Before I Wake (30 page)

He checked his watch. “Eight hours.”

“Before me,” I amended, letting my exasperation show.

“Why?” He poured ketchup on his hash browns.

“Because I’d like to know.”

Flipping the top closed on the bottle, he set it in front of me. He looked amused—annoyingly so. “No, you don’t.”

“That’s a little presumptuous.”

“Women never want to know.” He licked a drop of ketchup from his thumb. “You say you do, but you don’t. Men never want to know either.”

“You’re either very enlightened, or you had sex with someone two hours before I got here and don’t want to tell me.”

He laughed then. Not a chuckle, but a full-on bark of laughter. “You’re so suspicious.”

I shrugged. “Well?”

He folded his forearms on the edge of the table and leaned toward me. “There’s a difference between sleeping with someone and getting laid. You’re the first woman I’ve slept with since my divorce.”

Oh. The sharp, sweet heat of pleasure blossomed in my chest. His explanation should have been good enough. “What’s the difference?”

Sighing, he plucked a piece of bacon off my plate and held it out to me. I took it. “The difference is that we’re having breakfast.”

I smiled as I reached for the ketchup. In fact, I was probably grinning like an idiot, but I didn’t care. “I like breakfast.”

Noah glanced down at his plate for a moment before lifting his gaze to mine. I liked what I saw there in the tar black depths of his eyes. He seemed a little less composed than he had a few minutes ago, and it warmed me. “Me too.”

I left after my clothes were dry, showered and belly disgustingly full. Noah walked me to the door and kissed me good-bye. He was going to paint for a bit before meeting his mother for coffee that afternoon. I walked down the street feeling lighter than I had in weeks, and I only looked back once.

Noah was still standing at the door. He waved and I waved back, grinning like the idiot I am.

By the time I reached my own apartment, a lot of the glow had worn off, and I was back to thinking about Karatos and what the hell to do about him. Noah and I would never have a normal relationship until the Terror was gone, and so that had to become my top goal in life. Not just for my own sake but because lives depended on it.

I checked my voice mail—nothing. I wondered if my family had set a date with the specialist yet. Would anyone tell me when they did? Maybe I was better off not knowing. Then I wouldn’t have to decide how to act or feel like a traitor to one side or the other.

I called the number Antwoine had given me. He answered on the third ring, and from the sound of it was in line at the grocery store. He told me he could meet me in a couple of hours, and I hung up to get ready.

I changed my clothes and put on a bit of a face. Oddly enough, I hadn’t minded that Noah had seen me without makeup. I was more upset about having gone to bed without washing my face first. I never did that—it was bad for the skin. I called and made an appointment for a facial to make up for it.

Antwoine and I were going to meet at a Starbucks on Fifth, so I had an hour before I needed to go. I thought about Karatos, of course, and Verek and my father and Noah. All of them seemed to think I had this great potential, but I had yet to truly tap it.

Surely what I had done to Karatos that morning was an improvement? But there were so many things I should be able to do and nothing to tell me how to learn those powers. Supposedly I’d been born with them, but I didn’t know how to call them forth.

I needed a mentor. I needed to find an older, more experienced Nightmare who would help me unlock my potential. Did they have a Big Brothers, Big Sisters for Nightmares? My father had helped me a fair bit, but he was king and not exactly impartial.

My best bet was probably Verek, who would teach me out of loyalty to my father, and therefore to me.

Finally, it was time to leave. I pulled on black leather boots and a matching coat. The black went well with the cranberry chenille turtleneck sweater and jeans I was wearing. I slung a black leather messenger bag over my shoulder to complete the look and off I went. It wasn’t very PETA-friendly of me to be wearing so much animal hide, I know, but I liked the feel and durability of leather, and since I ate cow, I saw no problem in wearing it as well.

It was cool, but not too crisp, so I walked the few blocks to Fifth and up another couple to the Starbucks where Antwoine and I had agreed to meet. It was warmer than Central Park, and I could make sure Antwoine had something to eat while we were there. I wasn’t sure if he worked, or if he even had a place to live, and I cared enough to want to help him if I could.

