The Sandman (8 page)

Still, she had to try. “Well, they exist. Didier Lambert was one.” She wouldn’t name Steve or Mirren, though. “And so is Noah. Half-breeds have extra talents Darkside, and, apparently, Noah’s powers can impact dream control. I was lucid, but he had me for a while. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think straight. Not until I broke free.”

“If you broke free, then…you had control.” His tone was smug.

“He knew who I was without my telling him.”

“A mind reader, too? That
is
scary.”

Jerk.
Her teeth set as she leaned in. “I’ve told you everything,” she said. “You’re just not doing anything about it. Nightmares are creeping into the waking world. That much you have to already know or you shouldn’t call yourself Chimera. The nightmares destroyed the black market. And now there’s a hybrid in the Agora who can take away revelers’ control.”

“How about a show of faith?” he asked. “Give me the waking world location of your sister and I’ll look into this Noah character.”

She stood. “Give you— I’m not turning
my sister
over to…to…
idiots
who have
no
idea what is going on.” She looked up at the window. Her shoulders were pushed back, eyes wild.

“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“You can’t help me regardless,” she said harshly. A little spit flew. She didn’t care.

A split second later, he had her pinned face-first on the table, her arm winched behind her back. “You need more time to think this through.”

“I’m not going to change my mind. She’s my
sister
.”

“A warrant for your memory is in the works.”

Electric terror flashed through her, and she struggled against his hold. Memory retrieval was dangerous, not to mention a violation of the most intimate kind. It was only legal in life-and-death situations. Not for anyone’s revenge after the fact. Jordan had thought Senator Fleight might’ve been convinced to be reasonable, considering the nightmare threat, but no, the woman was bent on finding Vince and Mirren, no matter the cost.

“You don’t have the grounds for a memory retrieval,” she snarled.

He leaned over her. “You, yourself, said that nightmares were everywhere. Public safety demands we get answers, and memory retrieval is the most efficient way. Shouldn’t be but a couple of hours until a judge signs off.” He hauled her upright. “You’ve had plenty of chances to tell us yourself.”

She bucked back, but the motion only made her shoulder scream. He effortlessly propelled her through the door, which opened from the outside, as if someone had been waiting.

Chimera HQ was a blur of white walls and shiny floors. A few people paused to watch her go by.

“Nightmares are coming!” she yelled at them. “They’re already here!”

But she knew she sounded like a raving lunatic.

Jordan barely registered the short walk back to the small containment room where they’d been holding her. Concrete. No windows. Just a metal bench bolted to the floor, and a black eye in the corner of the ceiling, watching from above.

She couldn’t let them have her memory. Too much was at stake. Not just Vince and Mirren, but Maze City, too. She had to find a way out, because obviously there was no way for her to erase the memory. Well, maybe if she died they couldn’t get it.

The thought was a cold bucket of water that drowned the hot roil of emotions within her.
If she died.
Had it come to that?

If so, why tell her beforehand, when Osbourne could’ve just sprung the memory retrieval on her when the subpoena arrived.

Maybe he was warning her, not threatening her. Maybe it was the best he could do for Harlen.

The door—made of some kind of glass—slid shut. Presumably locked.

Maze City had to remain safe. Nothing else mattered.

Tears glossed her eyes.

No, Maze City wasn’t the point. Not for her. Jordan would do anything for
Maisie
. Anything. Yes, even resist the retrieval, even if it shredded her mind.

Sera was gone. Maybe Malcolm and Harlen, too.

Jordan wouldn’t let her sister be next.

CHAPTER FIVE

Viv approached Maisie with yet another black market “entrepreneur.” Super thick, ebony hair, eyes close together. He had a mean sneer on his mouth, but he was short, so Maisie relaxed. Finally, someone she could stare down without having to look up.

“I was hoping your appearance was an illusion,” he began with an upward nod of his chin in her direction. “You look like one of those cheap little girlie dolls with heads too big and skirts too short, all of you covered in glitter.”

Maisie gave him a razor-edged smile. Bastard. She didn’t do glitter.

