Dreamfire

by Kit Alloway

  “His theories grew more and more bizarre,” Davita explained. “He became fixated on the prophecies concerning the return of the True Dream Walker.”

  The True Dream Walker again, Will thought. For a legend, people are really obsessed with this guy.

  “Finally, Feodor published a theory that if people used staging to deliberately destabilize the Dream to the point that it collapsed into the World on a large scale, then the True Dream Walker would be forced to appear and save us.”

  “Ah…” Josh said.

  “Something about this theory seems off,” Will suggested.

  “Even people who were pro-staging,” Dustine told Josh, “thought Feodor’s idea was insane. But it played into a rumor people had been whispering for years that before Feodor’s mother died, she had told him that his scroll said he would Temper the True Dream Walker.”

  Will didn’t know what it meant to “Temper” someone, but the conversation was moving along without him.

  “No one knows if the rumor was true,” Dustine added. “The scroll was destroyed in the war, and Feodor’s mother was killed.”

  “But when he wrote that article, about deliberately destabilizing the Dream,” Ben said, “that was more or less the last straw. His employer fired him. The monarchy cut ties with him. His woman left him.”

  “What did he do?” Will asked.

  “He disappeared,” Davita said. “Nobody heard from him for years. Then, a little town in Iowa called Maplefax experienced a collapse of the Dream into the World.”

  “Wait a sec—Maplefax?” Josh asked. “The Maplefax?”

  “Yes, that Maplefax. Feodor went there and started staging terrible dreams for the entire town. He may have murdered people in-Dream; we don’t know. Maplefax was a very small, isolated town—actually an ideal prospect for staging. Except that when the Dream destabilized and collapsed into the World, the True Dream Walker didn’t show up to save everyone.”

  Will vaguely remembered Josh mentioning Maplefax to him while they drove to the dream-walker headquarters a few weeks before. “You mean the Veil between the World and the Dream ripped?” he asked, jumping in before the conversation moved on.

  “Precisely,” Dustine said. “And the nightmares came marching out, two by two. At least forty people wandered into the Dream and were never seen again. Another two dozen were killed on this side, either by nightmares or by each other. Some others went mad from Veil dust. The FBI quarantined the entire town, which made it all the harder for us to get in there and repair the rip. The government saw some things we’d have preferred they’d not seen, but it wasn’t the first time.”

  The room fell to silence. Will realized that the Persian in his lap was drinking the chocolate milk from his glass, and he gently nudged the cat off the couch. He set the milk on the coffee table.

  “But why exile Feodor?” Josh asked. “Why not put him in jail?”

  “He breathed too much Veil dust,” Davita said, and Will thought she answered just an instant too quickly. “He was insane before, but after Maplefax he went stark raving mad. And he was dangerous—even when he slept.”

  Josh and Will glanced at each other.

  “Ah,” Will said, “how does that work?”

  “He started lucid dreaming,” Young Ben explained. “He’d realize he was dreaming and try to stage more nightmares. It was amazing how much havoc one man could wreak in the course of a few hours. That was when the monarchy realized they had to keep him out of the Dream entirely.”

  “But he had to sleep sometime,” Josh said.

  “Exactly. So the monarchy came up with a plan to cut off a part of the Dream—a corner, so to speak—and seal Feodor up in it. A pocket universe, they called it. He’d be stuck there, both when awake and asleep. No one else could enter or exit.”

  “But…” Josh said, her voice dazed, “that’s…”

  “Cruel,” Will finished.

  “Some thought so,” Davita admitted. “Some thought we should have killed him outright. But the monarchy didn’t believe in capital punishment.”

  “How long has he been there?”

  “Since 1962.”

  Half a century alone, Will thought. Without another person to talk to.

  “But Feodor’s pocket universe was created from part of the Dream,” Davita said. “The builders theorized that because it retained the properties of the Dream, Feodor would be able to shape it into whatever he wanted when he lucid dreamed. He could have made it heaven, if he liked.”

