Night Shade (22 page)

It’s too late though: I’m already being taken away. The black and white room and Rawlins’ shocked expression give way to a cliff edge and a freezing cold wind. I ball up my fists and try not to cry.

‘Help me.’

Where did that come from? I spin round but can’t see anyone. It comes again, a tiny croak, barely audible over the wind. ‘Help me.’

Slowly, I edge over to the cliff and peer down. Dr Pat is hanging over the side, her fingers wrapped round a vine.

‘Hold on! I’ll help you!’ I flop down onto my belly, digging my feet into the soft ground to try and gain some purchase. Dr Pat’s legs are kicking helplessly behind her. I reach over the cliff edge to try and grab her arms. Her eyes are glazed with panic.

‘Come on!’ I yell. Then I stop abruptly. She’s not going to die; as far as she’s concerned, this is only a dream. It’s only a Traveller’s life that would be in danger. I steel myself. I don’t want to do this – but I will.

‘Dr Pat,’ I say as clearly as I can, ‘I will help you if you help me.’

She doesn’t hear me. Her legs flail more wildly and I can see the strain in her biceps. I reach over once more and this time I take hold of her arms. At the very moment I think I’ve got her, her head whips up and her eyes fix on mine.

‘Hi, Dr Pat. I won’t let you fall but you need to do something for me first. You need to tell the police that I couldn’t have done it. I couldn’t have killed anyone because I really am agoraphobic. I’m a bit confused because of the medication I’m on and I’m having strange dreams, but I’m not capable of murder. Do you understand?’

Her pupils are dilated. I have no idea whether anything I’ve said has sunk in. My fingers are starting to lose their grip on her so, rather than try again, I pull her up over the cliff to safety. She rolls onto her back, staring up at the sky. And then I’m being pulled away again.

Strangely, this time I know where I am. The supermarket delivery kid must suffer from recurring dreams because this is the same river, with the same set of bears and the same cute little puppy. I don’t even think about it; I race over and scoop the dog up in my arms and back away. It licks my face. The kid picks up a fish and throws it at the first bear. The puppy whines while I work out what to do. I look from the kid to the bears to the river and I make a decision.

Still gripping the puppy, I rush forward and grab the basket of fish. I dart to my right, keeping as far away from the bears as I can, then leap into the river, gasping at the cold. I plunge across to the opposite bank. The current is surprisingly strong and several times I’m almost carried away. I’m painfully aware of the nearest bear, the one which kept killing the puppy in the previous dreams; its head has swivelled round and it’s definitely eyeballing me.

I’m barely three feet from safety when the bear makes a move. I catch sight of its lumbering shape out of the corner of my eye and, forgetting to breathe, I rush forward. The bear is too fast: one massive paw swipes at my head. I duck but the bear’s claws rake across my cheek. I yelp in pain and try to leap for the bank while the bear charges again. Before it can connect this time, something flies through the air, knocking it on the side of its head.

I clamber up out of the river. The kid, who is still on the other side of the bank, picks up another stone and throws it. The bear roars angrily.

‘Yeah?’ the boy shouts. ‘Come on then!’

I back away, trying to keep my grip on the squirming puppy. I grab a fish with my free hand and toss it. The bear grabs it, throwing me a malevolent glare. Then it vanishes. The kid jumps up and down, cheering.

‘Thank you!’ I shout and he gives me a bow.

‘Sometimes a stick is more effective than a carrot,’ I mutter as I feel myself being dragged away yet again.

I’m at a ball. Everywhere I look, there are couples dancing although there doesn’t appear to be any music. The women are wearing huge ball gowns in every colour of the rainbow with tiny bodices and vast billowing skirts; the men are in tuxedos. I dart in between them, searching for the florist. It doesn’t matter how many people I bump into, they all keep the same fixed smiles on their faces and continue waltzing.

I’ve almost made a circuit of the room when the couples suddenly freeze and then slowly turn. Nobody speaks and there’s no sound, but all their faces are pictures of shock and admiration. I follow their eyes. At the far end, next to a large staircase, stands the florist. Her gown is more dramatic and more beautiful than anyone else’s; it shimmers and, when she finally starts to move, makes her look as if she is gliding.

A good-looking man appears, strides to the foot of the stairs and holds out his arm. The florist takes it and he sweeps her onto the floor. The other couples start dancing again but this time there’s a spotlight on the florist and her beau. She looks happy and relaxed and I realise there’s nothing about this dream that I want to change – until another man steps in front of them and pulls her away.

