Chapter One
I stand on the surface of a calm black ocean, with fiery, angry-looking skies above my head. Six humanoid figures are sprinting toward me, their strange feet making them look like they’re tiptoeing on the water. Their right index fingers sport sword-like claws, and they lack noses and eyes. In general, their heads are pretty lacking—no hair, no ears, just baby-smooth skin and a huge mouth in the middle of where the face would be. And if that weren’t creepy enough, the horror nearest me starts screeching like a cat in heat.
To my shock, I realize it’s saying something.
“You!” the creature is shrieking. “You’re not dead?”
I gape at it. “Why would I be? What are you? How do you know me?”
The creature slices at me with its sword-claw, and I duck to avoid losing my head.
“Stay still!” the monstrosity screeches. “If I slay you now, Master will be pleased.”
Yeah, right. An appendage-like growth extends from my wrist, turning into a furry sword in time to parry the next sword-claw strike. “What master?” I demand as I lunge and slash.
My opponent’s cleaved in half before it can answer.
A second creature reaches me, swinging its sword-claw. “Master hates you!” it screeches when I parry. “Your existence is a blight.”
I counterattack with my furry blade, burying it in my opponent’s chest. “Me, a blight?” I yank out the blade. “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”
The time for talking about their master must be over. The next two attackers come at me with even greater violence. Their claws hack and slash without any strategy, making them easy prey for my furry blade.
The next two are more cautious. They circle me silently, looking for an opening.
I feint, then lop one’s head right off. The next opponent ducks beneath my blade by crouching on the water. As I loom over it, it strikes out with its claw, stabbing me in the thigh.
I jump back, crying out in pain. The affected muscle burns agonizingly.
The monster goes for the kill, but I parry. With a screeching yell, it lunges again—and its claw pierces my shoulder.
Ignoring the dizzying wave of agony, I swing my blade and slice its head clean off.
I’m in a huge palatial lobby with reddish green walls and yellowish blue marble floors, the richly appetizing scent of manna filling my nostrils as impossibly shaped objects float in front of my eyes.
My dream palace. I made it.
Blood is still oozing from my thigh and shoulder. Pucking puck. That subdream was worse than others. If there’d been one more monster in there, I’d be foaming at the mouth and trying to kill everyone in the waking world. It’s a good thing I asked Mom’s doctor to prepare for that eventuality. If I’d emerged from my dreamwalking trance in a homicidal mood, he could’ve subdued me with the help of the burly security guys he brought in—or knocked me out with whatever’s in his syringe.
Well, the good thing is, none of that is necessary now, since I’m safely in the dream world. I exit my body, heal it, give myself a fiery hair makeover, and jump back into myself.
Pom shows up next to one of the impossible shapes. He’s a looft, a symbiotic creature permanently attached to my wrist who’s also my companion here in the dream world. The size of a large bird, with gargantuan lavender-colored eyes, triangular pointy ears, and fluffy fur that changes colors to match his emotions, he usually belongs in the dictionary next to the word “cute.”
Currently, though, he’s solid black and his ears are droopy. “I accidentally read your mind again,” he confesses guiltily. “You’re here to wake up Lidia, aren’t you?”
Reminded of my important mission, I take flight, heading for the tower of sleepers. “That’s right. Mom was stuck in non-REM sleep—hence the subdream we just experienced.”
He zooms around me, shuddering. “Scary.”
“For sure. But hey, you were a sword this time.” I demonstrate by recreating the weapon I just used. “Did you have any clue that was actually a dream?”
He turns an even darker black. “No. I was just living in the moment, not questioning being that sword—as weird as that sounds.”
“Same here. No clue I was dreaming.”
Pom circles around my head. “The creatures spoke this time.”
So they did. How weird. I think back to all the other subdreams I’ve experienced and the bizarre, terrifying creatures I’ve met in them. “Maybe they’ve always tried to speak,” I say. “But this time, they had mouths that let them be understood.”
Pom’s fur takes on a light orange hue. “Where do subdreams come from?”
I slow my flight. He’s raised a question I’ve pondered a lot, without ever coming up with a satisfactory answer. “I don’t know. I’ve nicknamed them subdreams because I think they tap deeper into the subconscious than regular dreams do.”