War of the Magi: Azrael's Wrath (Book 2) by Joseph Robert Lewis

around and sent a dozen branches spearing upward into the darkness. A high-pitched shriek blasted down from the canopy and something warm spattered her cheek. Still she peered up into the blackness, waiting.
    The leaves rustled again, violently shaking and moving from her left to her right. Again she sent the trees to fight the unseen creature, lancing out into the deep shadows with a dozen more living spears, but this time there was no shriek, no sound at all.
    She recoiled and covered her face.
    What is that stench!?
    A strange odor of rotting fruit burned her nostrils and she touched the blood on her cheek to inspect it. She sniffed her fingers and confirmed the source of the odor. She was about to reach into her bag to strike up a torch when a sickening pain swam through her head, and then the world blurred away as the ground rushed up to meet her falling body.
    Her thoughts stumbled through shadows and mists, lurching on unsteady legs as she clutched her aching, throbbing head. Her next coherent moment was an image, a place full of green walls and streets.
    Naj Kuvari. I’m dreaming of the green city. And I know that I’m dreaming… something is very wrong here.
    Samira began to walk through the vaguely familiar city, wondering if she might find and consult with a dream-shade of Raziel himself, when she turned a corner and found Veneka standing alone in a small courtyard. The healer was staring down at the ground, and when Samira came closer she saw that there was a freshly made grave in the center of the space.
    “Who died?”
    The healer did not answer.
    “Veneka, I know this is a dream, but I don’t know why I would dream of you.”
    “She can’t hear you.”
    Samira turned and saw Iyasu walking toward her. The young seer looked exhausted, from his shadowed eyes to his uncertain steps, but he gazed steadily at her, and she said, “Are you to be my guide here? Is this a dream, or a vision? A revelation?”
    “Neither. This is a shared madness, a trap, a prison for our minds.”
    “Are you… are you the real Iyasu?”
    “Yes. It took me a while to break out of my delusion and realize that we were all trapped here together. This is the real Veneka, but I don’t know how to help her yet.”
    “If this is a prison, who is our jailor?”
    “I don’t know.” The seer didn’t appear to be particularly worried about that point. “Probably some demon that needs us to be unconscious in order to eat us, which means it’s probably fairly small and weak.” He knelt down and touched the fresh grave.
    “So how do we get out?”
    “No idea.” Iyasu shrugged. “Clearly it’s not enough to realize that we’re in a prison, or else you and I would be free of it now. What’s the last thing you remember?”
    Samira paused. “I was hunting something in the forest above me. It’s blood fell on my face. I smelled it, and I collapsed.”
    “While the rest of us were asleep.” The seer stood up. “This creature needed us to be asleep to trap us here. But you weren’t asleep. You may not even be asleep now. Not really. The smell of the blood may have drugged you. Interesting.”
    “Where are the others?”
    “Not far.” Iyasu pointed vaguely down the city lanes.
    Samira frowned at him. “So what do we do?”
    “I don’t know yet.” He squatted down again to consider the grave.
    The djinn woman turned and hurried from the courtyard.
    I thought he had more sense than the others, but the boy is just as foolish, if not more so. Doesn’t he understand that we could all die at any moment?
    She passed a large amphitheater cut into the floor of the city and a figure caught her eye.
    Petra!
    Her sister was standing on the stage of the theater, alone, silently gazing up at the rows of seats. Thousands of people sat there, but none were looking at Petra. Every person there was speaking to someone beside them, and many of them were sitting with their backs to the stage.
    “Petra?” Samira shook her sister to no