  Will wondered what a madman would have chosen to create, given godlike power over a whole universe. “Could he have collapsed his own universe?” Will asked. “Escaped?”

  “No,” Davita said. “The Dream itself is too vast for any sort of stability, but the small size of Feodor’s universe made its boundaries incredibly strong. It was built with the intention of holding forever.”

  “He’d have to be awfully old by now,” Josh said. “If he’s even still alive.”

  Davita nodded and thought for a moment before saying, “We’ll have to tell your grandfather about what happened to you yesterday.”

  “Great,” Josh muttered, but her voice sounded more numb than angry.

  “However,” Dustine added, “I think we can forego telling your father, at least for the time being.” She gave Josh a little wink.

  “What should Josh and I do?” Will asked.

  “Stay out of the Dream,” Davita said firmly. “No exceptions, Josh. No excuse can justify going in there again—not until we know who those people are and what they’re capable of, and not while you’re still injured. You got away with it once, but there’s no reason good enough to risk your life like that again.”

  “Or Will’s life,” Dustine said. The Persian jumped into her lap and she shoved the cat back onto the floor without taking her eyes off Josh’s face. “You’re responsible for his safety.”

  Josh turned her head away sharply, then nodded. She looked at Will as if frightened of him and the responsibility he represented, and he wanted to apologize. Why did he always want to apologize around her?

  Maybe because she always seemed to be in pain. She wrapped her arms around herself, and Will saw something he’d never seen before on her face: shame.

  She wore it the whole way home.

  Twenty

  I’m responsible for his safety. That’s what she said.

  But how could I have known, when I went into the Dream, how big the danger was? I knew I was going against Dad’s rules. I knew I would get chewed out if I got caught. I even knew that the men in the trench coats weren’t a normal part of the Dream. But how could I have possibly known that Snitch and Gloves were connected to some Polish mad scientist? I knew I was getting into danger, but not that kind of danger. And I TOLD Will NOT to come in after me.

  But maybe none of that matters and I’m just making excuses. Grandma is right. Thanks to fate and Deloise, Will is my responsibility. If he gets hurt, it’s nobody’s fault but my own.

  That scares the hell out of me. I have to do something to make the Dream safe again, I have to help figure out who these guys are and how they’re connected to Feodor, but what can I do that won’t put Will in even worse danger? I just don’t know how to protect him.

  If there really is a True Dream Walker, I hope he’ll help me now.

  * * *

  Her leg took longer than expected to heal. Josh got the impression from the throbbing pain that engulfed it for two days that her trek through the Dream sans crutches might have been detrimental to her recovery. She removed the brace for good on Friday, but it wasn’t until Sunday that she was able to bend her knee all the way.

  By the Wednesday after, she was walking without crutches. “I’m going to move back into my room,” she announced that morning, but apparently no one was listening. Breakfast was in full swing; Kerstel had gone all out and made complicated fruit shakes with yogurt, and now she and Dustine were trying to leave the house. Haley hovered next to the pant
ry and Whim rinsed dishes.

  Josh stirred her shake—a combination of bananas, honey, and coconut—a couple of times before silently handing it to Whim and putting water on the stove for hot chocolate.

  “Sounds great, hon,” Kerstel said, digging through a basket hanging next to the door. “Has anybody seen my keys?”

  “We’re going to be late,” Dustine warned. She shrugged on a rabbit fur coat that Deloise had once threatened to dye bloodred.

  “Here,” Haley said softly. As usual, a fine tremble made his words sound uncertain. “You can take my car.” He held an unadorned key ring out to Kerstel.

  “Oh, thank you, sweetheart. I’m sorry, but we have got to be on time. We’ll be home before school lets out.”

  Josh watched her plant a kiss on Haley’s cheek and rush Dustine out the back door. “Where are they going?”

  “There was a call at three this morning,” Whim said, sitting down beside her with the remains of her smoothie in his hand. “Apparently the junta is having an emergency meeting.”

