Dream Hunter (Bailey Spade Book 2) Read online

  Dream Hunter

  The Bailey Spade Series: Book 2

  Dima Zales

  ♠ Mozaika Publications ♠

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 Dima Zales and Anna Zaires

  www.dimazales.com

  All rights reserved.

  Except for use in a review, no part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

  Published by Mozaika Publications, an imprint of Mozaika LLC.

  www.mozaikallc.com

  Cover by Orina Kafe

  www.orinakafe.design

  e-ISBN: 978-1-63142-613-1

  Print ISBN: 978-1-63142-614-8

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Sneak Peek at Dream Chaser

  Sneak Peek at The Thought Readers

  About the Author

  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.”

  “Whose subconscious, yours or the dreamer’s?”

  “Great question.” I conjure up the creatures from the subdream I experienced when I invaded Bernard’s non-REM sleep—the ones that look like oversized bacteria and viruses. “Theoretically, these could be my fears of contamination made flesh.”

  Pom peers at them as I recreate the creatures I encountered in Gertrude’s subdream—tentacled giant naked mole rats riding warthog-spider hybrids. “Nothing about these riders fits that pattern,” I say, studying them, “so they might be something Gertrude dreamed up.”

  Pom floats in front of my face. “So you think it was your mom who created the monsters we just defeated?” br />
  “Could be. Though I don’t like the implications.”

  He blinks at me.

  “The monsters said their master hated me,” I explain. “If Mom created them, she’d be their master, right?” Reaching the glass-walled tower of sleepers, I locate the nook where Mom’s form resides now that I’ve forced her into REM sleep. “I know we had that fight before her accident,” I continue as I fly toward it, “but I hope she doesn’t really feel that my existence is a blight—whatever that means.”

  Pom flies next to me. “You feel bad about that fight, don’t you?”

  “Of course. I made Mom think I might invade her dreams, something she made me promise never to do. That’s why she got so upset and stormed out. Her accident wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for my big mouth.”

  Pom turns gray, a color rare for him. “You didn’t know what would happen.”

  “True.” I take a breath to suppress the heavy swell of emotions thinking about Mom’s accident always generates. “In any case, it doesn’t matter now. I am breaking my promise.”

  “To save her life.”

  “Yes.” Outside, in the waking world, Mom is in a strange coma-like sleep, one that neither Isis, a powerful healer, nor Dr. Xipil, a rare gnome doctor, could get her out of. The only thing left to try was for me to go into her dreams and wake her from within.

  Hopefully she’ll understand and forgive me.

  Entering her nook, I land next to the bed. To my surprise, there’s no trauma loop cloud above her head—something I always suspected I’d find if I dreamwalked in her. Before the accident, she’d displayed all the symptoms I’ve seen in my most troubled clients.

  “I’m sure she’ll forgive you,” Pom says sagely, landing behind me. “What’s more important is that you forgive yourself. From my experience, that’s harder.”

  I turn to see if he’s kidding, but he’s still that depressing gray color. “What experience are you talking about? What did you ever need to forgive yourself for?”

  His cute face twists into a miserable expression, and his ears droop. “I permanently attached myself to you without asking your permission.”

  So he had. I certainly hadn’t expected to end up with a symbiont when I petted a mooft—a cow-like creature loofts normally live on—at a Gomorran zoo. But now I can’t imagine my life without him.

  “Sweetie.” I snatch him up, bringing him up to my eye level. “I already told you, I wouldn’t want to take you off even if I could.”

  The tips of his ears turn a light shade of purple. “You told me that when you thought you’d be executed. Now that you know you’ll live, do you still mean it?”

  “We’re symbionts for life,” I say solemnly. “Don’t you ever forget it.”

  The rest of Pom turns purple, and he grins. “We make a good pair of symbionts, don’t we?”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I kiss his furry forehead and set him down. “Now how about I do what I came here to do?”

  We both look over at Mom. Her beautiful features appear so peaceful in her slumber.

  “Do you want some privacy?” Pom asks.

  “Please.” It’s been four months since Mom entered her coma. The chances that I’ll cry when we finally speak are pretty high, and seeing that might upset Pom.

  He obligingly disappears.

  I place my hand on Mom’s forehead. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “If I could save you without breaking my promise, I would.”

  Steeling myself, I dive into her dream.

  Chapter Two

  Mom is chopping something in an unfamiliar kitchen, while a child version of me is opening a packet of manna.

  My younger self looks to be about five and must be filtered through Mom’s memories. I doubt I was that adorable, and I’m skeptical of that innocence in my eyes. Though I don’t remember anything from when I was younger than seven, I couldn’t have changed this much.

