Chapter 18

I snapout of the trance and numbly look around the hospital room, the sound of the beeping machines mixing with the cacophony in my mind.

How did I come to be here? Did the nightmare throw me out of the dream world instead of Mom?

"Bailey?"

I follow the voice and see a worried Valerian pointing a gun at me.

"Yitten," I say dully, and he lowers the gun.

I look back at Mom, the computer that is my brain crashing and rebooting.

"Her heartbeat spiked, setting off the machines," Valerian says. "But she's still—"

The gargoyle nurse rushes in and begins adjusting the machines. When the mad beeping stops, she rounds on us. "Whatever you did, don't do it again until Dr. Xipil is here."

I'm still too overwhelmed to speak.

"We won't," Valerian says. "Thank you."

With a huff, the nurse leaves, and I lean on Mom's bed, my knees wobbly.

"Are you okay?" Valerian asks, his voice seeming to come from a distance.

"It wasn't an accident," I say hollowly as the horrible realization fully filters in.

"What?" Valerian sounds even farther away.

I don't know if I can bear to say it out loud, yet the words emerge anyway, as if pulled by a torturer's pliers. "It was… a suicide." I swallow thickly, staring at Mom's ashen face. "She went out of her way to get hit by that car."

Valerian audibly inhales.

An unbearable pressure builds in my chest, my throat cinching tight. Could I have misunderstood what I saw? Or experienced my own nightmare? No, that doesn't make sense. I know it was a memory.

Mom's memory.

Her face blurs in front of my eyes. "It was my fault. I threatened to dreamwalk in her, and she tried to kill herself to prevent it."

"Bailey." Valerian sounds worried.

I sway on my feet. My stomach churns. The back of my throat burns. My heart is hammering in my chest so hard that if I were the one hooked up to all the machines, the nurses would be barging in.

Mom killed herself because of me.

My ribcage feels like the subdream vulture is clawing inside it. Before today, I'd felt guilty about the fight. I'd thought I had upset Mom, which had made her careless.

How stupid. How na?ve of me. I hadn't known the true definition of guilt until now. It threatens to drown me, the pressure so crushing I can barely take a shallow breath. Slowly, I sink onto the bed next to Mom, trying to process everything I saw, to make sense of something so incomprehensible.

She'd tried to kill herself.

Because of me.

Is this why she was killing me in her dreams? Because her subconscious knows I'm to blame for her predicament?

Are those nightmares payback for my forcing her to take her own life?

I must make some type of sound—a hysterical laugh or cry—because I suddenly find myself ensconced on a male lap, with strong arms wrapped around me and the pleasant scent of pine teasing my nostrils. "Shh," Valerian murmurs into my hair. "You didn't know what she'd do. How could you?"

He's right, Pom says in my mind. You can't blame yourself.

Figures. The rare time Pom is awake, and he's ganging up on me with Valerian. The vulture in my chest claws harder, and the burning sensation in my throat travels higher, concentrating behind my eyelids. Unbidden, a sob escapes, followed by another, and then I'm full-on bawling, the burning tears running down my face, soaking into Valerian's shirt.

He holds me, letting me cry as he strokes my back, murmuring words of reassurance, of comfort. Pom is in on it too, telling me that none of it is my fault, that it was Mom's decision to do this.

Eventually, my sobs ease, and I feel myself being carried somewhere.

I open my tear-swollen eyes.

Valerian is laying me down in the seat of his flying car, considerately making sure not to touch my naked skin with any cooties. Catching my gaze, he waves his hand, and the car interior disappears, replaced with a soothing green meadow.

Wearily, I close my eyes, but the meadow doesn't go away. He's using his power on me.

Valerian appears on the meadow.

I look away, but he shows up there, and the next place I turn, too.

"For your mother's sake, you need to pull yourself together." His voice seems to come from all over the universe. "Once you recover, you'll use your power to wake her and reassure her you'll never dreamwalk in her under any circumstances again. Problem solved."

Exactly, Pom mentally chimes in. Focus on fixing this.

I drag in a shaky breath and open my eyes, wiping at my face with my sleeve.

They're right. I don't deserve this self-pity party. Not when I do have a way to undo the damage I've wrought.

Sniffling, I sit up. When Valerian deems me capable of dealing with reality, the inside of the flying car shows up again.

"Why did you take me from the hospital?" I ask, looking at him. "Take me back. I want to go back into her dreams."

He strokes my thigh as if I were a looft on his wrist. "I think it would be best to do as the nurse said."

I want to object, insist that he take me back, but I don't. Because he's right. Instead of relying on the nurse, I should've made sure the doctor was there before I attempted to wake Mom. I was so eager to finally wake her I didn't really consider her safety.

