Dreamwalker. Part 12

She snorted delicately. "He might well do so, once his precious Shadows start going mad."

"As opposed to their normal state?" He chuckled softly. "Remember, we're talking about certifiably insane people here. If you can even call them people. One wonders if a dreamwalker's influence would even be noticed in such crowd."

"Madmen in charge of all the human worlds," she mused. "Or at least the pa.s.sage between them. How did we allow ourselves to be brought to such a pa.s.s?"

Wells shrugged. "No one but a madman would be willing to do what they do. And our own Guilds profit handsomely enough from the arrangement, so we're hardly ones to complain." He gazed at her in silence for a moment, as the fleeting spark of humor faded from his eyes. "Rumor has it-rumor, mind you-that the Shadows suspect the boy isn't from Terra Colonna at all. They think someone from our world may have planted him there. Now that you've confirmed their suspicions about his Gift, they'll want to get enough information out of him to identify the guilty party."

The startled look on the Seer's face morphed quickly into one of suspicion. "Why in all the worlds would anyone do that? There'd be no mercy shown if such treachery were ever discovered. The fury of all the Guilds would come down on their heads."

"That's the big question, isn't it? Unfortunately I'm not on His Lordship's need-to-know list, so I can't help you answer it. All I know is, tomorrow I'm supposed to deliver the boy to the Shadows, then he's their problem, not mine." He nodded. "I will deliver your warning to His Lordship, though . . . for what little good it will do."

Getting up from his chair, he headed over to the sidebar. "This kind of talk calls for a drink. Can I get you something, Your Grace? Scotch, perhaps?" He lifted up a bottle to show her the label. "I've got some thirty-year-old from Terra Nkosi."

"Please." She smiled. "I remember that world fondly. They did produce good scotch. And very fine cocoa." She sighed as he handed her a gla.s.s. "Too bad about the asteroid, though."

"Indeed. That one was a little too close for comfort." He raised his own gla.s.s in a toast. "Death to all dreamwalkers?"

"Death to all dreamwalkers," she agreed.

It was indeed very good scotch.

14.

BLUE RIDGE MOUNTAINS.

VIRGINIA PRIME.

I DON'T KNOW HOW LONG we walked that night. Blindly we staggered through the darkness, fleeing enemies whose powers and motives we could not begin to guess. We didn't even know where we were, in the larger sense. Parallel universe? Alternate timestream? Somewhere in the Twilight Zone? It's not like there were maps for this kind of thing.

All we knew for sure was that we couldn't head back to where we'd left the car, because that would require pa.s.sing by the entrance to the caverns again. Way too risky. Not that we expected the car to actually be there, mind you, but when you're cast adrift in a strange universe, you grasp at any straw.

Since all the known dangers were north of us, we headed south. Once we found a safe place to rest we could discuss more concrete plans. But the terrain was rough and it took us a while to locate a promising campsite. By the time we found a flat bit of ground comfortably far from the vulture citadel, even Devon seemed to have exhausted his final reserves of energy.

It had been a long night.

We made our camp there, heedless of any lesser dangers nature might throw at us. Which, when you didn't have tents, blankets, or any other camping supplies, pretty much meant pushing together a pile of vegetation-living and dead-and going to sleep on it. Fortunately it was summer, which meant that no blankets were needed. We were so exhausted that we probably could have slept on naked rock.

As to the details of our sleeping arrangements, that was another matter. I don't think I was imagining the looks that were going back and forth between Devon and Rita as we picked out our spots, or the sense of unresolved tension in the air. For a while it looked like Devon would settle down very close to me, and I found myself hoping for that. (Because his stable presence was so comforting, I told myself.) But after a glance at Rita, he wound up making his bed on the opposite side of the campsite, as far away from me as a person could possibly get. Which was, in its own way, a pretty powerful statement of interest.

Be careful, I cautioned myself. This three-way partnership is fragile. Don't do anything that might upset it.

We arranged for a watch schedule. I don't remember who was supposed to go first, but whoever it was failed to stay awake, and no one else took over.

A small and furry creature sniffed my nose just as I drifted off. I muttered something incoherent along the lines of Please don't eat my face, and then I was gone.

The morning sun was comfortingly yellow, and there was only one of it, so that much was good.