The florist obviously doesn’t want to go and her eyes search desperately for escape. The second man doesn’t want to give her up, though, and grabs her time and time again. I purse my lips and watch them, finally realising what’s going on. Somehow, I don’t think this is a problem I can solve here. I need to see both her and her colleague in person.

‘I want to leave now,’ I mutter. I don’t want to wake up – I still have one more dream to go – so I don’t want to do the same as when I last left the Dreamlands. I need to try something else.

I weave in and out of the couples until I reach the florist. The second man is still trailing after her but I’m getting annoyed by him so I block his body, reach out for her arm and pinch her skin. She frowns. I try again but achieve much the same effect.

Biting my lip nervously, I look in her eyes. ‘I’m really sorry about this,’ I tell her and kick her in the stomach. I would have gone for her shin but the meringue-like ball gown would have stopped me connecting with her body. I know I’ve not done her any real damage – she’s not a Traveller – but as I’m tugged backwards and out of her dream, I still feel like a shit.

Part of me is expecting the final dream to be like the supermarket kid’s –a replica of what I’ve already experienced. It is similar, but it’s definitely not identical. Instead of being trapped in rank, thick fog, I’m in a maze. I can hear shouts for help but, thanks to the high hedges that tower all around me, I can’t see what’s going on.

I try jumping up to get a better look but it’s pointless. I’ll just have to solve the maze to save him.

I start at a jog. It’s a tiring business being dragged from dream to dream and I’m anxious to finish up, but I’m determined to find Mr MailQuick first. I vaguely remember once being told that the way to solve a maze is to continually turn left. I do just that as I come to the first junction. When I reach the second alley and follow it to a dead end, I go back and re-trace my steps, turning left again. I continue in this fashion for some time, until my feet are dragging. I curse aloud. Perhaps because this is a dream maze it doesn’t work in the same way as a real maze.  I certainly don’t seem to be getting anywhere.

I wonder how hard it would be to make a gap in the hedge and squeeze through. I shove my shoulder into the thick foliage but I barely penetrate a few inches. But I’m a dreamweaver. The hedge isn’t real so in theory I can make it open up through my will.

I step back and point at it. ‘Open sesame!’ Nothing happens. I imagine myself as Moses parting the Red Sea and gesture with both hands. ‘Part!’ Still nothing happens. ‘Abracadabra?’

‘Now what are you doing?’

I almost fall over. You have got to be kidding me. I turn round and see Dante, his head half-cocked, a dark curl falling across his brow. He looks puzzled.

‘How did you get here?’ I ask angrily.

He shrugs. ‘I’m a tracker. When you didn’t show up in the Dreamlands, I got worried so I tracked you.’

‘You can do that?’

‘Sure.’ He looks me up and down. ‘And not a moment too soon, it would appear. Not only are you holding a conversation with a plant, but you look incredibly bedraggled.’

I glance down. I’m still wet from the river and covered in dust from the cliff top. ‘I’ve been busy,’ I murmur. Then a thought strikes me and I look around wildly. ‘Wait a minute! Can anyone just follow me around? What if the Mayor shows up?’

Dante’s face remains impassive. ‘You’re the only dreamweaver. I’m the only tracker.’

My fears aren’t allayed. ‘That’s why you worked for him. He wanted you because you can find people.’

His eyes narrow. ‘Everyone makes mistakes. When I realised he was looking for important people whose dreams he could observe and use against them, I stopped.’

‘You could have stopped him.’

‘Not when everyone thinks the Mayor is the only person holding the Dreamlands together. Public opinion is important, Zoe.’ His voice is tired. I wonder whether he’s trying to persuade me or persuade himself. I give him a break and change the subject.

‘How do you do it?’ I demand.

‘The Bubble. As long as I know what I’m looking for, I can sense traces and follow them.’ His irritation increases. ‘If you didn’t keep bouncing around from dream to dream then I’d have found you a lot quicker.’

‘I thought only the Mayor’s goons were allowed into the Bubble,’ I say suspiciously. ‘Are you sure you’re not still on his side?’

I receive a scornful look. ‘Just like only the Mayor’s goons were allowed into the house where the mares were being kept, you mean? We all have our means, Zoe.’

‘Why now? Bron said you didn’t start working against the Mayor until I appeared.’

