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Then something odd happens.
A presence slowly congeals out of nothingness to stand on the ocean in front of me.
It’s the nightmarish being I’ve seen before.
Phobetor.
Chapter Eleven
Bigger than the tallest giant, he’s the most frightening thing I’ve ever seen—even if it’s hard to say why. There’s something ineffably horrific about him. Something that I feel with my dreamwalker senses instead of my vision. His face is actually beautiful, if in a terrible, overwhelming way that doesn’t seem to be meant for mortal sight. Maybe it’s his eyes. They look like black holes that contain every nightmare anyone has ever had. Looking into them is like walking in a dark forest as a child. Like having germs multiply inside your body. Like—
“Kneel.” Phobetor’s melodious voice conjures my every fear. “Become my servant.”
Every cell in my body demands that I give in. In his embrace, there will be peace. Mom and I will reunite. I’ll no longer feel this overwhelming fear. I’ll—
“Puck. You,” I grit out as I use all my power to throw off whatever spell he’s trying to cast on me.
The black holes that are his eyes widen before narrowing dangerously. “Those who don’t join me willingly, I can claim by force.”
He advances toward me, hand outstretched.
There’s a fiery flash in the magma sky above me, spiraling down.
A deep intuition tells me that if that tendril were to reach my head, that would be it. I would be one of the Overtaken.
Backing away, I hurl my katana at his face.
The blade melts and evaporates before it gets halfway to its destination, but killing him wasn’t my goal anyway. I just wanted to distract him long enough to jolt myself awake.
It’s the biggest jolt I’ve ever created.
And, to my shock, it works.
Opening my eyes, I jerk my hand away from Mom’s wrist.
I’m not ready to go back.
Maybe I’ll never be.
“Do I need to restrain you?” Virgil asks. “Valerian is on his way here, so I’d rather not.”
My frantic heartbeat eases. “He is?”
Virgil’s smile shows off his fangs. “He’s just arrived at the hub. My people are picking him up.”
I wipe the sweat from my forehead. “I guess I won’t go on a killing spree then. As tempting as it is.”
“That was reckless,” Maxwell says sternly. “You could’ve—”
“There’s something you need to know,” I blurt.
He frowns in a way I’ve sometimes seen in the mirror.
“It’s private,” I say. “We should talk in the dream world.” I cast an apologetic look at Dr. Xipil and Itzel, but don’t bother with Virgil.
Maxwell’s frown deepens. “Your dream world or mine?”
“How about yours,” I say, feigning a casual attitude.
In fact, it must be his. My aim is to check his dreams for the presence of black windows—but I don’t tell him this in case he’s touchy about this topic, like Mom was.
Maxwell surveys the room. “Is there a bed around here?”
“This way.” Virgil leads us into a room with a gurney and a wheelchair next to it.
What is this, a horror movie set?
Getting on the gurney, Maxwell extends his hand.
I take a seat in the wheelchair, clasp his fingers, and try to push him into REM sleep without further ado.
For a second, I worry that it might not work, like it didn’t with Mom. But it does. His eyes start moving under his eyelids, and I can feel him in REM sleep with my special sense.
“This will be safer, so no need for subduing,” I tell Virgil.
The vampire cocks his head. “So if you attack me, I should just let you?”
“Anything to avoid that awkward conversation with Valerian,” I say and jump in.
I appear in my dream palace in front of Pom.
My looft’s ears are beet-colored while the rest of him is gray. “I’m sorry I left during the subdream. I got too scared.”
I pet the fur on the top of his head. “I also bailed—and for pretty much the same reason.”
He gives me a quizzical look, and I tell him what happened as I make my way to the tower of sleepers.
When I locate my father, I tell Pom, “You can join this, but please stay incognito. Explaining you isn’t on the agenda.”
He leaps onto my shoulder and becomes invisible. If we need to talk, let’s do it mentally.
Making myself invisible as well, I reach out and grab my father’s wrist.
Right away, my senses inform me that this dream is a memory.
I let it play out, curious about my father’s life.
He’s sitting on the floor next to a coffee table in the middle of a sea of empty food containers, beer bottles, and piles of newspapers that span many years. The rest of the living room reminds me of Earth shows set in the fifties—with a tiny TV that looks like an astronaut’s helmet, a phone with a cord attaching it to the wall, and uncomfortable furniture that was brightly colored once but is washed out now.