As we slowly got up from our leafy beds, I took mental stock of the situation. I couldn't speak for the others, but the previous night was mostly a blur to me at that point. I tried to sort out the details in my mind as best I could, but some of them defied rational a.n.a.lysis.

At one point I asked, "You don't think that guy in the cave was really undead, do you?"

Rita shrugged. "He looked undead. And someone called him undead. Who really knows?"

Devon winced as he rubbed a knotted muscle in his neck. "I was hoping someone would tell me I'd dreamed that part."

We shared a meager breakfast of bottled water and breakfast bars, and then Rita and I went off into the woods to find a private spot where we could fertilize the trees. Yeah, I know, it's when the girls go off alone to pee that the serial killer always attacks . . . but it wasn't like there was any real alternative. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

On the way back I added clean underwear to the list of things to pack next time I went rushing off into an alien world.

"So what's the goal here?" Devon asked. "Do we have a more concrete objective than just 'running away'? Not that I have an issue with that as a general guideline, mind you."

"Find out where we are," Rita said. "Figure out exactly what that gate is, and how it works, so we can get back home when we want to. Figure out why people from this world are coming across to ours and killing our friends and family. Because until we find a way to stop that, there's no point in going home."

"Find my brother," I reminded them.

Devon nodded. "It sounded like the Shadows are the ones who took him. Any idea why they would do that?"

That's the million dollar question, isn't it? "Maybe he heard something he shouldn't have. I can see that if stories from this place ever made it into his gaming circuit they'd spread like wildfire. Maybe they want to use him to track down the source of a leak."

"Well," Rita said, "if the Shadows want information from him, they'll keep him alive until they get it."

Yeah, I thought darkly, but what are the odds they're just going to ask for it nicely? History was full of tales of the kinds of horrific tortures that people used to get information or to enforce obedience. Or sometimes just because they thought a display of ruthless ferocity would make them look good. And that was human society-now we had inhuman motives to consider.

But with all that said, there was a spark of hope within me that refused to die. Because my little brother wasn't stupid. Crazy, yes, and game-obsessed, and half a dozen other adjectives that might be delivered with disdain, but never stupid. And twisted stories in which supernatural creatures with unknown powers were threatening to kill him, and he had to solve convoluted mental puzzles in order to stay alive, were second nature to him. If any kid could stay afloat in this crazy situation, it was Tommy.

"What we need right now," Devon said, "is information. Which we're not going to get by hanging out here in the woods. As I see it, we have a choice between going back the way we came-not my personal preference-or finding some locals to talk to. Since it's unlikely we can gather information without that."

I shuddered at the suggestion we talk to anyone. I didn't want to interact with this world any more than I had to. But in my gut I knew he was right. We couldn't just run around blindly, hoping to trip over Tommy.

He pulled out his iPhone and turned it on. I gaped in astonishment as one of his maps appeared on the screen. "You have reception here?"

"No," he said calmly. "I have maps that I cached when there was reception. Since I figured once we entered the caverns there wouldn't be." He thumbed through several screens' worth of data. "Looks like Luray is only a few miles south of us. a.s.suming it even exists in this world. That seems the most likely place to find people." He hesitated. "Not to mention the best chance to lose ourselves in a crowd."

Just in case someone comes looking for us, I thought darkly. None of us really had a clue what would happen when the Shadows figured out that we'd snuck into their world, or how much they would care about coming after us, but we needed to prepare for the worst.

We packed up our half empty water bottles and extra energy bars, took one last look at the vulture citadel as we left the shelter of the trees-it was marginally less ominous by daylight-and then shouldered our packs and headed resolutely south.

15.

SHADOWCREST.

THE SKINNY MAN walked through the halls of the Shadows' citadel with a catlike tread, toe-balanced and silent. His features were lean and angular, and his eyes were focused straight ahead with predatory intensity, unblinking. The scents of the forest clung to his skin and trailed in his wake down the hallway: pine trees, musk, and decay. They seemed to be natural scents, rather than something acquired.

A person who crossed his path at that moment might have jumped back in fright, sensing the animal essence in him before the human essence was apparent. Such a reaction would not be wholly inappropriate or unwise.

At the man's side walked a wolf. It was taller by half than the normal specimen, and as lean and angular as the man was. It didn't look at all pleased to be in such an enclosed s.p.a.ce, and now and then it growled softly in the back of its throat, but when that happened the man would reach out and stroke its hackles, causing it to subside into a sullen but wary silence.

