Disciple: DreamWalkers, Book 2 (5 page)

Zeke swallowed a snarl. “This ain’t your division.”

Sean just smiled, infuriatingly cheery. “Maybe that’s why Ms. Sharma wants you and Maggie at the waystation. Got a curator waiting.”

Was that what this was about? Had the curators decided to steal Maggie from him? But why would they demand she be brought to the coma station, of all places?

Unless…

Zeke’s fists clenched. His vision hazed red. He’d finally had a breakthrough with Maggie’s training. If they thought it was time to shock her into a coma like Karen, he’d take her and disappear. Somehow. Except anytime he or she entered the dreamsphere, the others could locate them. And if they didn’t enter the dreamsphere, they’d get sick.

Zeke realized Sean had put several yards between them. The other man held up his hands, palms out. “Steady, mate. I’m just the go-between.”

Zeke rubbed his forehead to hide his face…and keep himself from coldcocking the closest target. “They wouldn’t do that without consulting me.”

“No use overthinking it.” Sean stuck his thumbs in his elastic waistband. “Ms. Sharma’s a vigil, and what she says, goes.”

“It’s a long freaking way to fly blind. I’m going to check with Adi in the sphere before I hightail it to Wyoming.” No alucinator below vigil was supposed to enter the dream dimension without it being scheduled, assigned, announced or approved as part of standard duties.

This counted as announcing it in Zeke’s book, and he approved it himself. He was a damned sentry, after all.

“Countermanding a direct order?” Sean shook his head. “You Yanks amaze me sometimes.”

“What’s Adi gonna do, demote me? That would just mean less work for me and more for some other schmuck.” Zeke waved Sean into the dojo and returned to his room. In two more minutes, he’d tranced out and entered the dreamsphere to find Adi or her orator.

He wasn’t taking Maggie anywhere until he knew why he’d been summoned.

In trance, one’s physical location tended to influence the dreamsphere. An experienced alucinator could reset the sphere to appear featureless, but that took effort, and Zeke didn’t see the need. A distorted version of his room leaped into view around him. Greenish walls leaned toward him as if ready to topple. He stood beside his bed, which was much bigger in the dreamsphere than in real life, taking up almost the entire room.

It felt odd to be here without Maggie and her thousand wraiths. He hadn’t been assigned duties that required him to visit without her a lot in the past two months. A standard contingent of monsters tapped his protections, but they felt like bugs on the windshield after what he’d been enduring.

Interesting. Had his shields recuperated? His were the weakest of the East Coast entries because of the perforations Karen had caused when she’d stranded him in a dream coma. Luckily, Rhys, Lillian, and that curator had been able to wake him in time, and he’d done his part to shut down Karen for good.

He resisted the urge to test his protections. Minutes in the tranced sphere were real-time, unlike sleep. The watery colors and thin, glowing mist of the sphere seemed too bright, too unblemished.

Too easy.

Working quickly, feeling out of sync, Zeke locomoted to the approximate coordinates of the coma station. Didn’t take long when he didn’t have a neonati to worry about. The arid surroundings of this part of Wyoming bubbled into being—the boxy structure of the compound, the fences, the vehicles.

This particular waystation, like most large Somnium facilities, was never fully asleep. Yet nobody responded to Zeke’s call. He scanned and couldn’t sense any signatures or conduits, locked or otherwise.

There should be an orator on duty with an open frequency. Perhaps the orator was off delivering a message?

Frustrated, Zeke issued a broadband hail. That should snag any nearby alucinators’ attention, whether they were scanning, orating, experimenting, you name it. There was always activity in the sphere at a research facility unless something had happened. Something bad.

Something bad like nobody being here but him.

Shit.

Outside Zeke’s barriers, wraiths started to form. The dark wisps appeared and disappeared in the corner of his eyes like fireflies.

He could smell and hear them, sizzling like water on coals and sniffling his shield.