Just like when I'd made that threat about dreamwalking.

The guilt swamps me again, and I wallow in it until we land on a roof.

"We're here." Valerian opens the car doors.

I blink, looking around. "You took me to your place?"

"The car flies here when I don't set a destination," he says. "Do you want to go home?"

"No." I climb out of the car on mushy legs. "I don't want to be alone."

He nods approvingly and climbs out behind me. Placing a hand on the small of my back, he herds me into the elevator, then into his apartment.

"Sit," he orders when we get to his fancy-looking kitchen.

I comply as he uses an old-fashioned kettle to brew an extremely pleasant-smelling tea and places a cup in front of me.

"Want me to hygieia the handle I touched?" He walks over to the fridge, takes two sealed manna packets, and puts one in front of me.

"No, it's fine." I take the cup, the warmth seeping into my chilled fingers.

Valerian sits down at the table across from me. "You can have my bed tonight." Seeing my eyes widen, he adds, "I'll sleep in the guest room."

I mindlessly take a sip of the tea. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep any time soon."

He opens his manna packet. "How can I help?"

I open my packet and devour it as I contemplate the question. "I wish there were something that would make me forget I'm the worst pucking daughter in the world," I finally mutter.

"There could be." His tone is gentle. "I just got a message. The werewolf is asleep."

I finish my food and gulp down the tea. "Good. I'm going in."

He spears me with his intent gaze. "No, you're not. Not alone."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm going into the werewolf's dreams with you," he says. "But only if you're sure you're ready for it."

"I'm ready. I just don't understand." I'm the dreamwalker, not him.

He sighs. "I'll fall sleep. You'll enter my dreams. Then, together, we'll deal with Hans the werewolf."

Well, if his goal was to distract me, he's succeeded admirably—only not in the way he thinks. I find the idea of watching him sleep incredibly fascinating. Too fascinating, I'd say.

And that's not all.

Getting access to his dreams? He'd refused me that when we first met, but I've been dying to snoop around in there. Hells yes, please. The only thing I'm fuzzy on is how much help he'd be in dealing with the werewolf, but if it means I get those other things, I'll play along.

"Sure," I say, my voice impressively even. "How about you go to sleep now?" Before you change your mind.

"Right." He stands up.

"And please, use your own bedroom," I say, recalling his earlier offer—along with the circumstances that prompted it.

The dark vise of guilt squeezes my chest again, but before I can give in to it, Valerian heads out of the kitchen, saying over his shoulder, "Fine. Let's go to my bedroom."

I'm glad his back is to me, so he can't see the coral pink Pom on my wrist. I've been fantasizing about some version of "let's go to my bedroom" for some time now.

I hurry after him, and when I step inside the room in question, I realize I've seen it before.

This is the lush bedroom with the giant bed covered by silk sheets he showed me in a couple of illusions. Only the rose petals are missing.

He takes off his shirt.

I forget how to speak for a second.

Without pause, he takes off the rest of his clothes. And I do mean all of his clothes.

I gulp, loudly.

He winks at me, then climbs into the bed and covers himself with a blanket.

Hey, no fair. You can't show me that, then cover it up. I didn't get the chance to properly file away all those hard, perfectly defined muscles in my memory banks. Or touch them. Or lick them.

Who am I kidding? If he let me lick anything, I'd probably chicken out on account of the thousands of different species of bacteria that live on skin.

Valerian's breathing changes.

I creep on over.

Yep. He's now under, but not yet in REM stage. Oh, well. I guess I have to do something not so unpleasant—watch his sleeping face. Those chiseled features are more relaxed than I've ever seen them, and that suits him. He looks like Prince Charming in repose.

Legs growing tired, I sit on the bed and keep watching. And watching. For some reason, I don't get tired of it. I guess I'm one of those creepy people who like to watch someone sleep.

Would it be wrong if I kissed his forehead? Would that wake him up?

The temptation is overwhelming.

Suddenly, I feel the same sensation as I did by the werewolf's door, only stronger.

Could it be?

I lean over him and see his eyes moving rapidly behind the lids.

Interesting. It seems like I'm now able to feel someone nearby go into REM sleep.

Useful.

Now an important choice: what part of Valerian do I want to touch? And with what part of myself?

Grinning, I gently pull the blanket down a few inches.

Target acquired.

I reach out and place my palm gently on his chest.

Yummy. Valerian's pectoral muscles are perfectly firm, his skin warm and smooth. I can feel his heart beating, and mine races faster, as if eager to catch up.

Wait, what am I doing?

I need to focus.

Calling on all my willpower, I jump into Valerian's dreams.