A casual observer might have said that the two of them were walking in lockstep. A more savvy observer might note that there was no way a man and a wolf really could do that, given their anatomy, but the impression of it was strong.

At last they reached their destination. A man was waiting for them there, dressed in the livery of an umbra mina. The skinny man nodded his head slightly in respect. The wolf, out of respect, did not eat him.

"He's waiting for you," the Shadow said. He opened a pair of heavy wooden doors with the symbols of a hundred worlds emblazoned on them, and ushered them inside.

The chamber beyond the doors was immense, with a vast open s.p.a.ce in its center. The audience chambers of the umbrae majae were always like that. Visitors generally wanted to keep s.p.a.ce between them and the scent of death.

At the far end of the room the Guildmaster of Shadows waited. The skinny man walked toward him, heedless of the ghostly voices that whispered on all sides. The wolf's hackles rose and it growled a bit more loudly, but it stayed by his side.

The Shadowlord waited until the skinny man approached within normal speaking distance. It was something few men would do voluntarily "I'm told you have news for me."

The skinny man took two pieces of folded paper from his pocket and handed them over. The Shadow opened them and read.

"Jessica. Jessica Drake." He looked at his visitor. "This is the matter from Terra Colonna? The changeling problem?"

"Aye, Master Virilian."

His eyes narrowed. "This is the girl you supposedly killed?"

"The girl the Greys tried to kill," the skinny man corrected testily. "If I'd done the job she'd be dead."

"So instead she is . . . where?"

He indicated the notes in the Shadowlord's hand. "The letters they left behind suggest they were headed toward the Gate. Three empty trolleys have been found on our side. So logic suggests they came over with the last set of transfers."

"Indeed." The Shadow's displeasure was an ice-edged razor. "The Greys' security is unimpressive."

"So it would seem, Your Lordship." He paused. "They offered me a bribe not to report this."

"Of course they did. Of course they did." The Shadow looked down at the letters again; his expression was thoughtful. "And you took the bribe and promised them secrecy. How fortunate, then, that I discovered the truth by other means."

The skinny man bowed his head. "You are a wise and insightful man, Your Lordship."

"I have loyal servants. That is every bit as important as wisdom." He indicated the letters. "You said there were three trolleys found. I see only two notes. Who was on the third?"

"We don't know that yet, Your Lordship. Probably another changeling. There's evidence some of them were working together right before the Cleansing began."

"Yesss . . ." The word ended in a cold hiss. "A Cleansing that should have begun long ago. The Greys will pay for the delay."

The skinny man said nothing.

"You say they came across on the gurneys. Does this mean you have their scent?"

The skinny man hesitated. "Regretfully, Your Lordship, no. By the time I was informed about the situation the gurneys had been cleaned, and new bodies placed on them. The scents we need could no longer be isolated." The corner of his mouth twitched; a faint note of scorn crept into his voice. "No doubt the Greys were concerned that if their error was discovered it might distract you from more important concerns. They are very loyal and hardworking creatures, Your Lordship."

"Indeed," the Shadow said dryly. "I must remember to praise them as they deserve."

The skinny man's smile bared teeth that had been filed to sharp points, making him seem as feral as the wolf by his side. "There are other ways to hunt, Your Lordship."

The Shadow nodded sharply. "Then do so. Track down these invaders, kill them, and bring me back the bodies so I can personally verify their deaths. It shouldn't be too hard a task. They're primitive creatures from an unenlightened world, and they lack the knowledge they need to survive here, much less hide themselves so well that that the Guild of Soulriders can't find them."

The skinny man's eyebrow raised slightly. "I thought you needed the girl for something."

"We have her brother. He's the one that matters." The Shadowlord waved a hand dismissively. "Kill her, kill any changelings who are with her, kill anyone who tries to protect them. You have my full sanction."

"You don't think the Lord Governor will have issue with that?"

The Shadow scowled. "No mere politician would dare contest my orders. Not when the prosperity of his city depends upon the commerce that flows through my Gate." He nodded sharply toward the door. "Go. Now. Bring me news. And bodies."

The skinny man bowed his head deeply. "Yes, Your Lordship."

"Meanwhile . . ." The Shadow's expression darkened. Given what it had looked like to begin with, the result was uniquely disquieting. "I will deal with the Greys," he promised.

16.

BLUE RIDGE MOUNTAINS.