Antwoine was waiting for me, wearing that same old reddish leather jacket with a dark brown sweater and old cords. He looked like he’d had a haircut and he smiled when he saw me. I smiled back, genuinely happy to see this strange little man who knew what I was and was okay with it.

I needn’t have worried about Antwoine’s financial situation. When it came time to pay for our coffee and treats, he whipped out a wallet fat with cash and plastic and paid for mine as well. I managed to mumble a thanks. You would think someone with my amount of education in the study of people wouldn’t fall victim to assumptions, but I had and I felt stupid for it.

“What is it you do, Antwoine?” I asked when we sat down.

“I’m retired,” he informed me. “Won the New York State Lotto a few years back.” The look on my face must have been something, because he started laughing when he looked at me. Then he shook his head and took a drink of his coffee.

“You didn’t call me here to discuss my financials, did you, girl?”

Somehow, I found what sense I had left, and my voice. “No. I wanted to ask you a question, but I have to tell you something first.”

He broke a piece off the top of a bran muffin and popped it in his mouth. “I got a question for you, too. Did you find Madrene?”

His succubus. God, I had totally dropped the ball on that. Still, I had a good excuse for letting it slip my mind. “No. I’m sorry Antwoine. With all that’s been going on—”

He held up a hand. “Don’t apologize. I just had to ask.”

“I’ll find her, I promise.”

He nodded, taking me at my word, and I planned to keep it. “Now, what did you want to tell me?”

This was hard. I felt like an idiot, like I had let him down. “I think you might be in danger.”

He didn’t even blink. “Nothing new there, girl.”

Just who did this guy associate with? “From the Terror. He visited me last night disguised as Noah and asked me questions. I told him your name before I realized it was Karatos.”

Antwoine frowned. “He came to you in a dream as your young man?”

“Yeah, the bastard. I almost believed it.”

“The Terror must’ve taken some of Noah’s energy.”

“That’s what I figured. He did the same thing to my roommate, but he didn’t pretend to be her.”

“Unless she knows what you are, there’d be no point for the Terror to do that.” Antwoine was still frowning as he took a drink of his coffee. “Don’t you worry about me. That thing can’t touch me where I am. Nothing can.”

That was a huge relief. “Oh, thank God.”

He flashed me a grandfatherly smile. “You take too much responsibility upon yourself, child. Now, you had a question for me?”

“Karatos’s fascination with Noah. Why would a Terror routinely stalk a lucid dreamer?” I swallowed. “Why not just kill him like he did the others.” Except for Lola, of course.

Maybe he’s coming back for her, a voice in my head whispered. I tried to ignore it.

Antwoine took another nibble of muffin. “A Terror could feed off one of them for a long time.”

“Karatos says he doesn’t want to hurt this dreamer. Says he has plans for him.”

Antwoine’s leathery brow wrinkled. “Plans?”

“Yeah. Any idea what those plans might be?”

Shifting in his chair, Antwoine sat up ramrod straight. “You say this Terror’s been killing other dreamers?”

I nodded. “Not all of them have been lucid dreamers, but many seem to have been strong dreamers or plagued by terrible dreams.”

“Of course he would be drawn to those with a predisposition toward horror. But he hasn’t killed everyone he has come in contact with?”

I thought of Lola again. “No, thank God.”

He thought for a moment. “And he keeps coming back to this one dreamer.”

It wasn’t a question, but I responded anyway. “Yes.”

“A strong lucid dreamer.”

“Very strong.”

“Who he has had plenty of opportunity to kill but doesn’t.”

“It’s like Karatos is trying to see how far he can push Noah before he breaks him.” The implication of the words sank in seconds after they left my mouth, leaving me with an awful shaky feeling in my gut.

Antwoine rubbed a hand over his face. The second knuckles on his fingers were large and a little crooked with arthritis. “I think the Terror is trying your friend on for size.”

I didn’t get it. “Trying him on?”

He leaned forward on his elbows, moving in close so he could whisper to me. “He’s trying to cross over into this world.”

I shook my head. “That’s impossible. Dreamkin, especially Epiales, can’t survive in this world.”

“They can if they find a dreamer powerful enough to bring them in. A good host, and they’re all set.”

