Dream Walker (Bailey Spade 1)

Pom shows up next to one of the impossible shapes. He’s a looft, a symbiotic creature permanently attached to my wrist who’s also my companion here in the dream world. The size of a large bird, with gargantuan lavender-colored eyes, triangular pointy ears, and fluffy fur that changes colors to match his emotions, he usually belongs in the dictionary next to the word “cute.”

Currently, though, he’s solid black and his ears are droopy. “I accidentally read your mind again,” he confesses guiltily. “You’re here to wake up Lidia, aren’t you?”

Reminded of my important mission, I take flight, heading for the tower of sleepers. “That’s right. Mom was stuck in non-REM sleep—hence the subdream we just experienced.”

He zooms around me, shuddering. “Scary.”

“For sure. But hey, you were a sword this time.” I demonstrate by recreating the weapon I just used. “Did you have any clue that was actually a dream?”

He turns an even darker black. “No. I was just living in the moment, not questioning being that sword—as weird as that sounds.”

“Same here. No clue I was dreaming.”

Pom circles around my head. “The creatures spoke this time.”

So they did. How weird. I think back to all the other subdreams I’ve experienced and the bizarre, terrifying creatures I’ve met in them. “Maybe they’ve always tried to speak,” I say. “But this time, they had mouths that let them be understood.”

Pom’s fur takes on a light orange hue. “Where do subdreams come from?”

I slow my flight. He’s raised a question I’ve pondered a lot, without ever coming up with a satisfactory answer. “I don’t know. I’ve nicknamed them subdreams because I think they tap deeper into the subconscious than regular dreams do.”

“Whose subconscious, yours or the dreamer’s?”

“Great question.” I conjure up the creatures from the subdream I experienced when I invaded Bernard’s non-REM sleep—the ones that look like oversized bacteria and viruses. “Theoretically, these could be my fears of contamination made flesh.”

Pom peers at them as I recreate the creatures I encountered in Gertrude’s subdream—tentacled giant naked mole rats riding warthog-spider hybrids. “Nothing about these riders fits that pattern,” I say, studying them, “so they might be something Gertrude dreamed up.”

Pom floats in front of my face. “So you think it was your mom who created the monsters we just defeated?”

“Could be. Though I don’t like the implications.”

He blinks at me.

“The monsters said their master hated me,” I explain. “If Mom created them, she’d be their master, right?” Reaching the glass-walled tower of sleepers, I locate the nook where Mom’s form resides now that I’ve forced her into REM sleep. “I know we had that fight before her accident,” I continue as I fly toward it, “but I hope she doesn’t really feel that my existence is a blight—whatever that means.”

Pom flies next to me. “You feel bad about that fight, don’t you?”

“Of course. I made Mom think I might invade her dreams, something she made me promise never to do. That’s why she got so upset and stormed out. Her accident wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for my big mouth.”

Pom turns gray, a color rare for him. “You didn’t know what would happen.”

“True.” I take a breath to suppress the heavy swell of emotions thinking about Mom’s accident always generates. “In any case, it doesn’t matter now. I am breaking my promise.”

“To save her life.”

“Yes.” Outside, in the waking world, Mom is in a strange coma-like sleep, one that neither Isis, a powerful healer, nor Dr. Xipil, a rare gnome doctor, could get her out of. The only thing left to try was for me to go into her dreams and wake her from within.

Hopefully she’ll understand and forgive me.

Entering her nook, I land next to the bed. To my surprise, there’s no trauma loop cloud above her head—something I always suspected I’d find if I dreamwalked in her. Before the accident, she’d displayed all the symptoms I’ve seen in my most troubled clients.

“I’m sure she’ll forgive you,” Pom says sagely, landing behind me. “What’s more important is that you forgive yourself. From my experience, that’s harder.”

I turn to see if he’s kidding, but he’s still that depressing gray color. “What experience are you talking about? What did you ever need to forgive yourself for?”

His cute face twists into a miserable expression, and his ears droop. “I permanently attached myself to you without asking your permission.”

So he had. I certainly hadn’t expected to end up with a symbiont when I petted a mooft—a cow-like creature loofts normally live on—at a Gomorran zoo. But now I can’t imagine my life without him.

“Sweetie.” I snatch him up, bringing him up to my eye level. “I already told you, I wouldn’t want to take you off even if I could.”

The tips of his ears turn a light shade of purple. “You told me that when you thought you’d be executed. Now that you know you’ll live, do you still mean it?”