Were there more than expected? More than he’d seen here before? Maybe. Maybe not. He’d lost his ability to gauge normal as he and Maggie had adjusted to greater and greater swarms.

The area darkened as wraiths formed. The edge of Zeke’s shelter grew clearly demarked from the deepening blackness outside. Their malice gnawed at his concentration. The unavoidable stench wrinkled his face. They didn’t smell this shitty in sleep unless he dropped shield.

Something whooshed behind him. Zeke whipped around but couldn’t see past his barrier, past the wraiths. They were stronger in trance, more dangerous. He could feel them nibbling, gnawing, craving his conduit. Desperate for access to the terra firma. Were this many drawn to him because of his relationship with Maggie? His perforated shields? Did this have anything to do with why he’d been called to Wyoming?

He needed answers, and he needed them now.

Zeke widened his shield to cover more square footage. It should have thinned out the wraiths and lightened things up, but there were enough that they maintained a consistent smog beyond his protections.

It was a lot like Maggie’s dreamsphere—except these wraiths could kill him.

Another whoosh behind him. He spun. A spot along the outside of his barrier had been cleared of wraiths. Head-high. Body wide.

The shape of a person.

It filled with shadows and black streamers almost before he registered what it was.

“Who’s there?”
he demanded.
“I need an orator.”

A response so faint he wasn’t sure if it was real or wraith.
“Help.”

“Adi? Adishakti Sharma.”

Whoosh, behind him. He spotted another clear outline of the dreamer’s body before wraiths filled it.

Why was the person dodging him? What was going on? He sensed no sigs, no conduits. The dreamsphere was deserted except for wraiths. Was everyone dead?
“I need to talk to Adishakti Sharma. It’s urgent. Why am I supposed to report to Wyoming?”

“Help me. Please.”

It wasn’t Adi. She wasn’t just his vigil—she was Lillian’s best friend. He knew Adi’s sig well.

Zeke opened himself mentally, hoping to increase the volume of the sender’s speech. It thinned his barriers and increased his exposure.

The wraiths sensed the change in his protections and pushed. Each one had the cerebral strength of a fucking elephant. He couldn’t hold himself wide for long. Better make this loud and fast.

“Is the waystation under attack? Is this a code one?”
He didn’t detect any red manifestation conduits but the wraiths’ blackness could hide a lot.

“No. Just me.”

“Identify yourself.”
Why couldn’t he read the individual’s signature? All alucinators not here for the first time had tagged signatures, and if this were a neo, he wouldn’t be able to communicate. Only curators could disguise themselves, and a curator wouldn’t need help—right?

“Ze-eke.”
The voice dragged out his name like a plea.

“You’re not Zeke. I’m Zeke. Display your signature.”
As he spoke, wraiths hissed. An area of shield above him threatened to cave in. Were they going to be too much for his perforations?

“Only you can help. Please, Zeke, please. I’m trapped in here, and I can’t hold them off forever.”

The dreamsphere wasn’t subject to changes in temperature, no matter the weather in the terra firma. Regardless, Zeke’s whole body turned ice cold as he registered the signature of that presence. As he recognized that voice.

Karen Kingsbury was loose in the dreamsphere…and if she could communicate, she could kill.

Chapter Four

“How far is the waystation from the airport?” Maggie asked her companion as they shouldered their duffels at the mostly deserted baggage claim. Their flight to Wyoming had involved two transfers and eight hours. Zeke hadn’t let her nap the boredom away since locking herself out of the dreamsphere required some shenanigans he hadn’t taught her yet.

As a result, Maggie was tired, hungry, and almost as cranky as he was.

“Two hours.” He preceded her down a short staircase. His head swiveled as he inspected the area. “Car rental’s to the left.”

He was as jumpy as she’d ever seen him. Was he expecting a materialization? Their weapons were in their checked baggage, and it wasn’t like they could whip out their swords in the middle of the airport.

