Night Terrors (19 page)

“Ouch.”

“Dachshunds may look small, but they can bite damn hard. I bled like a stuck pig and wailed as if I was dying. In the end, it only took a couple of stitches to fix. I forgave Heidi and still played with her after that, but I was always a bit wary of her. I knew that even though Heidi was my friend, she could still hurt me if she wanted to. I never was able to forget the sight of her teeth closing around my finger, or the blood gushing from my wound.”

“Bloodshedder,” I said.

He nodded.

I remembered now. He had told the story during our sessions with Dr Kauffman. More than once. She’d insisted on it, telling us that the more often we spoke about our fears and traumas, the less power they’d have over us. What a crock.

We talked about our lives some more after that. I told Russell about when Jinx achieved full Ideation and how for a time, my life was a living nightmare – in more ways than one – until I’d been recruited by the Shadow Watch not long after graduating high school.

After Bloodshedder reached Ideation – sometime during Russell’s first semester in college – he’d run from her, thinking she was going to kill him. She chased after him, merely wanting to make contact with her Ideator, but in doing so, she led him to a Door. He opened it and went through, and Bloodshedder followed. He’d kept running through the streets of the bizarre world he’d entered, until he was so exhausted he couldn’t run anymore. He hid in an alley and sat with his back against a wall, eyes closed, gulping air and waiting to die. Before long, he heard Bloodshedder pad into the alley. She stopped in front of him, licked his face once, than curled up on the ground next to him.

After that, he knew he didn’t have to be afraid of Bloodshedder anymore. And since he no longer needed to sleep, he spent his days on Earth and his nights in Nod. Eventually, he dropped out of college and took up residence in Nod on a more or less full-time basis.

“It just felt more like home to me, you know?” he said.

Not really. Truth to tell, I don’t feel much at home in either dimension. I don’t have any human friends – ones that aren’t Ideators, I mean – and since I’m an only child, I don’t have any siblings. My dad passed away from lung cancer a few years back, and my mom moved to Colorado to be closer to her sister and her kids. About the only time I see her is Thanksgiving and Christmas, and even then I can only see her during the day since I have to get back to whatever hotel I’m staying at by nightfall, when my “platonic friend” accompanying me transforms into a maniacal clown.

Don’t get me wrong: I like being a Shadow Watch officer. But it can get lonely sometimes. Which was why, I suppose, that I was enjoying talking with Russell so much. Sure, I didn’t know what his true role was in the current mess I found myself in, and for all I knew, he’d fed me a line of bullshit and would turn around and betray me in a heartbeat. But for that short time in a crappy little restaurant, I felt a connection with a human being again, and it was nice.

“Do you ever wonder why?” I asked. “I mean, why
us
? What’s so different about us that gave us that power to tap into the Maelstrom and bring our nightmares to life?”

Russell looked at me without expression, and I suddenly felt embarrassed.

“Sorry. I don’t really have anyone to talk to about this kind of stuff, and since we were both patients of Kauffman’s when we were kids…” I said.

“It’s OK,” he said. “It’s just that no one’s ever asked me that before. I’ve heard that the Somnocologists at the Rookery have some theories.”

“But that’s all there are,” I said. “Theories. No one really knows.”

There have been Ideators and Incubi for thousands of years, maybe longer. And still no one knows for certain why one person becomes an Ideator and another doesn’t. The power doesn’t run in bloodlines, and it’s not associated with gender or any particular ethnic or cultural background.

“I guess some people are just born better dreamers than others,” Russell said. “Just like some people are born with a talent for music or with a higher IQ.”

“Luck of the draw, huh?”

“I guess.”

“I don’t always feel so lucky,” I admitted. “I love my job. It’s never boring, that’s for sure! And I like to think I’ve done some good. But it’s not always easy being” – I almost used the word
stuck
– “bound to your worst nightmare, you know?”

“Actually, I don’t. Bloodshedder and I have become great friends over the years. Haven’t we, girl?” He reached down to scratch her head, and I heard her tail thump happily on the floor. “Do you remember how Dr Kauffman used to say that the only way for us to overcome our fears was to confront them? Well, I went one step further than that. I embraced mine. Accepted it. And that made all the difference.”