  Will walked in through the hallway door, dressed in a gray flannel shirt and jeans that appeared rust-stained. He gave Josh a nod as he went to the fridge.

  “Why?” Josh asked.

  “I don’t know. Despite the fact that you and I are, as you pointed out, technically adults, we weren’t invited. Although my sources say it has to do with the trench-coat men. Both my parents went, and your father is meeting them in Braxton.”

  Josh stood up and went to the stove, where the kettle was near boiling. She and Will had agreed not to tell anyone else about what had happened the last time they went into the Dream, and unless Haley had told someone—a doubtful proposition—Deloise, Whim, and Winsor were in the dark. But Josh had a fairly good idea what the meeting in Braxton was about.

  She caught Will’s eye as they both pulled chairs out from the table and sat down. She inclined her head toward Whim and lifted her eyebrows. Should we tell him?

  Will bit into an apple and gave her a look that said, How should I know? He’s your friend.

  Josh sipped her hot chocolate and then said, “Haley, come sit with us.”

  Haley, who looked surprised if not frightened, sank into a seat at the table like he was taking his place in the electric chair.

  “All right, Whim,” Josh said, “I have gossip. But this is not to end up on your blog.”

  “I can’t promise that,” Whim said immediately.

  “Well, then I can’t tell you,” she bluffed. She started to stand up, and he raised a long-fingered hand.

  “Hold your horses. Does this gossip have anything to do with the meeting in Braxton?”

  “Let me put it this way: Will and Haley and I are the reason there is a meeting in Braxton.”

  “Hmm.” Whim thought, stroking an imaginary goatee with a thumb and forefinger. “I’ll make you a deal: I won’t put it up on Through a Veil Darkly until I’ve gotten third-party sources to confirm enough of what you’ve said to make your info look like reasonable projection. We’ll call it inevitable discovery.”

  That would have to do. It was actually a pretty good deal, coming from Whim. Josh sat down again.

  She told Whim everything, beginning with the alleyway nightmare and ending with the meeting with the elders the day before. “So,” she said afterward, “since I’ve just given you a big scoop, I need a favor.”

  “There’s always a catch.”

  “I just need to know everything you can find out about Feodor. Anything that might not be in the official record.”

  “You underestimate me, my friend. Through a Veil Darkly already has a whole page devoted to Feodor. Maplefax is a legend, and one the junta has tried very hard to hide.”

  “Why?” Will asked.

  “Because it’s an example of just how badly staging can go wrong,” Whim told him. “Peregrine doesn’t want people thinking about that. He wants staging to become standard practice for dream walkers. But it’s pretty hard to hide the self-destruction of an entire town.”

  “So what are the rumors?” Josh asked.

  “Well, for starters, everybody agrees that Feodor went insane long before he breathed all that Veil dust. In fact, one of the guards who attended Feodor’s hearing before the monarchy claims he didn’t breathe any dust and was completely lucid, he just had no morals.”

  “He was a sociopath,” Will clarified.

  “Precisely. Then there’s the pocket universe he got sent to: ironically, most people think Feodor was the one who invented the technology for that, back when he was working for Willis-Audretch.”

  “What?” Josh nearly shouted. “Davita didn’t tell us that!”

  “Who’s Willis-Audretch?” Will asked.

  Whim grinned. Haley looked at him with disapproval.

  “They’re dangerous,” Haley said.

  “They’re the evil corporation you see in every movie about an evil corporation,” Josh said.

  “We don’t know that they’re evil,” Whim said. “We just know that they’re shady. And mysterious. And secretive. Willis-Audretch is the World’s only dream-walker think tank. Their research institute has produced some brilliant minds, and some brilliant patents, and they’re pretty serious about protecting both. Feodor was only, like, twenty-five when they hired him. The rumor is that he was inventing things for the royal family.”

  “What kind of things?” Josh asked suspiciously.