Behind her, Vince laughed out loud. Mirren flanked her on the other side, just returned from yet another trek across the Scrape to deliver a group of these people to their various dreamscapes so they could wake. The ones with whom Maisie made deals would get tandem dreaming tech from Vince so they could descend directly into Maze City to dream. And wake from there, too.

Viv had talked Maisie into including that Corey skank in an effort to break the network that had sent her and appropriate their talent. Maisie was cool with it only because it was going to be fun to watch Jordan tear her apart later.

“Maisie, this is Ivan,” Viv said. “He fought in the Rêve War and then went straight into business for himself. Mostly mercenary enterprises. He has a reputation for getting jobs done.”

“I hate mercenaries,” Maisie said. “Friend of mine killed a mercenary here just the other day.” Since Sera had gone to help Steve, she was Maisie’s new
best
friend.

Ivan’s unibrow went up. “Yet you want to hire me to protect this place?”

“I don’t want to hire you.” Anyone who took appearances at face value, especially Darkside of all places, was not for her. Definitely not for Maze City.

“Vivienne said you did.”

Maisie cocked her big girlie head. “Viv was wrong.”

Frankly, she wished Steve were here to talk the whole thing over with her. Because, well, bad guys. She’d been a courier for people like these, and she’d almost unknowingly killed a nice old man who’d been bundled up like a ham to be delivered to his untimely and gruesome demise. So, yeah, she was feeling a little conflicted. Was she just like them, after all? She’d kinda wanted to be good—good like Steve, good like Jordan—not the mayor of Bad Town.

These were not the people she’d imagined inhabiting her city.

“Actually,” Viv said, “I mentioned coming to an agreement regarding his services.”

“Ah, okay,” Maisie said. “We agree
not
to use his services. He can mercenary himself on the Scrape with the nightmares.” To him, she said, “Thanks for playing.”

She was so
done
with strange people in her city. Bullies, all of them. This was taking forever, and she’d never had much patience to begin with. Plus, she couldn’t wake and find out how Steve was doing until all the black market revelers were gone or else they’d just be dumped in the sand.

“She’s a
child
,” he said to Viv. “She can’t run this place.”

“I built it,” Maisie said, though she knew he was goading her.

“Not the same thing,” Ivan said. “And you should know the difference.”

Viv held up a hand. “Maisie is indeed young. But she’s also extremely talented. I think you’ll find that she is more than capable of mastering this city.”

“Not the people within it.”

Enough, already.
Maisie flicked her gaze behind him, and with a mental yank, she pulled the brick wall of the building outward to crush him. Wouldn’t kill him, necessarily.

The crash was momentarily deafening. Gray dust rolled in clouds over the debris.

“Missed me,” a snide male voice called.

Confused, Maisie searched for the source.

And dammit, Ivan stood to her left, some five meters down the road outside the coffeehouse, smirking.

Teleportation. She’d heard of it, and in theory she understood that the distance between point A and point B meant nothing Darkside, but she hadn’t been able to teleport herself. Nevertheless, very cool. Too bad Ivan the Mercenary was not. Seemed he was testing her, or showing off, or trying to prove a point, all of which were rude considering he was a guest here.

If anyone was going to prove a point, she was. Maisie glanced at Mirren over her shoulder.

“My pleasure,” Mirren said.

The pavement beneath Ivan’s feet dissolved into gold Scrape sand, glowing against the dark charcoal of the street, and Ivan sank ankle deep into it.

“What the…?” he said.

Maisie turned to Viv. “Yeah, this guy and me. We don’t get along.”

Ivan fought the quicksand, which any
child
would know not to do. “Hey!” he growled. “Let me go, bitch! Now!”

Viv inclined her head. “His teleportation could be very helpful.”

Maisie put a finger to her chin as if pondering. “His helpful teleportation would be moot if I killed him out of frustration.”

Waist-deep and clawing at the street before him, he splashed sand all around, creating golden rays, like a mini-sun, blazing on the ground.

“Um.” Maisie gave Mirren a pained smile. “Just FYI? There’re monsters under my city.”

“Come again?” Vince said, but his crazy-style grin was already half-cocked.

“Before I had much dream control,” Maisie explained, “I may have made monsters. And then I couldn’t get rid of them, so I just kinda paved over them.”