He doesn’t meet my eyes. ‘Because up until now, there’s been a limit to what the Mayor can do. With a dreamweaver in his pocket, things would be different.’

‘I’m not in his pocket,’ I point out.

‘I’m going to make sure you never are.’ His voice is hard.

I sniff, not sure I trust him. ‘Well, as you can see, I’m fine. And I’m my own person, not yours or the Mayor’s. You can go back to the Dreamlands. Keep an eye on the Mayor and find out what he’s up to. I’m busy.’

‘I already know what the Mayor’s up to,’ Dante answers silkily.

My curiosity gets the better of me. ‘What?’

‘He’s looking for you, of course.’

My mouth suddenly goes dry. ‘Oh.’

Dante reaches out, his fingertips brushing against my cheek. ‘You’re hurt.’

‘It’s nothing.’

‘Bear?’ he guesses. ‘They’re pretty common in dreams.’

I pull away. ‘Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there?’ Against my own will, I reach out towards his scar. He seems to want to pull away but he suffers my touch, his body rigid as I trace the jagged line. ‘Perhaps now we’ll match.’

Dante opens his mouth to answer but at that moment the MailQuick man starts shouting for help again. His voice seems far away but his plaintive cries are still distinct. Dante raises his eyebrows. ‘I take it that’s the dreamer?’

‘Yeah,’ I say ‘So?’

‘Is he someone special to you?’

‘No,’ I snap.

‘So why are you here?’

‘I’m practising,’ I say. ‘And you’re getting in my way.’

I move as if to go but Dante gently holds me back. ‘You’re prickly again all of a sudden.’

‘Do you blame me?’

His shoulders stiffen and his voice drops. ‘After yesterday, I thought we were on the same side.’

‘We might have the same goals,’ I sniff, ‘but our methods are very different. I work better alone.’

He sighs. ‘You’re still upset about the plan to kill the mares. You have to understand that we were doing what we had to. If the Mayor took them to the Bubble and set all six of them onto someone...’

‘You knew I could approach Pegasus. Jesus, Dante, we made a deal that I’d show you how to do the same! You could have come to me first.’

‘Except,’ he says quietly, ‘I didn’t know if I could trust you.’

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever. I knew that much from bloody Somnolence.’

I’m aware of him watching me carefully. ‘That
was
you. I wasn’t sure. I only knew that someone had breached it.’

‘Yes, it was me.’ Then, unable to help myself, ‘And I saw what you wrote about me.’

For a moment he seems baffled. ‘What do you mean?’

I’m instantly embarrassed. ‘Never mind.’

‘Zoe, what did I write?’

I’m saved by Mr MailQuick. This time he gives a high-pitched scream. I take off. He might be having a nightmare but he’s provided me with the perfect excuse to get away from Dante. If only Dante thought the same – unfortunately he takes off with me.

‘You’re going the wrong way,’ he says.

‘Oh yeah? How would you know? You’re just a ...’ Damn it. Just a tracker. I stop running and look at him. ‘Fine.’ I sigh. ‘Which way is he?’

He jerks his head in the opposite direction. I narrow my eyes but he simply laughs and holds up his palms. ‘I’m telling the truth.’

I swallow my pride. ‘Will you take me there?’

His silver eyes glitter and I feel an odd flutter in my stomach. ‘Of course. There’s no need to run, though. He’s not going anywhere for a while.’

‘How can you tell?’

‘It’s part of my tracking skill. I know when someone’s about to wake up.’

‘And can you track someone in the real world?’

‘No. So you don’t need to worry. I still don’t know who you really are or where you live.’

‘I’m not worried,’ I lie.

He smirks at me and takes my hand. ‘Of course you’re not. Come on.’

We walk in silence for several minutes. ‘So what’s new with you?’ Dante eventually asks.

I’ve just been detained on suspicion of committing a double murder, I think. Except I know he’s only trying to take my mind off the MailQuick man’s shouts. I shrug awkwardly. ‘Apart from witnessing the Mayor kill someone? Not much.’

He sighs. ‘I’m sorry you had to see that.’

‘We could have tried to stop him.’

‘Then you’d be dead too.’

He’s still holding my hand so I pull it away and absently rub my fingers. ‘Why hasn’t someone done something about him?’

‘You mean the Mayor?’ Dante sighs and pushes back his hair. ‘I know it sounds easy enough but it’s not.’