Our conversation had taken an uncomfortable turn – for me, anyway – so I was relieved when Bloodshedder let out a sharp bark.

“That’s the signal,” Russell said. “It’s going to be dark soon. We need to get out of here before she starts to change.”

I wondered how the good folks at Cheddar’s would react to the sudden appearance of a demon dog in their midst. Too bad I wasn’t going to get to find out.

We rose from the table and headed for the exit.

EIGHT

We entered Nod through a manhole. Not the classiest of entrances in my career, but then again, a Door is a Door.

Russell went first. I followed, and Bloodshedder came last, squeezing her bulk through the circular opening in a way no natural creature could. I slid the manhole cover back into place and tried to ignore my usual sense of nauseated disorientation.
At least the voices in between weren’t too loud this time,
I thought, and I told myself to be thankful for small favors.

A quick look around told me we were in the Cesspit: neon signs advertising far-less-than-reputable businesses and loud-mouthed hucksters trying to entice passers-by into sampling whatever sleaze they were selling. One good thing about Nod: since you never know where a Door will let you out, the streets are always clearly marked. We were on the corner of Oblivion and Catalepsy.

The Cesspit, as the name implies, isn’t exactly Nod’s garden district. Incubi are created from the human subconscious, so not only are they drawn to darker pleasures, they don’t have inhibitions to prevent them from indulging. Alcohol and drugs – some of the earthly variety, many not – flow freely there, both within various establishments and out on the street. Sex isn’t for sale, but it can be rented on the cheap, and it comes in every variety and combination you can imagine, and quite a few that you can’t.

Violence is common here, but since Incubi heal swiftly, no one takes it very seriously. Except the humans foolish enough to venture down these filth-strewn streets. Compared to Incubi, we might as well be made of popsicle sticks. And unless you know how to handle yourself – and unless you’re willing to shoot first and then run like hell – the Cesspit is an excellent place to meet a swift, if hardly painless, end.

The Nightclad Council tolerates the Cesspit’s existence because it gives the more savage Incubi an outlet for their aggressive – and quite often destructive – needs. As long as the mayhem is contained, the Council is content. And who’s in charge of doing the containing? The Shadow Watch, of course. Just like all rookies, Jinx and I worked the Cesspit for several years after we finished our training. The theory is that if you can survive the Cesspit, you can survive anything. Sometimes I wonder if Darwin was an Ideator who came up with his concept of survival of the fittest after a visit to the Cesspit.

Russell had donned his pirate outfit before we left Earth – he kept his costume in a suitcase in the trunk of his car and changed in an alley. He had made me turn my back while he changed, but it’s possible that I peeked once or twice. And it’s possible that Bloodshedder – in full demon dog mode –might’ve almost bit off one of my hands for doing so. Russell had his rapier, too. I had no idea where he kept it. One moment he didn’t have it, and the next, there it was, sheathed at his side. I’d almost asked about it, but I’d decided he’d only smile at me again instead of answer, so I didn’t bother. For the record, the rapier really raised the hotness level of his outfit, though.

We’d emerged close to a group of Incubi who were busy trying to see how far one of them would stretch – a male so skinny, he looked like a skeleton covered with a paper-thin layer of skin. Two Incubi had hold of his arms, while another pair had his legs. The two on the hands – a beast that resembled a bipedal rhino and a creature that appeared to be made entirely of loosely connected shards of stained glass – braided the arms as if they were strands of taffy. The two holding the flesh skeleton’s feet – a hulking figure whose skin was criss-crossed with jagged scars, and a creature that looked like a weasel on steroids – were twisting the legs. From the sounds of snapping bone, not to mention the victim’s screams, it was clear that he was no more pliable than anything else made of flesh. The four Incubi laughed and chanted, “Over, under, over, under!” as they braided the Skin-Skeleton’s broken limbs.

The Rhino glanced over at us and said, “Hey, look! A couple humans! How many times do you think we can twist
their
arms and legs?”

The other Incubi grinned and they all dropped the Skin-Skeleton to the ground. He let out a shriek of pain as he hit, and then lay there, moaning in agony.