“Monsters like nightmares?” Viv sounded incredulous.

“No,” Maisie sighed. “These monsters are all me. Versions of me, anyway.” Because she was bad. There was something wrong with her. “Which is why they are so hard to get rid of. They’re as strong as I am.”

“There’s something down there!” Ivan roared. “Pull me out! Somebody pull me out!”

No one, not even the bystanders, moved to help.

Viv’s face went cold. “Monsters. And you’re just telling us this now?”

Maisie opened her hands and shrugged. “I didn’t invite anyone here. People just keep showing up, asking to stay. Clearly, I have issues. And those issues lurk under my city.” Ivan screamed. “And they’re probably nibbling on his feet right now. They won’t kill him like a nightmare, though. Just torture him a little bit.” She smiled widely. “A mercenary can use some torture now and again, am I right?”

Ivan spat obscenities toward them. “Gonna fuckin’
end
you!”

“You let me bring David here,” Mirren said.

Maisie waved the mommy-worry away. “I’m pretty sure
your
child would have fun with my monsters. Or turn them into big piles of sand. This dude, however…” Ivan screamed again. “He only has his teleportation to save him.”

“I think that’s enough,” Viv said. “Are you absolutely decided against him, then?”

“He called me a cheap little girlie doll.”

Viv blinked at her, waiting.

Maisie sighed again. “Fine. If you think I need him, he can stay.”

On cue, Mirren had the sand around him pucker and Ivan was propelled upward, then he collapsed facedown on the pavement. His feet were intact, and he used them to stand.

See? No harm, no foul.

Dreamwaters trembling with his fury, Ivan approached them again, brushing off the excess Scrape sand from his clothing. Where the golden flecks fell, they melted into the street.

“You still gonna ‘end’ me?” Maisie asked.

He looked at the ground, hands on his hips. “No.” In spite of his anger, his voice was level, tone careful. “But if I’m going to help you defend this place, then my wife and son dream here, too.” He lifted his gaze to meet hers. Behind his pride, he was pleading, and it made her heart hurt.

Wife and kid, huh? If he’d led with that, this would’ve gone differently. But then again, maybe he’d really needed to see what she and her friends were capable of.

Extending her hand, she said, “Yeah, okay.”

***

Rook sat on a bench in the gray box of a Chimera holding cell. He gripped his head with his hands, elbows on his knees. He’d always half expected to be on this side of the bars. He knew he deserved to be, just not for this.

“So, you think Sera got out before the raid?” Harlen had asked the question at least five times in the last hour. Each time, his voice had gotten rougher.

Soon after Rook had awakened, he’d been transferred to holding and had found Harlen pacing the cell. Convenient that they were together. Also convenient for the Oneiros, who were most definitely listening.

“I don’t know, man. Maybe. We can’t
all
have bad luck.” Which was a lie, and even though they were in the waking world, Harlen would know it.

The door outside the cell opened, and both Rook and Harlen stood. The effects of the fight in the Scrape had Rook wavering on his feet slightly, so he put a hand to the polyglass separating the cell from the walkway. Osbourne stepped into the small space.

He and Rook went way back. He was one of the few men Rook trusted within Chimera. Harlen had trusted him, as well, or he wouldn’t have picked him for his Darkside Division.

Rook glanced at the circular black bulb in the ceiling. The cells were constantly being monitored.

“Don’t worry,” Osbourne said. “Greer shut the camera down. We can talk freely.”

Good man. Rook would repay the favor…someday. “Jordan Lane here?”

He nodded. “She’s okay. Tough lady. Keeps going on about the lead singer of the band Revelations. Says he’s a hybrid, whatever the hell that is.”

“Half nightmare, half human,” Rook said. “They exist. Some are good and some are bad.”

“Half
night
—”

“Anything about Serafina Rochan?” Harlen cut in.

Osbourne’s gaze shifted to Harlen, and he paused a moment as his features hardened. “I’m sorry, sir. Got it from ground support that a young female was shot at the site.”

Harlen made a low, guttural sound, as if he’d been hit in the gut, and he stepped back with the force of it. Osbourne had to be talking about Sera. Other than Jordan, she’d been the only other young female at the beach house.