Dream Hunter (Bailey Spade 2)

Kit succumbs next, her giant form collapsing with a heavy thud.

I can see Virgil now, and my heart sinks.

He’s not frozen like his follow Enforcers, but that doesn’t matter. Someone has cuffed his wrists and ankles, so all his moving around is just a test of his bindings, which seem to hold his preternatural strength.

Puck. Who’s going to wake me up?

Before I can think of an answer, the gas reaches me, and I drop into slumber.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Mom and I are standing face to face near a highway, eyes locked like two gunslingers in an Earth Western.

“I won’t let you dreamwalk in me,” Mom says determinedly.

I cock my head. “Won’t let me?”

“Yes,” she says, her confidence wavering. “I’ll stop you by any means necessary.”

“Is that right?”

Mom’s fists clench. “I’d sooner die.”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t think that’s overly dramatic?”

“I mean it.” She glances at the road, then locks eyes with me again. “I’ll jump under the first car that comes my way.”

I don’t believe her.

She jumps.

I stop breathing.

The car rams into her. She somersaults in the air and lands on her back, broken beyond repair.

No! What have I done? The horror is overwhelming.

Shaking, I back away, hand pressed against my mouth. She’s dead. Oh puck, she’s dead. I killed her.

No, she killed herself. Because of me.

There’s a racket behind me.

I spin around and rub my eyes.

Right there on the sidewalk, a bunch of Enforcers are fighting with Ariel, Felix, Kit, and Valerian.

I want to rush to help them, but I’m frozen in place, still not breathing.

Paralyzed, I watch as the vamps kill my friends one by one. When Valerian exhales his final breath, the building behind the massacre explodes. A giant mushroom cloud leaps into the sky, and the wall of heat spreads outward, decimating the vampires and the bodies of my friends in its path.

My paralysis disappears, and I throw my hands up in a shield—as though that will make a difference to the million degrees Fahrenheit rushing my way.

Wait. Something is missing from my wrist.

The furry bracelet.

Pom.

As soon as I realize this, I know what’s happening.

I’m dreaming.

I freeze the explosion in its tracks and whirl around.

Mom’s broken body is still there, lying on the road, and for some reason, it feels sacrilegious to use my powers to make it go away.

This isn’t a dream—not fully, at least. Mom did jump in front of a car. I made her.

She tried to kill herself because of me.

The knowledge hammers at me, stark and brutal, the guilt so heavy that even in the dream world, it makes me sink to my knees. I think some part of me was still in denial before this moment, still hoping that somehow it was all a lie.

“Mom,” I whisper, extending my hand toward her corpse. I know that in the waking world, she’s in a coma, not dead, but she might as well be.

There’s no guarantee that I’ll be able to save her, that I’ll be able to save anyone. Already, Valerian and my friends might be dead. With my stupid sleep grenade gamble, I probably killed them all—and millions of Gomorrans as well.

“Now that’s just stupid,” Pom says. “And this is coming from someone who’s very familiar with guilt.”

I look up at my looft.

Pom’s coloring is fluctuating from red to carrot as he jumps into my arms.

I squeeze him so hard I’d probably hurt him if this were the real world.

“I’m sorry,” he says, wriggling out of my hold. “I broke two promises at once.”

It’s true. I’ve asked him never to appear in my natural dreams because I usually like to enjoy them like a normal person. I’ve also asked him not to read my thoughts—for obvious reasons.

I give a shaky laugh. “I forgive you. In fact, the next time I have a nightmare as bad as this one, I want you to show up and tell me that I’m dreaming.”

“I will.” He blinks at me with his big lavender eyes. “Now if only you’d forgive yourself as easily as you forgave me.”

I sit back. “You don’t understand.”

“Don’t I?” The tips of his ears turn gray. “That dream was false. You’d never talk to your mom like that.”

“So what?” I look at the broken body. “The result was the same.”

Pom sighs. “Your mom was a mess. You wanted to help her. Maybe you pushed a little, but you didn’t know what would happen. She made the choice to jump under that car—end of story.”

Rationally, I know he has a point. I was just trying to understand why Mom was so depressed and withdrawn, and all I said was, “If your symptoms keep worsening, I might not have a choice.”

And I didn’t lie. When her life was on the line, I broke my oath—and would again. Will do so again, when I’m ready.

I take a deep breath.