“Let’s find out!” Weasel-Boy said in a chittering voice.

They started toward us, and I reached for my trancer out of reflex, only to remember I’d lost it when the Blacksuits kidnapped Jinx. I still had my M-blade, though, and I drew it now. Russell drew his rapier, and I had to suppress a sudden feeling of weapon envy.

But before the four Incubi could reach us, Bloodshedder jumped in front of us and fixed them with a
Don’t fuck with me
glare, bared her mouthful of wickedly sharp teeth, and growled from deep in her chest. The quartet stopped, regarded the huge demonic hound for a moment, and then turned and headed off in separate directions at a near-run.

“You know, I think I’m starting to like her,” I said.

She looked back and me and snapped her jaws once, sending flecks of foam flying. The message: the feeling was not mutual.

“She does come in handy,” Russell said, smiling.

Bloodshedder trotted over to him, and he scratched her behind an ear. One of her back clawed feet thumped up and down on the asphalt in doggie ecstasy. It might’ve been cute if Bloodshedder wasn’t so damn hideous – and if the Skin-Skeleton hadn’t been sobbing in agony close by. I didn’t worry about him, though. He was an Incubus and would heal soon enough.

I turned to Russell, but before I could say anything, a glowing red Wild West-style train engine came chugging down the street toward us, flames trailing out behind it as if it were rocket-powered. Everyone in the street – including Russell, Bloodshedder, and myself – hurried to get the hell out of the way. Unfortunately, the Skin-Skeleton couldn’t move, not with his pretzel-twisted arms and legs. The Hell-Train roared over the spot where the injured Incubus lay, and everyone lining the sidewalk on both sides of the street let out shouts ranging from, “Dude, that’s going to leave a mark!” to “Ten points!”

Incubi aren’t known for their empathy.

I didn’t look too closely at the burned and mangled body of the Skin-Skeleton. He’d still heal. It was just going to take a
lot
longer now.

“I’m glad that train didn’t come through as we were climbing out of the manhole,” I said. “Still, it’s a lucky thing that Door let us out here. If you want to get the lowdown on lowlifes, there’s no better place than the Cesspit.”

“That’s what Bloodshedder thought, too. In her Night Aspect, her senses are so sharp that she can almost always tell where a particular Door leads. You can thank her for bringing you here.”

I turned to look at the demon dog, but she was pointedly looking in the opposite direction. She didn’t try to tear my throat out, though, so I took that as a sign of progress.

“I take it you’re not planning on going to the Rookery first,” Russell said.

“I’m sure they got my report about the Day Incursion by now. And as for Perchance to Dream… well, we don’t know much about what’s going on there, other than that the Lords of Misrule are involved. And Sanderson won’t believe
that
without some serious proof. Maybe if you’re willing to turn yourself in and tell my boss everything you know…”

“Afraid not.”

“Didn’t think so. I’d rather find Jinx, anyway.” I glanced at the Skin-Skeleton’s ravaged body and felt suddenly queasy. I had no idea where Jinx was or what was happening to him. For all I knew, he might be in as bad a shape as that poor squashed sonofabitch out there. Or worse.

Even with Russell’s testimony, I had no direct evidence that Perchance to Dream was connected to the Incursions – just a gut feeling – and although I knew I should still communicate my suspicion to Sanderson ASAP, I didn’t want to. I knew it was petty, but I didn’t want to hand any info over to Damon and Eklips sooner than I had to. No matter what anyone said, it was still
my
case, damn it! Mine and Jinx’s, and I was determined to see it through to the end. Once I got my partner back.

“So if you’re not doing anything,” I said, “do you want to come with?”

I was surprised to feel nervous, as if I was asking him to go on a date – instead of helping me find my kidnapped partner.

“I was thinking that while you search for Jinx, I should try to track down Shocktooth. It’s possible she might not know any more about what’s going on than I do, but I figure it’s worth having a talk with her.” He patted Bloodshedder on the head. “Besides, my girl here loves the taste of reptile, don’t you, baby?”

Bloodshedder’s morningstar tail slammed into the sidewalk several times, sending cracks fissuring through the concrete.