Dream Chaser (Bailey Spade 3)

It’s “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy,” the melody from a famous ballet here on Earth. In New York, they play it a lot around Christmas.

The screen nearest me stops showing the soda commercial, and a creepy-looking wooden soldier glares at me with a gaping mouth full of black teeth.

No, not a soldier. The Nutcracker—which is the name of the ballet where that music is from.

Unlike the usual depictions of this character, this one has real brown eyes inside a wooden head. Further adding to his creepiness is the way the face is painted, with a blood-colored grin framed by a tentacle-like mustache.

I stare at it, unable to look away.

The screen shimmers, and the Nutcracker is no longer inside it.

He’s three-dimensional now.

Real.

My instinct for self-preservation kicks in, and I back away.

He leaps down, landing on a bent wooden knee, like some superhero.

I gape at the crater he’s created in the spot where I stood a moment ago.

Suddenly, Pom shows up between me and the Nutcracker. His fur is black, his eyes wild. “Did you still want me to tell you when you’re having a nightmare?”

A nightmare? As in, a dream?

I look at my empty wrist.

Of course. Pom is walking and talking—he can’t be on my wrist.

“Thanks,” I say to Pom, and will the music and the Nutcracker to disappear.

The music stops, but the Nutcracker stays where he is, the evil grin spreading wider. “It would’ve been easier to kill you if you didn’t know you were dreaming,” he says in a creepily melodic voice that reminds me of the music I just stopped. “Still, one has to make do.”

What the hell? How is my own nightmare creature refusing to go away? Unless—

Extending his wooden, fingerless hand, the Nutcracker charges at me.

Chapter Four

Instinctively, I duck.

The wooden ball of his hand smashes into a tourist, ripping through him and punching out his heart from his back.

“I’m sorry. This is too scary,” Pom says and disappears.

Hey, that’s a good idea.

I try to jolt myself awake—but feel a tug of power in the opposite direction. It’s a bit like when I tried to wake up Mom, only I’m the one I can’t rouse.

This supports a theory I’ve already started forming. “You’re a dreamwalker.”

The Nutcracker aims another punch at me.

I dodge it and two following swings, then smash a fist into his right eye.

He cries out but heals the damage I made instantly. With renewed fury, he lashes out, and his fist smashes into my shoulder, dislocating it.

Hot nausea sears through me, but before it can disable me, I leap out of my body and heal myself. I also consider doubling myself but decide against it for now—it’s good to have an ace in my back pocket.

Returning to my body, I punch the Nutcracker’s midsection. It hurts me more than him—his body doesn’t just look like wood, it feels like it too. Note to self: Figure out how to make myself a dream body from something sturdier than flesh. It would be a lot like the fiery hair project, only bigger. For now, I make a blowtorch appear in my hands and aim it at my opponent’s wooden chest.

A ten-foot cockroach materializes in the path of the flame, giving up its dream life to save my foe.

A yellow cab careens toward me.

I take flight—which is when the nearest skyscrapers grow taller, then fold sideways, creating a square box in the sky.

He thinks that will stop me?

I crash through the glass, steel, and concrete, and look down.

The Nutcracker is flying after me.

Stealing his own strategy, I make the One Times Square building lengthen and spear him with the spire from which the iconic New Year’s Eve ball drops.

An elephant takes the strike.

Not wanting to be outdone, I make a great white shark appear, its jaws closing on the Nutcracker’s head.

It doesn’t get a chance to bite. In a blink, it explodes into a cloud of butterflies that flutter away.

I change our surroundings to that of another NYC tourist spot—the South Street Seaport.

Great. He hasn’t stopped me yet—though I still don’t know if he’s fine with the change of scenery, or if he can’t stop me.

Regardless, he takes advantage of it swiftly. A ship rises from the waters and nosedives at my head.

I try to make the ship disappear. His power annuls my attempt. I will the ship to morph into a ball of cotton candy. Nope.

Fine. I teleport behind the Nutcracker and make a baseball bat appear in my hands. As the ship crashes into the pavement where I stood, my bat breaks over the Nutcracker’s head.

“You bitch!” he cries out.

I make the cobblestones levitate out of the walkway and fly at his head, one after another. As he dodges, I try jolting myself awake once more.

This time, it works.

Sitting up in my bed, I order the lights on and frantically scan the room.