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“Well, yeah,” Dylan says. “That’s what I meant.”
When we get outside, Nulen’s zombies are still there. They escort us to our strange transport, where the necromancer himself is already lounging in his zombie chair.
Upon Dylan’s request, Nulen makes a bed of zombies for Valerian. Valerian sterilizes a spot for me on the wooden floor, then stretches out on the bed and closes his eyes.
Ariel comes up to me and nods at Valerian conspiratorially. “Someone had serious fun last night,” she whispers.
I give her a blank stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She rolls her eyes. “Your moaning and screaming was loud enough to wake me up.”
I fight a flush. “It’s not what you think.” I tell her what really happened, and she seems to believe me. Barely.
When she leaves, I examine myself to see if I feel any different now that my power is boosted.
I don’t, at least not much.
Touching Pom, I go into the dream world and experiment with my powers there.
Still no difference. Maybe I can make more sleeper connections per day now, but that’s not something I need at the moment.
Back in the waking world, I sense it when Valerian enters REM sleep. The feeling that informs me of this is stronger now, but not qualitatively different.
It takes all my willpower to resist the temptation to dreamwalk in him. Stupid conscience. If I were a sociopath, I’d break that promise in a heartbeat.
To distract myself, I observe our surroundings. We pass by a coal mine where a zombie strapped with dynamite is blown to bits—presumably not for fun but in order to break solid rocks into pieces. Later, we pass another large pyramid construction site, and after that, more farms. At some point, I spot a steam locomotive in the far distance. No doubt zombies are the ones tossing coal into the furnace there, too.
I’m diverted from sightseeing when Dylan asks Nulen something. The necromancer replies in a sharp tone that wakes Valerian and makes Dylan pale to pre-vamp levels.
Looking at her, Fabian frowns. “What was that?”
Dylan darts a furtive glance at Nulen. “I was wondering how his virus is progressing, so I asked if he felt any heart palpitations or had an upset stomach.”
“And?” Fabian asks, his frown deepening.
“And he said never to ask again. Also threatened me.”
Fabian looks on the verge of turning into his wolf form when Valerian puts a hand on his shoulder and whispers something into his ear.
“Fine,” Fabian growls. “Don’t ask the asshole again. It’s his health, after all.”
Dylan nods.
We ride in dour silence for a while after that. Eventually, we reach a town that’s at least twice the size of the village we visited. We have lunch at another inn and resume our journey.
In the evening, we reach an actual city and eat dinner at the nicest inn thus far.
“Thank you,” I tell Valerian after he sterilizes my bed yet again.
His eyes gleam above the mask. “Don’t make me turn around or leave the room, and we’ll call it even.”
Heat floods my cheeks, making me grateful for my mask. Worse yet, I suddenly don’t know what to do with my hands—they’re itching to take off my top.
“Hey, I’m kidding.” He turns around, giving me his back. “We’ll pick this up when you’re ready.”
Whew. I can’t believe I was actually considering getting naked for his viewing pleasure.
What is wrong with me? Why do I keep forgetting what he did?
Stripping as quickly as I can, I dive under the covers before he gets any ideas, such as turning around.
“You can look now,” I mutter.
He goes to sit in the chair, where he winks at me.
Huffing, I close my eyes.
As is usual in Valerian’s presence, sleep eludes me for a while, but eventually, I drift off.
I’m in the Intro to Programming class, and the professor slaps a final on my desk.
Puck. I thought I dropped this course, but I was mistaken. A couple of minutes ago, I realized I forgot to actually drop it. Now I have to somehow pass this exam even though I didn’t attend a single lecture or read a page of course material.
Dread spreading through my very being, I open the paper and Pom pops out.
“You’re dreaming this again?” His fur turns light orange. “Why?”
Oh. He’s not on my wrist, so this is a dream—one I’ve had countless times for some reason.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the professor throw an eraser at me.
Odd.
Instinctively, I dive under the desk—and it’s a good thing I do. On the way to my head, the eraser becomes a foaming-at-the-mouth pit bull.
What the puck?
Leaping from under the desk, I glare at the professor—who morphs into the dreaded shape of the Nutcracker.
“You’re hard to ambush,” the creepy creature says in his melodic voice. “It won’t save you, though.”
A gun appears in his hand.
