The Amber Columns (The City of Dark Pleasures Book 2) by Bibi Rizer Page A

behind her hand. Then she sighs. “Do the dreams stop?”
    “If you…if you practice controlling the dreams a bit it stops. When one of the nightmares starts you can control it.”
    She frowns at me, and begins walking again, towards the flashing lights and music. “So I can have one of the lucid dreams whenever I want?”
    “You could learn to control some dreams. But it’s not as reliable as my service. But you can usually stop a nightmare. Or wake yourself up.”
    “And how do I learn this?”
    I wish I had a different answer for her. “You need to have a few more goes with my machine, but…”
    “I don’t think I can afford that.”
    “I’m happy to let you have a go for free, but they turned off my power when I lost my license.”
    We walk into the growing crowd. Harem brides with ice-cream cones matching their pink veils swirl around us. Two older women slurp on fruit smoothies. We walk past a table where a husband is holding court with a dozen wives, all of them devouring what I’m sure is a very expensive chicken dinner. The smell is intoxicating. I nearly trip I’m so distracted.
    “Are you hungry?” O’Mara asks.
    “No,” I answer, lying. I’m grateful for the noise and bustle of the promenade that covers the sound of my stomach growling. “Why?”
    O’Mara frowns up at me. She’s really quite small, even for a woman. “Why did you lose your license?”
    The urge to kiss her is suddenly overwhelming. I kiss women so infrequently now. Sometimes I’ve been tempted by women who engage my services. I was tempted by O’Mara. Her lips were soft and warm. I’m so tempted by her now I put my hands in my pockets to keep from grabbing her. I think the last vestiges of the Synthrogen are still flowing through my veins. I want to taste every part of her. I’m hungrier than I think I’ve ever been in every possible way.
    I want to do things that I can’t do, that I lack the parts to do.
    A popcorn vendor rolls by with her steaming cart.
    “Are you hungry?” O’Mara asks.
    “No. Do you want to go an watch the Lapis Lazuli light show? There’s one starting in about five minutes.” I turn and walk in that direction, stopping when I see she’s not following me.
    “What’s wrong?” I say, seeing her glaring.
    “Why are you lying to me?”
    “I’m not.”
    “Tully, I can tell you’re hungry. Why don’t you just tell me the truth? I can buy you a meal. Have you run out of money?”
    The teenager inside wants to stamp his feet, outraged that she can make me feel so ashamed, so unmanly . Instead I cross my arms, rubbing my hands over my elbows in a feeble attempt to make it look like I suddenly felt chilled.
    “Tully…why did you lose your license?”
    “Can we talk about this somewhere else?” Crowds of women flow past us now, half of them have food and they all smell and look beautiful. My head is spinning. “Why don’t we walk down to the farm?”
    O’Mara drags me to a vendor and buys us both hot dumplings, which we eat as we walk. At least it gives me something to do with my hands. Suppressing the urge to run my fingers through her shiny hair is becoming exhausting.
    We’ve been walking on the long winding path to the farm for about ten minutes when she asks again: “How did you lose your license?”
    “It’s really dumb,” I say.
    “So tell me anyway. I promise not to laugh.”
    I take her empty bowl and my own and drop them in a recycling conduit, listening to the powerful vacuum sucking them away to the depot across the river. Through the razor wire fence, across the misty river, we can just see the lights of the processing sector. Unlike the Pleasures or the controlled areas, the processing sector functions twenty four hours a day. But it’s mostly mindless bots doing the work over there. They’re not likely to complain.
    I sometimes envy them. That’s funny, right? I envy machines? Maybe that’s why I build them.
    I think I linger a bit long there, by the conduit,