Night Terrors (24 page)

He folds his arms. It’s painful to keep looking into his perfect blue eyes but I don’t glance away. I’m not going to let him think that he intimidates me.

‘I’m just a kid.’

I laugh coldly. ‘Of course you are.’

A dimple forms in his cheek. ‘Okay,’ he shrugs. ‘You got me.’ He leans in and there’s a strong whiff of sulphur. ‘What gave the game away?’

‘You did. You’re the Sandman.’

‘I make innocent children’s bad dreams go away. Just like hers.’ He points at the girl. She’s still swinging and still smiling but there’s no denying her fear. It’s obvious in the way she grips onto the swing. I want to shout and tell her not to worry but somehow I don’t think the Sandman will let me. Instead I give her a reassuring wave.

‘Some stories certainly say that about you,’ I agree, turning back to him. ‘Others aren’t so kind.’

‘Propaganda can be vicious.’

His features are so young and his voice is so childish that even now I have to remind myself what he really is. ‘Is it propaganda if it’s true?’ I ask.

‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘You’re from the Badlands. And you still live there. Lilith left, the mares left. But you remain.’

He cocks his head, his hair flopping into a blue curl across his forehead. ‘I suppose I do. So?’

‘You’re not a monster. You’re
the
monster.’

‘Location, location, location. What can I say? Property prices are cheap there.’

I snarl at him, ‘Bullshit! At least the other cloud freaks don’t pretend to be anything else. You cloak yourself in this ridiculous get up like you’re Wee Willie Winkie. Well, it won’t wash, not any more.’

For a moment the expression on his face is so hard and terrifying that I almost step back. As much as I try not to, I still rock on my heels. He might come in the guise of a child, but he really is the monster I just described.

‘This is your fault. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you,’ he says.

I shake my head. ‘I don’t believe you. In fact, those kind of statements are what gave you away. You wanted me to be nervous and quake in my boots. You wanted me to think that I was the root cause of everything because I’m the only person who can beat you.’

‘I helped you with the dragon.’

‘You wanted me to
think
you were helping. That’s why you spoke up in the square; that’s why you made a show of shooting the dragon. You didn’t hurt it at all though ‒ it was all just smoke and mirrors. You pretended to be one of the good guys.’

He throws back his head and laughs. This time it’s not a sweet childish sound but a harsh grating noise that judders down my spine. ‘Oh, weaver. Do you really think I’m the only person who’s pulling the wool over your eyes? You’re so gullible.’ He raises an eyebrow in a perfect blue arch. ‘You should get out more.’ He winks. I lunge at him but he dances out of my grasp. ‘You’re going to have to try harder than that, weaver.’

‘Come on then.’ I beckon him towards me.

‘Aw. Would you really hurt a child?’

‘You’re no child.’

A slow smile spreads across his face. ‘You know what?’ he asks. ‘You’re right.’

Before my eyes, the air starts to shimmer. The boy’s face folds in on itself, morphing into something entirely different. His body elongates; he’s no longer a foot shorter than me, now he towers over me. The blue hair vanishes and is replaced by a smooth bald skull. He’s gone from a cute kid to a creepy old man in seconds. All that remains are his piercing blue eyes. Okay.

From behind us, the children laugh and squeal. Only the girl is quiet. Her swing has stilled and she’s watching us in stark terror.

‘Why don’t we take this somewhere else?’ I suggest.

He follows my gaze. For a moment, I think he’s going to refuse but he gives me a sneering smile. ‘If you insist.’

He snaps his long bony fingers and I feel my entire body being yanked violently backwards. Usually, when someone wakes up and I’m ejected from a dream, it’s little more than a gentle tug. This is very different. Fear flickers through me; I’m not sure where we’re going to end up. When I fall backwards and blink, however, I feel relief. We’re not in the nightmarish landscape of another dreamer, we’re back in the corridor of the Bubble.

I scramble to my feet. The Sandman bares his teeth and I realise his incisors have been filed to sharp points. ‘Going for the piranha look, are you?’ I cock my head. ‘You know it’s very last season.’

His face twists. ‘How’s that back of yours doing?’

Before I can answer, he leaps up into the air and somersaults over my head. I try to spin round but it’s too late. A second later, a foot smashes into the base of my spine and I scream. My legs give away and I’m on all fours, gasping for breath.

‘Zoe!’

It’s Dante. Lights dance in front of my eyes but I still manage to turn and see him at the far end of the corridor, by the entrance to the rest of the Dreamlands. Tears of pain mar my vision but I can tell he’s running towards us.