“Like demonic possession?”

He snapped his fingers. “Exactly. This thing has been stealing the essence of his victims. Probably he’s been doing it for a long, long time, building up that human feel. Once he’s built up enough power, worn a human disguise long enough, he’s going to climb inside your friend and cross over into this world.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but the horror of it cut through me, leaving behind nothing but numbness. I couldn’t let Karatos take Noah.

Oh my God. What if he had taken him already? What if that was the difference I saw in him?

I was going to be sick.

My chai tea was thrust into my hand. “Take a drink. Now.”

I did as I was told, and it helped a bit. “How would I know if this had already happened?”

Antwoine picked at his bran muffin again. “A newly hatched Terror would be just twitchin’ to get out and cause some damage. If your friend seems manic, aggressive—like everything is new and fascinating, then I’d worry.”

Relief washed over me like a bucket of warm water over my head. Noah was none of those things. Not yet.

“Don’t going sighing on me just yet, missy.” He took a drink of coffee. “If this thing crosses over, he’s gonna make Jack the Ripper look like Prince Charming. You need to keep your friend out of The Dreaming. He can’t cross over without a body. He can’t survive here without a body.”

I nodded. “I’ll make sure Noah stays safe.”

“Your friend’s not the only person you need to worry about.” At my puzzled gaze, he continued, his expression both grim and worried. “If that Terror crosses over, who do you think his first victim is going to be?”

At the end of the day, what it came down to was that I was a big fat chicken shit.

I left Antwoine outside of Starbucks. He must have seen how messed-up I was because the poor guy hugged me before I stumbled off like the zombie I was. I needed to walk for a bit. I needed to work off this trembling, impotent anger before I exploded.

I kept my head down, my hands shoved in the pockets of my coat. My gaze was fixed on the sidewalk ahead of me, and I shifted and veered according to the crowd around me, but I kept walking.

Karatos. He had forced me back into The Dreaming. He had toyed with my dreams and me. He might not have hurt me, but he had raped me all the same. Hurting me came later—physical hurt, I mean. He had killed Nancy Leiberman. He’d taunted Lola.

He had treated Noah like a cat toy, and wanted to use him as a puppet. The Terror had fucked my life and the people I cared about for the last time.

Heat ran through my veins, burning just beneath my skin until I felt like a kettle about to boil. When I was a kid I used to pretend I was one of the X-Men—Storm or Phoenix. I’d point my fingers at something and pretend I was zapping it with lightning or lifting it with telekinesis. I felt like doing that now, but I had the weirdest feeling that if I did, something really would happen.

Someone bumped into me, knocking me backward as he slammed into my shoulder. “Watch it,” he barked.

At that moment, I wanted to take this stranger’s head off. Slowly, I looked up, meeting the guy’s snarly gaze. His features slackened, the belligerent light in his eyes fading to something disconcerted, uncertain. Afraid? “Sorry,” he muttered, and shouldered his way through oncoming pedestrians like the cops were after him.

Frowning, I glanced at myself in the window of the building right beside me. What the hell?

My heart was pounding as I ducked around the corner onto a side street with less traffic. I put my back against the cold stone and swung my backpack off my shoulders. Inside I had a compact and I grabbed it, opening it so I could look at myself in the mirror.

Holy Shit. Some of the color was coming back, but there was no mistaking what had freaked the guy out.

My eyes were so pale they were almost colorless. As I watched, the blue started filling in once more, but those awful spidery black rims were slower to fade. As the anger in me gave way to awe and yes, fear, my eyes slowly morphed back into their normal appearance.

It wasn’t so odd for my eyes to change. Many Dreamkin had pale eyes with dark rims. Karatos did, and sometimes my father as well. They were more light-sensitive, making it easier to peer into the darkness of dreams. No, it wasn’t strange to have that kind of eyes in The Dreaming.

What was weird is that I shouldn’t have them here. Human eyes didn’t just switch color like that, not so completely.

The change in my eyes had corresponded with a feeling of great power and I was glad I hadn’t given in to the urge to release what I had felt. I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew I was going to keep my mouth shut about it for the time being.

Whatever it was that had just happened to me, it wasn’t good.