He finished with the address of the warehouse, and then dropped himself out of the waking world and into the dreamwaters.
Of course, his dreams would manifest the worst day of his life—curbside, where he’d pushed his brother. The moment his mom came running out of the house, her outstretched arms, the sound of her scream. The driver of the car, Mrs. Kennedy, shaking her head and pointing at Malcolm. He pushed him! He pushed him! And his mom glancing over, her expression stricken, as she fell to her knees on the pavement.
He was still so sorry, but that word meant nothing compared to what he’d done.
Funny how the mind could recall details long forgotten. His shoelaces on one sneaker had been undone. Un-Break My Heart had been playing on Mrs. Kennedy’s car stereo. He hated that song so much.
Joshua himself wasn’t here. The spot where he usually lay was empty.
Malcolm didn’t have time for this. He’d lived it over and over again already.
He’d marked Jordan not two days past so that he might find her again in her dreams. He ignored the music tumbling from Mrs. Kennedy’s car, seeking a wisp—that’s all he needed—of Jordan’s brightness.
His darksight compounded his vision with a spectrum of light, multidimensional, yet with heat and texture. He sought through the dreamwaters until, yes, there she was.
Jordan was a soft burn on his skin, an indigo shift of light.
That way.
He crossed a Rêve boundary to discover the white Corinthian columns braced against darkness above and below, creating a space for dreamers to play.
The Agora.
It meant that when Joshua had submerged Jordan, he’d taken her here, a place that was supposed to be safe and monitored, Chimera marshals at the ready.
Coll had warned against rogues getting in.
But a rogue nightmare? It made no sense.
Jordan’s wake guided him through the Agora, but wide of any of the columns where she could’ve called for aid. She hadn’t entered any of the ongoing Rêves either, wherein she might have been able to find refuge, other Revelers acting as witnesses. Safety in numbers.
No, the waves of her passage led right up to the howling boundary of the Scrape.
Rook had had occasion in the past to set out into the shifting sands of that desert, so he knew intimately how easy it was to get lost. Now he crossed without hesitation. The essence of Jordan was so much better than others he’d tracked out here. Of course, all of them he’d left in pools of their own blood, never to rouse again.
He trudged against the wind, the grains of sand nicking and eroding his skin as he pushed forward. The Scrape was a trial of endurance, him against whatever psychotic he was tracking, and Rook, Chimera tracker, always won.
But how could he match his strength against a nightmare of his own creation? There was no way to overtake…himself.
And yet, the shape of a bent human figure, arms across the face, was just ahead.
Rook’s heart double-beat, then stalled as he realized that the figure was a male, not a female, not his girl. Even closer, Rook could identify the man.
Vincent Blackman.
Seemed Jordan had pushed him very, very deep. If he wasn’t led back to dreamwaters, he’d never wake up again, either.
Blackman fell back on the ever-shifting desert floor. “Don’t hurt me! Don’t hurt me!”
“I’m not here for you, man,” Rook called to him. “Have you seen Jordan?”
“What?” Blackman yelled against the wail of the wind.
“Jordan Lane. Have you seen her? Which way did she go?”
Blackman shook his head. “I don’t know where she is. I don’t know where I am. Where is this? What is this place?”
“You’re in the Scrape, beyond all the Rêves,” Rook yelled back. “You’re lost Darkside.”
“Help me get back, get out of here! I’ll give you anything. I have money.”
Rook waved his arms to cut him off. No. “I have to find Jordan.”
If he brought Vince Blackman back, Jordan would be lost, he knew it. If she was this far into the Scrape, she might be lost already.
“Please,” Blackman begged. “There are…things…out here. Monsters.”
Nightmares, Rook thought. Or more than nightmares, like Joshua?
This was very bad. Further confirmation of bad things lurking in the dreamwaters.
“I’ll come back for you,” Rook said.
“You won’t.”
“It’s my job.” He was Chimera. “I will. Hold out as long as you can.”
Vince looked as if he knew the hopelessness of his situation—that he was going to die. “Can you get a message to my father? Jordan’s sister works for the men who are holding him for ransom. She’ll know who to contact.”