The Sandman leans down. ‘He’s not going to save you.’

I groan and roll over. Unable to make my legs work, I thrust one sharp punch upwards, connecting with the Sandman’s groin. The flesh there isn’t soft but neither is it bulging as one might expect. He might be the Sandman but there’s little of a man there. He’s asexual.

‘Not particularly masculine, are you?’ I gasp.

He snarls, raising his foot for another kick. I roll to my side and narrowly avoid it. My thighs are tingling. Another minute or two and I’ll be able to get up. Another minute or two and I’ll probably be dead.

‘Disapparate!’ Dante is getting nearer.

I’m not going to quit. I shake my head; I’m not giving up that easily. I swipe upwards again. My fingers brush higher this time, catching the Sandman’s belt and the small bag which hangs from it. He pulls back. I can hear Dante’s footsteps getting louder.

There’s a hiss and the Sandman jerks downwards, his face hovering over mine. ‘Some other time, weaver,’ he spits. Then he’s gone.

I wince in pain, and force myself into a sitting position. Dante’s next to me, crouching down and holding my shoulders.

‘Who was that? Are you alright? Zoe, what the hell just happened?’

I raise my hand, holding up one finger after another as I answer his questions. ‘The Sandman. Yes. I got my arse kicked.’

He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he pulls me into his arms and I bury my face in his chest, I sucking in his deep musky scent. He came for me; he helped me.

‘Where’s Ashley?’ I mumble.

‘I bumped into Esme. She’s going to look for her. There’s no sign of the Department. Everything’s fine.’ He smooths my hair. ‘You’re going to get yourself killed if you keep this up.’

‘He’s the one behind it all,’ I say through stilted breaths. I clamber unsteadily to my feet. I waver for a second but, with Dante’s help, I stay upright. ‘The Sandman’s causing the nightmares and the sleep paralysis. He must be in charge of the Badlands. He’s sending them in here and they’re throwing themselves into people’s subconscious minds.’

‘I don’t care.’ His eyes rake across my face. ‘He could have seriously hurt you.’

I try to take a step. I’m not convinced that he didn’t. Pain shoots down my spine and I wince. I don’t want Dante to see how much I’m hurting so I paste on a wobbly smile. ‘I’m still here. We have to stop him. I have to go into the Badlands and…’

‘No.’ Dante shakes his head adamantly. ‘There’s no way. You’re in no condition to do that.’

‘There’s no choice.’

His jaw tightens. ‘There’s always a choice. Maybe it’s time we started thinking about going somewhere else.’ He touches my cheek. ‘It’s dangerous here. You’re too important to risk.’

This again. ‘I can’t just leave,’ I mutter. ‘I have a responsibility to sort this out otherwise what’s the point of being the damned dreamweaver in the first place? I overheard some of those Department pricks. They’re prepared to lose this entire zone to the Badlands.’

Something tightens in Dante’s expression. ‘Maybe we have to let that happen. It could already be too late, Zoe. You made it to Manchester, maybe now you can make it to a plane. I’ll help. If you’re away from here then you won’t get hurt. We can…’

‘No.’

I stare into his silver eyes. They’re glittering with an intensity which takes me aback. His lips brush against mine and I forget to breathe. When he pulls away, he sighs heavily. ‘You’re far too stubborn for your own good.’

I grin, attempting a joke. ‘That’s why you love me.’

Dante doesn’t smile back. ‘That’s the trouble,’ he says in a low tone. ‘I think maybe I do.’

I swallow. He continues to watch me until my skin is prickling with discomfort. ‘I…’

‘It’s okay. We can talk about it later.’ He looks at me sternly. ‘If you’re not going to disapparate then we need to get you somewhere you can recover in safety.’

‘I’m going to the Badlands. I’m going to find the Sandman.’

‘We’ll talk about it later.’ He puts an arm round me to support my weight but I shake my head.

‘I can walk. Honest.’

A muscle throbs in his cheek. ‘Okay.’

We set off back down the corridor. Dante walks slowly slow but I’m forced to shuffle so he keeps pulling ahead. I watch his back, with its taut muscles and tight T-shirt and I bite my lip.