“I guess the Somnium doesn’t have a limo any more than it does a private jet?” she asked.

He shot her that slitty-eyed, “this isn’t a joking matter” glare she’d come to recognize and wanted to punch. “I prefer to take care of my own travel arrangements.”

Understandable. The Somnium, while tightly run and capable of mass cover-ups, was neither wealthy nor extravagant. She sincerely doubted the curators netted salaries three hundred times as big as their employees. Stationed at the Orbis facility in Europe or Asia—details were unclear on location—curators rarely traveled. They spent most of their time in the sphere, waking to tend to bodily needs and emergencies. The current handbook listed curator duties as whole-dreamsphere oversight; proactive, top-down reallocation; and cultural response. Apparently that covered stepping in with difficult L5s and disasters like the situation caused by Zeke’s ex, Karen.

The only curator anyone of Maggie’s acquaintance had met was that guy Lill hated.

“Once we’re in the car, you’re going to tell me what’s going on,” she informed Zeke. He’d refused to offer details before, claiming privacy concerns—on the airplane as well as at the base. All she knew was Adi had requested their presence immediately. They’d barely had time to pack.

“Hate to disappoint, but I don’t know much more than you do.” He negotiated with a sleepy-looking rental agent, and they soon found themselves in an SUV headed toward their destination. It didn’t take long before they left the small urban area around the airport behind.

It was too dark at this hour to see much of Wyoming. This part of the state was classified as a shrub-steppe, a combination of grasslands, basins and mountain ranges. The low population density meant fewer chances of discovery and accidental death should projects go awry. This wasn’t a site where researchers deliberately manifested wraiths, but alucinators in dream comas had haphazard control of their conduits.

Alucinators in medical comas, like Karen Kingsbury, had no access to dreamspace at all. This described most of the comatose patients at the facility. With such individuals, it was only a matter of time before they passed, and every effort was made to ensure their remaining days were painless.

Maggie waited until Zeke’s white-knuckled, double grip on the steering wheel relaxed before reopening the topic of the details he’d glossed over. “What couldn’t you tell me at base? Who are you hiding things from besides me?”

“I’m not hiding things from you.” The high beams shone white-gold on the pavement and flashed off the occasional road sign. “Adi didn’t tell Sean why we had to come.”

“But you tranced and asked her,” Maggie said. “What did she say?”

“She wasn’t there.” He hadn’t mentioned that.

“Who was?”

Even in the dim light of the car, she could see his jaw work and his lips tighten as he hesitated.

“Come on, Zeke. You said you weren’t hiding things from me.” If her presence was requested as well as Zeke’s, she deserved to know whatever he knew in advance.

“One of the station’s coma patients seems to have had a change of status,” he said at last.

“So this is a…funeral?” Would Zeke want to see Karen dead and buried? Was he listed as her next of kin?

“No. Someone’s medical coma may have shifted to a dream coma. Or something else. It was unclear.”

“Isn’t that good? Like a partial healing?” There were more ways to free an alucinator from a dream coma than there were to free an alucinator from a regular coma. In a sense, though a dream coma meant possible manifestations, it was preferable. Recovery was more likely.

“It was Karen,” Zeke said in a tight voice.

Maggie’s stomach lurched with a punch of fear. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

He would be. Karen had been his student, his lover. They’d shared a tangible bond, like Zeke and Maggie, but had been intimate in a way he’d refused to be with Maggie. He’d probably been nice to Karen instead of a cranky asshole. Zeke had been so in love he’d ignored his team’s gut feeling something was off about Karen.

The last time Karen had been active, lots of people had wound up dead. After vigil-trapping Zeke in the dreamsphere—an ability she shouldn’t have possessed—she’d manifested hundreds of wraiths and somehow, somehow, directed them to kill people other than her. Normally, manifested wraiths headed straight for their creator, and anyone else was tasty collateral damage.