  A part of me is disappointed. My dreamwalker powers allow me to tell if a dream is based on a memory, and that’s not the case here. It would’ve been a chance to learn something of my early years—one of Mom’s many taboo subjects.

  Mom starts chopping with greater intensity.

  Something prevents me from clearing my throat to inform her of my presence. As much as I yearn to speak with her, curiosity and a certain intuition lead me to observe for now. I turn invisible—and just in time.

  Clutching the knife so hard her knuckles turn white, Mom lunges at the little me.

  What the puck?

  Mom’s face is an unrecognizable mask of hatred as she stabs the little me in the heart. My child self screams in pain—which is the only thing that covers my shocked gasp.

  I disable my sounds and breathe deeply to calm myself.

  It’s just a dream. Dreams can be chaotic and crazy. This doesn’t mean Mom wants to kill me.

  What I just saw doesn’t have to be a manifestation of Mom’s anger about our fight.

  A new dream starts.

  We’re in our apartment on Gomorrah. Mom is watching as a teenage version of me stands in the middle of the room with a VR headset on her head. As I look around, I notice something curious—some of the windows around us are black.

  I first came across the concept of a black window in the notes of Leal, the murdered dreamwalker from the New York Council, and I learned more about them in the dreams of Nina, the telekinetic who acted as a sort of memory storage for said dreamwalker. Nina herself had a troublesome memory that she’d had Leal lock away behind a black window.

  Is that the case for Mom? Are these windows events that she, or someone else, erased from memory? It could explain why she didn’t have a trauma loop. Whatever’s troubling her could be hidden behind the black windows.

  Before I can follow this chain of thought further, the same look of hatred appears on Mom’s face, and she tackles the unaware teenage me like an NFL linebacker, shoving her with all her might.

  My teenage self flies at one of the regular windows. Flailing, she crashes through the glass and plummets to the pavement far below.

  What. The. Hell?

  The dream changes again. This version of me looks to be ten or so, and is sleeping. Mom is looming over her with that same frightening expression on her face.

  “Please tell me you just want to dreamwalk in her,” I whisper, but she can’t hear me. My voice is still disabled.

  Grabbing a pillow, Mom places it over the face of the sleeping me, smothering her.

  Puck.

  I give myself the ability to make sounds again and become visible.

  “Mom,” I say tightly. “I think you’re stuck in some hellish nightmare.”

  At least I hope that’s what’s happening. There’s no way she’s enjoying killing me over and over like that. I wasn’t that annoying of a daughter.

  Confusion replaces hatred on Mom’s face.

  “You’re dreaming,” I say quickly. “This—”

  “You’re dreamwalking in me!” Mom looks furious enough to kill the real version of me this time.

  I instinctively back away. “You don’t understand. I didn’t have a choice.”

  She points her hand at me, and an arc of lightning shoots from her fingers into my head.

  I feel like someone’s turned me into a lemon, squeezed me dry, and blended the leftover meat and peel into a smoothie.

  I open my mouth to scream, but it’s too late.

  I’m no longer in the dream world.

  Chapter Three

  I’m back in the hospital room, with Dr. Xipil and the burly security guys watching me intently, ready to subdue me in case I became a psychotic killer.

  I paste a smile on my lips, even though I’m freaking out. The last thing I need is for Dr. Xipil to stab me with that syringe he’s holding.

  “What happened?” he asks with a worried expression.

  “It didn’t work,” I say and place my hand back on Mom’s forehead. It’s strangely clammy. “I’
m going to try again.”

  “Wait—”

  Tuning out the gnome doctor’s objections, I will myself to return into Mom’s dreams.

  Nothing happens.

  Huh.

  I touch my furry wristband—Pom—trying to get into the dream world that way.

  Nothing. There’s no scent of ozone, no sensation of falling that comes along with the transition into a dreamwalking trance. I might as well be touching a rock.

  I grip Mom’s hand and strain harder. Still nothing. Eventually, I have to accept it: The violent dream world expulsion Mom performed on me robbed me of my powers for the day.

  Unbelievable.

  I didn’t realize such a thing was possible—or that Mom could do it. In general, her dreamwalking powers seem to be much stronger than mine.

  What’s extra amazing is that Mom is this strong despite having lived here on Gomorrah for as long as I can remember. Us Cognizant slowly lose our powers unless we regularly travel to Otherlands that contain humans, like Earth.

  Dr. Xipil exchanges a glance with the guard nearest me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Puck. He’s worried I am homicidal.

  I force another smile to my lips. “I’m fine. I’m just disappointed I failed.”