Dream Chaser (Bailey Spade 3)

Moving preternaturally fast, he rushes at Felix and Ariel.

Puck. He’ll rip them apart. I need to do something.

I concentrate like I’ve never done before. I picture myself touching Valerian in every detail possible—and because it’s him, my imagination has no trouble with this at all.

Percival smashes a fist into Felix’s chest just as I connect with Valerian and fall into his nightmare.

Valerian is kneeling in a puddle of blood and gore, holding my lifeless body in his hands. Bloody tears stream down his cheeks, and the expression of sorrow on his face wrenches at my insides.

I evaporate my corpse and loudly clear my throat.

Valerian looks up at me, wild hope flashing in his eyes.

“This is a dream?” He looks around. “That drug?

“Time is of the essence,” I say quickly. “As soon as you wake up, help Felix and Ariel with Percival.”

He leaps to his feet.

I jolt him awake and leave the dream world.

Puck.

A lot must’ve happened in the brief time it took me to wake Valerian.

Felix is lying a few feet away, a huge dent in the chest of the robot suit.

Ariel is in trouble too. Percival’s fangs are in her neck, and he’s draining her at the same time as he’s trying to rip the gate sword from her grasp.

Amazingly, Ariel is not letting go of the weapon.

I look for my katana. Maybe if I could—

Valerian sits up.

Normally, when he uses his power, it’s invisible. But this time, an arc of pulsing red energy streams from his fingers into Percival’s head.

Belatedly, I realize that making Ariel invisible isn’t going to help her.

But that doesn’t seem to be what Valerian is doing.

Releasing Ariel, Percival whirls around with a war cry.

Whatever Valerian has made him see must be frightening indeed, because the ancient vampire is trembling as he faces it.

Ariel comes to her senses and swings the gate sword.

“Wait!” Valerian yells.

He must want the leader of this Icelus group for questioning—and the sort of questioning Valerian has in mind is exactly what Percival deserves.

Ariel doesn’t hear or care if she does. Her sword slices through the vampire’s neck as though it were made of vapor. Percival’s headless body collapses, the head rolling to the side.

Valerian curses up a storm.

Ariel faces him unapologetically. “You’re too sick to safely contain him and you know it.”

Valerian glares at her, but the cursing stops.

She’s right, I realize with a sinking feeling. Valerian’s color is a deadly shade of purple.

I glance at my hands.

So is mine.

Rowan rushes to check on Itzel while Ariel begins peeling Felix out of his ruined suit.

“The gnome is okay,” Rowan says to my relief.

“So is Felix,” Ariel says, lifting another weight off my shoulders.

Rowan checks on Fabian next while Ariel approaches Dylan.

“The werewolf’s heartbeat is strong,” Rowan says—and just to confirm her words, Fabian morphs into his naked human form, jumps to his feet, and scans his surroundings with an impressively alert gaze.

Rowan glances mournfully at Ariel.

She must already know what Ariel is about to say. After all, she can feel corpses.

My breath seizes in my lungs.

Ariel looks up, subdued.

“I’m sorry,” she says gravely. “Dylan didn’t make it.”

Chapter Forty-Two

Valerian’s gaze homes in on Rowan. “I want you to resurrect her.” He jabs a finger at Frank. “Do to her what you did for your pet.”

Rowan backs away. “Impossible.”

“You’ve done it before, so it’s clearly possible,” Fabian growls.

Rowan darts Frank a quick glance. “That was a crime of passion. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“But you did, and he’s back.” Fabian’s face twists as he looks at Dylan’s body. “How could that be a crime?”

“You don’t understand what you’re asking,” Rowan says. “This is my people’s biggest taboo for a reason. Dylan wouldn’t want this.”

Fabian advances on her. “Dylan took a big risk helping us with this mission. She deserves to be brought back.”

Rowan backs farther away.

Fighting a bout of nausea, I drag in a deep breath. “Please, Rowan. If you don’t want to do it for Dylan, do it for me and Valerian. She’s our only chance of surviving the virus.”

Rowan looks at Valerian, then at me, no doubt noticing our skin coloring and the fact that we’re barely able to remain sitting. “Why don’t I bring her back as a regular zombie? She could then talk you through making the cure.”

Fabian glares at her. “We don’t just need a chemical formula. We need a scientist. Dylan has multiple PhDs. She’s a virologist. None of us can do what she can, especially not by playing a game of Simon Says with a zombie. By not bringing her back, you’re signing Valerian and Bailey’s death warrants.”

Rowan’s face tightens as she glances at her pet. “Frank’s not the same person after what I did.”

“He wasn’t a person to start with,” Ariel says. “He’s an opossum or whatever.”

“You know what I mean,” Rowan says. “His personality—”