Maggie knew the story. Hell, everyone knew the story. She’d heard any number of versions since enlisting with the Somnium, most of them even more macabre than Zeke’s had been.

Karen was someone all alucinators feared. And now Maggie and Zeke had been summoned to her bedside.

“Is Karen awake?” Maggie asked tentatively. And they were headed straight for her? The woman whose manifested wraiths had killed over five hundred people in Harrisburg?

His jaw clenched. “Don’t think so.”

“Normally alucinators can’t detect people in dream comas. They’re cut off.”

“I realize that,” he said. “I told you it was unclear. The whole damn thing’s unclear.”

“I wish Adi could have been more specific.” Maggie checked her seatbelt nervously, though the road ahead was empty and flat. “Did you try calling her?”

“Several times, and yes, I left our flight information with Adi’s assistant Blake,” he said with a little extra drawl that meant he was insulted she’d asked. “I couldn’t say anything about Karen over an unsecured line.”

She adjusted the fit of the seatbelt at her shoulder. “Why didn’t you share this with the other sentries?”

She could think of a number of reasons. He might not want more suspicion directed at him and Maggie because of the similarities between her and Karen. He might be feeling his hero oats and hoping to handle this weirdness with Karen solo—a second chance to get it right.

He might, her imagination whispered, want his reunion with the woman he’d once loved to be more private. That was stupidity talking, though. If Karen was awake, there was no way Zeke was nursing a flame for a murderer who’d tried to murder him too.

“I doubt Adi would appreciate me blabbing when she went to the trouble of telling Sean it was classified.” He flicked on his phone, checked for messages, and frowned. “She didn’t mention Karen to Sean, and oration is as secure as it gets. I got the impression Karen’s stuck. If she’s shifted to a dream coma, it’s not active. There were no conduits. What could the others do if I’d violated confidentiality and told them?”

“Come with you and bring their swords.” If she’d identified Karen Kingsbury’s signature in the dreamsphere when the woman was supposed to be in a medical coma, she’d have screamed it to everyone she could find—classified information or not.

“The waystation’s got guards, Maggie. It’s not just scientists and doctors. I gotta trust Adi knew what she was doing when she asked for us. Hell, for all I know, Karen migrated to a dream coma weeks ago, and they’re all over it. I don’t want to think about her or talk about her.”

“But if she—”

He interrupted. “This meeting could be about you.”

Maggie quit rearranging the seatbelt. “Me?”

If anything, Zeke looked angrier and more uncomfortable than he had while discussing Karen. “This is a remote, well-fortified site. They might want us to train here instead of the East Coast base.”

“Because of my wraith problem?” Zeke had tried to downplay it, but Maggie suspected more wraiths swamped her than the other neonati. Including Hayden. Her record-breaking phase one had done nothing to enhance her rapport with her fellow employees, that was for sure. “Or my shields in general?”

“Adi might want you physically close for observation,” he said. “She’s a vigil. They don’t have to explain everything.”

“Adi always explains herself.” The vigil had flown to the East Coast base several times to counsel Maggie in person, but most of their interactions had been via the phone or computer. They couldn’t yet link in dreamspace.

Zeke raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know, Maggie, okay? Sean mentioned…” He stopped.

“What?”

“In the Aussie division, a disciple with your issues would have been sent to the Orbis. There’s a remote possibility we’ve been summoned to meet with a curator.”

Maggie pressed her throat. Racing pulse—check. “You think they plan to reassign me? I don’t want to go with a curator.”

Unexpectedly, Zeke grabbed her free hand. His firm, callused grip didn’t reassure her. The fact he had willingly touched her when he didn’t have to meant he was agitated.

He must think a reassignment was a possibility. But she could lock her conduit. She hadn’t manifested wraiths since the first twenty-four hours after she’d become a dreamer. She wasn’t dangerous. She was just a slow learner.