  “Inter-archway highways. A system for mapping the Dream. A laser that would destroy nightmares. A Veil dust–filtering mask. Some sort of noncombustible jetpack that would let people fly in-Dream. Yeah, I don’t believe that one either. There’s also a rumor—and mind you, this one isn’t super credible—that people go visit him in that pocket universe where he lives.”

  “They visit him? Why?”

  “Probably to buy things he’s building now. If he’s still alive, that is. The grapevine is divided on that.”

  Josh thought while Will asked, “How do people find him? Aren’t there any protections on his universe?”

  Whim shrugged. “How would you lock the Dream, if you needed to? I think the pocket universe’s best protection is that nobody knows how to get to it. Everywhere you open an archway automatically leads to the Dream.”

  So there’s a chance he’s still in touch with the World, Josh thought. Still … infecting people with his madness. She wasn’t just horrified by the deaths at Maplefax but by the idea that someone had betrayed everything for which dream walking stood, every ideal in which she believed and that the True Dream Walker represented. Particularly someone so talented and intelligent. How had Feodor lost his faith in their work?

  “What does your rumor mill say about the story that Feodor’s mother told him his scroll predicted he would Temper the True Dream Walker’s return?” Josh asked.

  Whim put off answering until he had upended the smoothie glass over his mouth and drained the last drops out. “Not much,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Supposedly she said the True Dream Walker would have to undergo the same Tempering ritual as monarchs, and that Feodor would help administer it.”

  “What’s a Tempering ritual?” Will asked.

  Distractedly, Josh explained. “Before a dream walker could become a monarch, he or she had to spend twenty-four hours in the Dream walking through nightmares without doing anything to resolve a single one. Just feeling the terror and suffering. It was supposed to teach compassion and make sure they understood why our work is so important.”

  “That’s kind of intense.”

  Something began beeping, and Josh looked around to see what it was. Whim got up, opened the oven, and pulled out a picture-perfect pie-sized pastry of indeterminate type.

  “What is that?” Will asked. “It smells amazing.”

  “That,” Whim replied, setting the confection carefully on a trivet, “is German apple kuchen.”

  Josh checked the clock. “What time did you get up this morning?”
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br />   Will went to stand next to him and stared at the steaming apple cake. His eyes were large. “Can we eat it?” he asked in a hushed, reverent voice.

  Whim looked at him scornfully. “Of course we can eat it. Go get some forks.”

  Josh had a feeling that all productive conversation was finished for the morning, which was just as well. “We need to leave for school. I’m going upstairs to grab Winsor and Deloise.”

  “Josh,” Haley said.

  She stopped getting up and looked at him instead.

  “Be careful,” he said. “With Feodor.”

  Haley looked like he wanted to say something more, but he didn’t.

  “All right,” Josh replied. “I’ll be careful.”

  But as she walked away, she got the feeling that whatever he hadn’t said, she had needed to hear it.

  Josh trekked up the stairs to the second floor—I can too handle stairs, she thought, although she sloshed some hot chocolate onto the carpet—and knocked on Winsor’s door.

  “Hey,” she said after Winsor called her in. “We’re leaving in about five minutes.”

  Winsor was lying on her bed, though she’d already made it and gotten dressed. She had an arm flung over her eyes. “I don’t know if I’m coming.”

  Josh walked across the dark room toward her. “Migraine?”

  “Yeah. It’s not awful yet, but the lights at school will make it worse.”

  “Want me to take you to the hospital?”

  Winsor sighed and dragged herself into a sitting position. “No, that’s okay. Thanks.”

  Some of the hostility that had been in her voice lately was gone. Josh ventured to sit down beside her on the bed.

  “You should stay home and rest. Whim can take you to the ER if you need to go later.”

  “I know, I just…” Another sigh. “I don’t want to spend all day at home with Haley. He’s been acting like such a freak lately.”

  “Yeah,” Josh echoed. “He’s … have you noticed that he’s started walking like Ian?”

  “What, with that swagger?” Winsor actually smiled. “Yeah, and his posture, too. I swear he’s two inches taller when he’s standing up straight.”