The War for the Waking World by Wayne Thomas Batson Page A

“initiate recognition protocol or choose another floor.”
    Kara put her palm to the screen. “Protocol Wind Maiden One,” she said. The screen flashed several colors, and the elevator began its long descent. Beneath was the code name of the lowest subterranean floor. The Dream Inc. Building went slightly deeper below the surface than its 660-foot height above. The Research and Development labs were on the bottom floor, but Kara’s private section was even farther down and completely unknown to all but her—hence the name.
    As the high-speed elevator hummed along, Kara found her reflection again, this time in the chrome doors. She loved the way the fluorescent light danced in her eyes. She gave a thought, spending just the tiniest measure of will, and her eyes began to glow, phasing blue, green, and purple. She gazed down at her fingernails and watched the now-scrolling colors for the most attractive hue, settling at last on opalescent plum. With barely a thought, she highlighted her silky, black hair with streaks of white blonde.
    She took in the new look and muttered, “So easy.”
    â€œNearing Research and Development,” the digital voice announced. “Do you wish to notify?”
    â€œDo not notify,” Kara commanded. She’d meant to fix that feature. If she were getting off at R&D, fine, but if she were heading Beneath, she didn’t want anyone to know she was even in the area.
    As the elevator slowed, Kara removed the ownership documents from the tube and skimmed them for a few moments. It was all there. Frederick had been very thorough.
    Kara watched the monitor and readied herself. Sublevel after sublevel went by, then Research and Development, and then . . . it happened. She willed her new appearance customizations not to change in the least, but she felt the boundary.
    As soon as the elevator slipped below R&D’s floor and over the threshold of Beneath, the air itself changed. It felt to Kara like the peeling away of a fuzzy layer. Not fuzzy like cute stuffed animals and cuddly kittens, but rather like the feel of static electricity. She felt it crawl up her body, her neck, her chin. She closed her eyes. It always stung the eyes a little.
    And, then, it was done. Kara breathed out relief.
    Her personal floor, Beneath, was the only place left on earth where her will-driven, dream-vision of reality—what she called the Harlequin Veil—did not penetrate. The elevator doors opened. Kara stepped out into the world as it really was and breathed the fresh air. It was cold air, barely regulated by the machines she’d installed, but its crisp, clean nature was superior to veiled air.
    Kara stepped off the elevator into a long cavern carved from slabs of blue-gray granite. At the far end of the cavern was a throne. It had once belonged to the Nightmare Lord. And, for a brief time, another had occupied the chair.
    â€œBut it’s mine now,” Kara whispered. Summoning a little will, her feet left the ground. She hovered across the long floor until dropping lightly into the seat. She crossed her legs, placed her arms upon the rests and, with a glance, lit the torches all around the cavern.
    Then, pouring as much smugness into her smile as possible, she decided it was time to visit with an old friend. She nodded, and a sixty-foot section of the floor began to rise. There had been no visible crease or mark to show this hidden chamber, but it rose smoothly and came to rest as if it had been there an eternity. Kara flexed her will. A place in the air right before her eyes went pitch-black, and a very old key emerged from the darkness. Made of bronze, now weathered, pitted, and streaked with patina, the Shadow Key hovered for a moment, and then streaked off to the waiting keyhole in the massive chamber that had risen from the floor.
    With her mind, Kara turned the key in the lock, and a huge slab door slid open. And there, wrists manacled, top hat dangling