuns’ ebon flesh sizzled and smoked in the harsh, unforgiving rays of the sun, and they screamed in agony. They attempted to flee, but the streets were so thick with the creatures that they couldn’t move fast enough. A handful made it to alleys or doorways, but the sunlight was under my control, and it found them wherever they were. In a short time, the Darkuns – all of them – were gone, without leaving behind so much as a scorch mark on the pavement to show they’d ever existed.

  Jinx and I stopped firing and lowered our trancers. He grinned at me.

  “That’s my girl!”

  I smiled back weakly, suddenly overcome by tiredness beyond anything I’d ever experienced before. You’ve heard the old expression bone-tired. Well, I was weary down to the cellular level. Being a god takes a lot out of a girl.

  The city had fallen silent once more. The streets were filled with overturned and damaged vehicles, the result of the constant waves of attacking Darkuns, but there were no people. Despite the fact that the electronic billboards on One Times Square continued displaying ads, Manhattan felt dead. The quiet was soon broken by the sound of a single pair of hands clapping. Jinx and I turned toward the sound and saw Menendez winding his way through the maze of abandoned vehicles as he crossed the street toward us.

  “I knew you were resourceful, Audra,” he said, “but I had no idea that you’d be able to follow me into the Dreamer’s mind. I’m very impressed.”

  I considered raising my trancer and blasting him, but I didn’t bother. He wouldn’t have revealed himself if he could be killed that easily.