Chapter Seventeen

Every moment of your life that is not a complete nightmare is happiness.
Merrill Markoe

I’m lying on my stomach in the middle of the room with my head resting on my hands. From this vantage point, I can see into all the corners of Esme’s shop. I’m amused by the collection of dustballs in the far corner; I guess Esme isn’t as diligent a cleaner as I’d assumed. The fact that the Dreamlands has dustballs fascinates me. Every aspect of this place is so real. The door opens, blowing more dust in the same direction. On its own, a speck of dust is nothing. Combine it with more dust, however, and it becomes something far larger and more unsightly. A dustball can be seen and targeted; a solitary bit of dust is harder to control. It can hide in plain sight because, until it’s gathered together with specks, it’s virtually invisible. I ponder this for a while, feeling disturbed.

A hand appears in front of my face, holding a glass of water. ‘Here. This might help.’

I take it and frown. ‘How does dream water help?’ I muse. ‘It’s not real. I’m not really drinking it. I’m not going to become rehydrated from drinking water in a dream.’

‘The subconscious is a funny thing,’ Dante says.

‘It really is.’ I sigh, sit up and drink all the water anyway. My mind keeps telling me to mistrust everyone I come across, but Rawlins has done nothing but help me and Dante has proved time and time again that he’s on my side. I have no reason other than my own insecurities to think that he’s anything other than what he presents.

I’m letting the Sandman get inside my skull. He tried to destroy my confidence by making me think that I’d drawn the Badlands into the Dreamlands; now he’s trying to destroy my confidence in other ways.

Dante crouches down and massages my back. His touch sends fizzing bolts through my body and my eyes darken. He cups my face and gazes into my eyes. ‘You should disapparate. You need rest.’

I smile. ‘Only someone like me needs to wake up to get some real rest and relaxation.’

‘It’s the lot of a Traveller.’

‘I guess.’

He brushes away a loose tendril of hair and leans in towards me. When his lips touch mine, my senses swirl and I forget about the nagging pain in my spine. I hear the thud of his heartbeat matching mine almost perfectly.

‘We were meant to meet,’ he breathes. ‘We were meant to know each other.’

He sounds so sure of himself. I draw back and scan his face.

‘You’re still holding part of yourself back. You’re still afraid.’ His tone is not accusatory; it’s matter-of-fact as if he’s talking to himself more than me.

‘I can’t help it,’ I whisper.

‘You can trust me.’ He smiles. ‘Even if I can’t trust you.’

I thump him on the arm. ‘What do you mean? Of course you can trust me!’

‘Remember when we freed the mares?’ I nod. ‘You pretended you were going to leave and then you stayed behind to risk your own safety.’

‘They were being tortured,’ I protest.

He places an index finger against my lips. ‘You have no regard for your own safety,’ he continues. ‘You ski down dangerous mountains. You take on dragons and monsters and Sandmen.’

‘I’m pretty sure there’s only one Sandman.’

He looks at me, amused. ‘And if you’re determined to stay here then I have no doubt that we’ll take him down.’

‘And the Department?’

Something flickers in his eyes. ‘It’s very powerful. It has its hooks into all aspects of the Dreamlands.’

‘Can we beat it?’

He runs a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t know.’

I nibble on my bottom lip. ‘Esme said that there were leaders in every zone, just like the Mayor.’

Dante presses a trail of hot kisses against my neck. I can’t help myself, I moan slightly and clutch at him. ‘There are but they’re all equal. No one leader is superior to the others.’

My thoughts are befuddled and cloudy. Dante’s fingers reach down and cup my breast. ‘There are lots of Department people here now though. None of them seem to be in charge. There has to be one person they all answer to.’

‘I’ve never heard of one.’ His thumb grazes my nipple. I feel almost dizzy.

‘Dante.’ He kisses me again. I murmur and try to focus. ‘Dante…’

‘What is it?’

I move back. ‘Do you want me or do you want the dreamweaver?’

The silver in his eyes grows molten with heat. ‘I want you.’

I stop thinking about it. I tilt my head and kiss him and he returns my kiss with fervour. I tug at his T-shirt, pulling it upwards. Dante grins and helps, yanking it over his head in one swift movement. I gape at his broad chest.

He raises his eyebrows. ‘You like what you see?’

I seem to have lost the power of speech so I just nod.

He grins, fully aware of the effect he’s having on me. It’s been a while but somehow I don’t think it makes a difference. There’s something about him; he’s like a drug that I can’t get enough of. I match his movements and unfasten my blouse, reach behind and unclasp my bra. I flush slightly as I expose myself to his hot gaze but he licks his lips slowly, his own desire obvious.