eye-flames.
In a second, I was out of bed, groping for my knife, ready to send the Hellion back to Hell. I snatched the dagger from my nightstand. I spun around to locate Difethwr, then blinked in the pitch-dark room. There was no demon here.
A dream. It was only a dream. And that was very, very bad.
I PACED MY BEDROOM, UNABLE TO THINK OF GOING BACK to sleep. Difethwr had invaded my dream. I should’ve been able to fight the demon, even while sleeping. It was my dreamscape; I should direct my dreams. That was one of the first things I’d learned in my training. The demon fighter is always in control of the dream. Always. But I’d had to wake up to banish Difethwr.
My demon-marked arm itched and burned, telling me my encounter with the Destroyer hadn’t been an ordinary dream. Difethwr wasn’t an image boiling up from my subconscious. Somehow, the Hellion itself had been inside my dreamscape.
And it had my watch. Was that real, too, or just a dream-image?
There was one way to find out. I threw on my jeans, a sweater, and some boots. I felt too antsy to wait for the elevator, so I took the stairs. Galloping down one flight after another, I tried to shake the uneasy feeling that something weird had just happened. I’d dreamed, that’s all. It was so long since I’d done that—usually I chose uninterrupted darkness for my dreamscape—I’d forgotten what it felt like. Nightmares happened. I’d had them as a kid.
Still, as I opened the door to the lobby, I knew I was fooling myself. Something weird was going on. I didn’t know what, and that scared me.
Clyde raised his sunglasses and looked at me curiously. Because their eyes, like their skin, degrade when exposed to sunlight, most zombies wear sunglasses in the daytime, even indoors. “Is something amiss?”
“I came down to get my watch.”
“Pardon me?”
“I left my new watch at Creature Comforts tonight. It’s valuable, and I was, um … having trouble sleeping until I get it back.”
Clyde tsk ed, letting me know what he thought of tenants who went to places like Creature Comforts—or worse, got so drunk they left valuable possessions there. The fact I hadn’t been drunk wouldn’t make a difference to him.
I put out my hand. “So would you mind handing it over, please?”
“Handing what over?”
“My watch.”
“I don’t have your watch. You just said you left it at that … establishment.”
“Come on, Clyde. I need it back. Quit kidding around.”
He raised his glasses to peer at me again, his message loud and clear. Clyde was many things—a zombie, a doorman, a former minister—but he was not a kidder.
A wave of uneasiness washed over me. “T.J. didn’t bring it by?”
“I’m sure I don’t know a soul called T.J.”
“He’s a zombie,” I said. Clyde shook his head. “Little guy, about my height. Sandy hair. Loud Hawaiian shirt. Wears a big gold ring with his initials on it.” Even as my description got more detailed, Clyde’s head never stopped shaking.
“What time is it?” I asked.
Clyde lifted his sunglasses again and shot me a look that said if I didn’t leave my watch in disreputable bars, I’d know what time it was, but he consulted his own watch.
“Quarter past seven.” He let his sunglasses drop into place. “In the morning,” he added unnecessarily.
Seven fifteen. Even though it felt like hours, only forty minutes had passed since I spoke to T.J. He was still at Creature Comforts; he’d said it’d take about an hour to finish cleaning up. No wonder he hadn’t stopped by.
I made Clyde promise to call me as soon as T.J. arrived with my watch. I went across the lobby to the elevator and pressed the button. The doors opened, and I stepped inside.
As I did, I had a vision of Difethwr, laughter seething all around as the Hellion dangled my watch. Had it been a dream? Or was the Destroyer taunting me?
I had to know. I caught the closing doors and ran out of the elevator, across the lobby,
In a second, I was out of bed, groping for my knife, ready to send the Hellion back to Hell. I snatched the dagger from my nightstand. I spun around to locate Difethwr, then blinked in the pitch-dark room. There was no demon here.
A dream. It was only a dream. And that was very, very bad.
I PACED MY BEDROOM, UNABLE TO THINK OF GOING BACK to sleep. Difethwr had invaded my dream. I should’ve been able to fight the demon, even while sleeping. It was my dreamscape; I should direct my dreams. That was one of the first things I’d learned in my training. The demon fighter is always in control of the dream. Always. But I’d had to wake up to banish Difethwr.
My demon-marked arm itched and burned, telling me my encounter with the Destroyer hadn’t been an ordinary dream. Difethwr wasn’t an image boiling up from my subconscious. Somehow, the Hellion itself had been inside my dreamscape.
And it had my watch. Was that real, too, or just a dream-image?
There was one way to find out. I threw on my jeans, a sweater, and some boots. I felt too antsy to wait for the elevator, so I took the stairs. Galloping down one flight after another, I tried to shake the uneasy feeling that something weird had just happened. I’d dreamed, that’s all. It was so long since I’d done that—usually I chose uninterrupted darkness for my dreamscape—I’d forgotten what it felt like. Nightmares happened. I’d had them as a kid.
Still, as I opened the door to the lobby, I knew I was fooling myself. Something weird was going on. I didn’t know what, and that scared me.
Clyde raised his sunglasses and looked at me curiously. Because their eyes, like their skin, degrade when exposed to sunlight, most zombies wear sunglasses in the daytime, even indoors. “Is something amiss?”
“I came down to get my watch.”
“Pardon me?”
“I left my new watch at Creature Comforts tonight. It’s valuable, and I was, um … having trouble sleeping until I get it back.”
Clyde tsk ed, letting me know what he thought of tenants who went to places like Creature Comforts—or worse, got so drunk they left valuable possessions there. The fact I hadn’t been drunk wouldn’t make a difference to him.
I put out my hand. “So would you mind handing it over, please?”
“Handing what over?”
“My watch.”
“I don’t have your watch. You just said you left it at that … establishment.”
“Come on, Clyde. I need it back. Quit kidding around.”
He raised his glasses to peer at me again, his message loud and clear. Clyde was many things—a zombie, a doorman, a former minister—but he was not a kidder.
A wave of uneasiness washed over me. “T.J. didn’t bring it by?”
“I’m sure I don’t know a soul called T.J.”
“He’s a zombie,” I said. Clyde shook his head. “Little guy, about my height. Sandy hair. Loud Hawaiian shirt. Wears a big gold ring with his initials on it.” Even as my description got more detailed, Clyde’s head never stopped shaking.
“What time is it?” I asked.
Clyde lifted his sunglasses again and shot me a look that said if I didn’t leave my watch in disreputable bars, I’d know what time it was, but he consulted his own watch.
“Quarter past seven.” He let his sunglasses drop into place. “In the morning,” he added unnecessarily.
Seven fifteen. Even though it felt like hours, only forty minutes had passed since I spoke to T.J. He was still at Creature Comforts; he’d said it’d take about an hour to finish cleaning up. No wonder he hadn’t stopped by.
I made Clyde promise to call me as soon as T.J. arrived with my watch. I went across the lobby to the elevator and pressed the button. The doors opened, and I stepped inside.
As I did, I had a vision of Difethwr, laughter seething all around as the Hellion dangled my watch. Had it been a dream? Or was the Destroyer taunting me?
I had to know. I caught the closing doors and ran out of the elevator, across the lobby,
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