Dream Hunter (Bailey Spade 2)

“I’ll send Bailey his home address,” Napoleon says and gesticulates with his little red hands. “He’s there now.”

I check my inbox. “Got it.”

“You’re a useful person to know,” Valerian says, extending his hand to Napoleon.

My little red friend shakes the offered hand enthusiastically. “I have a feeling this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Sure, if we redefine “friendship” as “extortion.”

“We’d better go,” I say.

“Be careful,” Napoleon says earnestly. “He’s dangerous.”

I give him a sharp-edged smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll live so you can shake us down another day.”

Once we’re back in the car, I turn to Valerian. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Because of their dual nature, werewolves are difficult to dreamwalk in. When I attempted it during the New York Council investigation, I failed.”

He cocks his head. “And you’re just telling me this now because…?”

I shrug. “There’s a technique I know that might help. In the dream, I’d split into two, one of me to tackle the wolf’s dream, and the other to handle the man’s. I did something like that when I fought Hekima, who, as an illusionist, was also difficult to deal with in the dream world.”

His dark eyebrows knit together. “I have to think about this.”

I fight the urge to kiss the frown off that face. “What’s there to think about?”

“When I make a decision, I’ll tell you.” He hands me a familiar breathing mask. “For now, it’s moot anyway. Like with Erato, we’re just going to establish a connection and scram.”

“Hopefully not just like with Erato,” I mutter and put on the mask.

He covers his face with his mask as well—a pity.

“Remember, don’t talk out loud when we’re in the building,” he says, the mask muffling his voice.

Going into VR, I message him one word: affirmative.

He chuckles.

Before I can say or write more, we land on the roof of the werewolf’s building.

Our elevator ride is uneventful, and the hallway on the fortieth floor is empty—not that making us invisible would be a problem for Valerian’s powers. When we reach the apartment door, I message Valerian to hold on for a few seconds.

I’ve just remembered the touchless dreamwalking I read about in the journal, and I want to try it again. Not only would it spare me contact with germy skin, but also the need for breaking and entering.

Assuming it works, of course.

I strain.

And strain.

The only thing I have to show for my efforts is a vague feeling. When I focus on it, I find the sensation strange. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say a part of me thinks a person is sleeping nearby. Well, obviously people are sleeping nearby; it’s night. But this feeling is not just common sense. It’s… well, a kind of sense, but so faint that I have to conclude it’s all in my head.

Probably just nerves.

I message Valerian that we’re a go.

Nodding, he takes out the device he used the last time and waves it over the lock. There’s a click, and the door slides out of our way. He takes out his electronics-disabling gizmo and tosses it inside.

Getting his sleep grenade ready, he steps in, and I follow—only to freeze when he does.

Five feet away from the door is a giant dog bed, where a shaggy werewolf in his animal form is sleeping. At least, I hope he’s sleeping. I don’t have that much experience when it comes to slumbering wolves.

Suddenly, the werewolf whimpers, and his giant paws swat at something that isn’t there.

That settles that. He’s sleeping.

Valerian looks at the wolf, then at the grenade in his hand.

I shake my head and quietly crouch next to the beast.

As I touch the fur on his muscular back, I pray canines—and especially werewolves—are in REM sleep when they whimper and flail like that.

With a whiff of ozone, the room darkens around me, and I fall in.

I appear in my dream palace—and, thankfully, not in a subdream.

Good. Connection made. Now Valerian and I need to skedaddle.

With a quick wave at Pom, I hop out of the dream world and carefully rise to my feet.

But not carefully enough, it seems.

The werewolf’s eyes pop open, staring directly at me.

My adrenaline spikes to toxic levels.

The wolf growls menacingly and tenses for a leap.

Chapter Sixteen

Reacting on autopilot, I grab my gun, aim at the ferocious maw, and shoot.

The werewolf slumps onto his dog bed.

Whew. I cover my chest with my hand. My heart is still threatening to punch a hole in my ribcage.

LEGO letters appear, and they look kind of angry: You killed him?

Puck. We did need this guy for information.

But wait.

I check the gun screen and exhale in relief as I show it to Valerian. Luckily for the werewolf, the last time I used the gun, it was in stun mode, and it seems the setting stays the same when you turn on the gun again.