“A curator came to see Hayden a couple weeks ago,” he said, so calmly it didn’t merit him grabbing her hand. “There’s no reason for us to be in Wyoming to meet a curator. I’m just tossing around ideas.”

Another possibility occurred to her—one that was worse. “What if they want access to the medical equipment? What if they think I might end up in a coma?”

“Be reasonable. Testing—maybe. There might be tests on you. But they’re not about to burn an L5. You’re valuable. Nobody’s gonna electroshock you.” He squeezed briefly and didn’t release her hand.

The sensation of the tangible crept up her arm, both calming and stimulating. She wriggled her hand until Zeke eased his grip and then laced her fingers through his. They did this during their sleeps—during every sleep.

But what she didn’t do was stroke his wrist with her thumb. She didn’t allow herself to bask in the tangible as it sank into her bones and cast its net over her. The pull of it relaxed her even while it tempted her. Her breathing deepened.

Zeke’s did too.

She thought of bed. Various types of bed, not just the sexy ones.

“When do you think we’ll have a chance to nap?” she asked. It was past their sleep period by several hours, and her body telegraphed that to her in no uncertain terms. But she couldn’t sleep without Zeke. She couldn’t hold her own shield. Well, she’d held it last night, but could she do it again? For six hours, alone? Once Zeke taught her shielding, he’d promised that the sleep barricade, where an alucinator or her mentor could keep her out of the sphere during sleep, would be a snap. That was an ability disciples usually learned before advancing to phase two. While higher level alucinators rarely used a barricade, since they required contact with the sphere, it came in handy sometimes.

“I don’t know. They won’t want us—you—to go longer than twenty-four hours.” Neonati needed regular sleep more than experienced alucinators. Phase one students had been known to pass out unexpectedly if their mentor worked them too hard.

“I’m not that new anymore.”

“Still phase one.”

No need to remind her why this summoning might be about her and not Karen. “You can tell Adi what I did with the shield. You said it was good. You told Heather I might advance by next week.”

When Maggie was angry at Zeke, which was about half the time, she couldn’t wait for phase two and the decreased contact between them. The rest of the time, she was dejected about the idea of no longer sharing his space—as if leaving before they’d consummated their relationship meant she was losing her chance.

If nothing else, in Zeke’s bed she felt protected. He’d meet her in the dreamsphere during phase two training, but they’d link like normal alucinators—by finding one another’s signatures.

“You got nothing to worry about. A few of your skills are graduate level.”

Zeke wasn’t much for compliments. She must be doing better than she’d realized. “They are?”

“Yeah, but that don’t matter. Doesn’t matter.” He’d adopted a tendency to self-correct his grammar that made her wonder if he suspected her of judging him. She didn’t judge him—about grammar. “Shield mastery is critical, and you can’t rate phase two without it.”

Phase one covered the basic skills that would allow an alucinator to exist by him or herself without manifesting wraiths. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be able to live like an L1 or L2 and never enter the dreamsphere again, which was why control was imperative.

“When you think about it,” she said, “it’s unsurprising that a curator might want to investigate why an L5 is progressing so slowly. You’ve said repeatedly you don’t know what the hell my problem is.”

“Bad attitude,” he said. “That’s your problem.”

“I get that from you.” Assessments required a full link, like a teacher and student had, open both ways. Matriculation for a neonati generally occurred when he or she managed to link, for the first time, to an alucinator other than a mentor or a curator. At that time, he or she was able to be assessed and judged. “Maybe there’s a curator at the coma station because of Karen, and he didn’t want to travel.”

When she said the woman’s name, Zeke’s fingers, clasped between her hands, twitched. “Whatever’s going on and whoever it involves, I’m sure the vigils are on top of it. Don’t sweat it.”

Was he trying to reassure her—or reassure himself because Karen might be part of it? What was he not telling her?

“Should we try calling Adi again?”

“She’d return my several calls if she had anything to say to us.”

He was right. None of their questions could be answered until they arrived at the facility and met with Adi in person.