“No wonder Nostradamus got involved,” Ariel says as we get to the following gate. “Phobetor—I mean, Collywobbles—seems to be a threat to everyone everywhere.”
Itzel adjusts her gnome mask. “I wonder what his end goal is?”
“To kill me, that’s for sure,” I say. Then, realizing I never told them about the things Valerian and I discovered in his black windows, I do so, just glossing over the Soma bits since everything to do with that place is so hush-hush.
“So Nostradamus has shown up twice in your life,” Ariel says, frowning. “That can’t be good.”
Felix’s unibrow dances on his forehead. “I agree. What I don’t understand is Collywobbles’s actions. Even if killing you is one of his goals, there has to be more. Otherwise, why Overtake so many? Why start Icelus groups?”
Valerian squeezes my shoulder. “According to the lore of our people, his end goal is for every sentient being to end up in a state of perpetual nightmares. Thanks to Icelus activity, he’s stronger than ever, and closer to realizing that objective.”
We all mull this over until we get to a blue gate. It leads us to a never-ending desert with a strangely starless night sky and no Overtaken. The one after that is a gray tundra—again blissfully empty.
The next world is hotter than a bathhouse, with pterodactyl-like birds circling above us like vultures over a roadkill. When one dares to dive down, Rowan makes one of the giant zombies swat it away like a fly. After that, the rest of the birds decide to wait for easier prey.
“After the next world, we’ll be on Gomorrah,” I tell Rowan. “Earth is just a gate away from there.”
The necromancer perks up, then gives Valerian a worried glance. No doubt she’s wondering if he’ll keep his promise to get her citizenship on Earth—especially in light of Dylan’s new situation.
I’m pretty sure he will, but if he doesn’t, I’ll speak up on Rowan’s behalf.
The pre-Gomorrah world has a fluorescent purple sky with pink cotton-candy clouds, a Saturn-like ring, and two moons.
Forgetting her worries, Rowan cranes her neck to stare at the heavens in openmouthed fascination.
We speed up, our steps lighter thanks to a difference in gravity.
“I don’t think we should bring the zombies to Gomorrah,” Valerian says, turning to Rowan. “In general, we can’t have you stay there long—and what little time you spend there, you must keep your nature hidden. Vampires have a lot more pull on Gomorrah compared to Earth. They might well kill you first, then apologize after.”
Rowan audibly swallows, and her zombies fall lifelessly to the ground.
I hadn’t realized vampires had that much influence on Gomorrah, but Valerian is probably right. They’re our police force and the army rolled into one.
Rowan definitely made the right choice with Earth.
We go through the gate.
At the sight of the Gomorrah skyline, Rowan’s eyes widen to comical levels.
I can’t blame her. It’s cooler than all the Earth cities combined, and certainly bigger than anything I’ve seen on Necronia.
Valerian leads us away from the gates, then stops in the center of the skyscraper roof hub and begins making VR gestures in the air—probably checking on Senate business and summoning us a ride.
There aren’t many people around, but something catches my attention in the periphery.
Heartbeat picking up, I spin around.
Five people step out of the gates nearest us.
Familiar people.
Four of them are former members of our Necronia delegation, and all five are on the New York Council.
There’s Nina, a black-haired telekinetic with facial piercings; Kit, a shapeshifter who currently looks like her anime-character self; Chester, a probability manipulator with a satyr-like face; Colton, a rather tiny giant; and last and my least favorite, Gertrude, a gangrene giver who hates my guts for no good reason.
Felix and the others spot them too, and at first, they smile.
The smiles quickly turn into furrowed brows when they get a closer look.
Everyone but Gertrude sports the fiery eyes of the Overtaken.
Chapter Four
“Hello again,” Phobetor booms through Colton’s giant throat. “Gertrude and I made a deal. I rid her of her sleep problems, and in exchange, she unlocked the bedrooms of your friends.” Colton’s mouth curves in a macabre grin. “How about you and I make a deal also? Hand over the dreamwalker, and I let you go.”
Valerian responds with a rude gesture—hopefully speaking for everyone—and I narrow my eyes at Gertrude. The woman once came to me to solve her sleeping problem, and I couldn’t. She sometimes kills people with her power when she sleepwalks, but still, working with Phobetor isn’t a good solution.
It’s a stupid one, in fact.
Valerian’s thoughts must flow along the same lines. “Traitor,” he mutters, glaring at her. “You’ll lose your Council seat over this.”
Gertrude smirks. “Who’s going to tell them once you’re dead?”
Eyes narrowing, Valerian shoots an arc of pulsing red energy into Gertrude’s head.
The gangrene giver’s pupils dilate, and her head swivels from side to side, her face a mask of horror. Whatever experience Valerian has just created for her must be bad, because she screams, as if in pain.