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
“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
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