So it’s a memory—but from when? The scar on Bernard’s forehead is missing, so it’s safe to say this must’ve been a while ago.
“I can’t hold it anymore,” the boy says when they reach the bathroom.
The girl starts crying.
“You’re such a baby,” the boy says.
The girl stomps her foot and cries louder.
“Let’s go.” Bernard drags them into the men’s room.
Oh, the smell… the sights… the germs. Pom was right to disappear; this could traumatize someone for life.
The walls begin to close in.
Puck, I’m changing the dream without meaning to. That’s not good. If Bernard notices my influence, he could wake up.
I close my eyes. This is just a dream, and one colored by Bernard’s emotions at that. No germs can get me here. I should think of this as exposure therapy for myself—a bit like what I do with my clients who have phobias.
Yeah, that’s it.
The bathroom walls get back to normal, but just in case, I disable my sense of smell.
The siblings are still fighting. Visibly frustrated, Bernard helps the boy start his business at a low urinal and then drags the crying toddler into a stall. My nebulous presence follows them in, as this is Bernard’s dream/memory and I can only experience what he does.
Through the crying, I hear someone new enter the bathroom.
The boy yelps.
Bernard freezes for a moment, then kicks open the stall door—just in time to see the back of a man rushing out of the bathroom.
The boy is gone.
This time, the walls are closing in because of Bernard. He grabs the hysterical toddler like a sack and rushes out of the bathroom, looking frantically around the playground. He spots the man at the park entrance.
“Stop,” he yells. “Give him back!”
The kidnapper dives for a car parked by a hydrant, tosses the boy into the back seat, and jumps behind the wheel.
Bernard sprints after him, but the tires are already burning rubber. “What was that license plate?” Bernard shouts at the toddler in his grip.
The girl cries hysterically.
The agony on Bernard’s sheet-white face is painful to look at.
“Bailey,” a familiar voice says in my ear. “They’re there.”
Puck, I’m not done yet. There’s more to this, I can tell. But there’s a pressure on my arm that has nothing to do with the dream, and my cheek stings as if someone has slapped it.
Like a balloon popping, my dreamwalking trance breaks, and I open my eyes in the waking world.
A pale, weaselly man slaps my other cheek so hard that I stagger back, nearly falling on the slumbering Bernard.
Hearing the commotion—or more likely, waking from his nightmare—Bernard opens his eyes and sees the same thing I’m looking at.
A room full of vampires.
Chapter Five
The eyes of the vampire who slapped me turn into mirrors as he catches Bernard’s gaze.
“You will go into the kitchen and sit for ten minutes,” he says in a honey-laced voice with a slight Scottish accent. “Afterward, you’ll forget we were ever here. Understood?”
“Yes,” Bernard says in the robotic tone people tend to take on under glamour. “I’ll go.”
“And forget,” the vamp says.
“And forget.” Shamelessly flashing us his hairy body, Bernard lumbers to his destination.
I do my best to get my racing pulse under control. “What’s this about?” Taking out my hand sanitizer, I apply a generous amount to my slapped cheeks and touched arm. Who knows where that vampire’s hands have been? “I was in the middle of something.”
“We’re here on behalf of the Council,” says the tallest of the bunch, an unusually unattractive specimen of his kind. His hooked nose sits above a thin, downturned mouth, and his brown hair is limp and greasy-looking. However, his pale eyes hold an intense sort of intelligence.
“It’s probably true,” Felix whispers. “That’s Kain, the new leader of the Enforcers. I remember him because of the Legacy of Kain. He even looks a little like the guy in that game series.”
I’d tell Felix to shut it, but I don’t want to give away his presence. No reason for him to go down as my accomplice.
“Why does the Council wish to see me?” I ask in a tone so calm it surprises even me.
“You will only speak when spoken to,” growls the vampire who slapped me earlier.
“No need to be rude, Firth,” Kain says to his lackey. He shifts his pale gaze to me. “I’m afraid you’ll have to appear in front of the Council to learn more.”
I count at least a dozen vampires around me. Not good. “Do I have to?”
“If you want to live,” Kain says without emotion.
“Okay, then. I guess I’m dying to go.”
He tips his head. “Put the contents of your pockets on the bed.”
For a fleeting moment, I consider fighting my way out. Why else did I learn all those martial arts in the dreams of renowned masters? The problem is that vampires are much stronger and faster, not to mention I’m completely outnumbered.
Not looking at Pom, lest they realize he’s contraband from another world, I take out the sleeping grenade, my Earth smartphone, my Gomorran comms, and the vial of diluted vampire blood. I gingerly place it all on the wrinkled sheets, which are still warm from Bernard.
“I should check her,” Firth says—overeagerly, in my opinion.
“Don’t,” Kain says imperiously. He strides over to poke in my stuff. Right away, he homes in on my Gomorran comms. “This is Otherland technology. It’s forbidden to bring it to Earth.”
“Oops.” I grimace. “I didn’t show it to any locals, I swear.”
Kain nods at Firth, and the thin vamp crushes the device in his fist and pockets the broken pieces. What an ass. I’m glad I didn’t bring my pricey hygieia wand from home. Earth hand sanitizers are infinitely worse at germ-killing, but at least they shouldn’t be confiscated.
I’m about to snap at Kain for destroying my property—comms aren’t exactly cheap, either—but Felix whispers into my earpiece, “He just did you a huge favor. If the Council caught you with that, you’d be in major trouble—well, more trouble than whatever you’ve gotten yourself into already.”
Fine. Maybe he’s right. Being an Earth native, Felix knows all the dumb rules here much better than I do.
Kain examines my phone before homing in on the grenade.
“That’s to help with my work,” I say quickly. “It puts people to sleep.”
He puts down the grenade and picks up the vial. Uncorking it, he takes a sniff and looks at me with a raised eyebrow.
I feel my blood rush to my face. “It’s not what you think it’s for.”
His eyebrow lifts higher.
“I only use that to suppress the need to sleep.”
His eyebrow goes back down. “I thought even dreamwalkers needed sleep to survive.”
I shrug, resisting the urge to point out the irony of a vampire lecturing me about blood consumption.
“You can have those back.” Kain gestures at the bed.
I sanitize the phone, the vial, and the grenade before stuffing them back into my pockets. At this rate, I might need another bottle of sanitizer, unless they kill me soon and render that point moot. And since I’m already on this morbid train of thought, I hope they sterilize the sword or ax they plan to behead me with, a bit like humans do with needles for their lethal injections. One thing’s for sure: There’s no way these vampires are going to be willing to stop by a pharmacy for more hand sanitizer, even if it’s on the way.