Chapter 26

"Well?"Pom demands. "How's—"

"Still working on saving Gomorrah," I reply and rush to the tower of sleepers.

Locating the necromancer, I breathe a sigh of relief when I see the lack of clouds over his head; the last thing I want is to deal with a necromancer's trauma loop.

"Will this be scary?" Pom whispers.

I shrug, my gaze not leaving my target. "I'd sit this one out if I were you."

"Okay, I will," Pom says and starts his Cheshire cat disappearing act. When only his mouth is visible, he throws out, "Good luck."

Inhaling a deep breath, I touch Wrakar's wrist and dive in.

* * *

My surroundings are familiar—andmake no sense.

Under my feet are the calm waters of an endless black ocean and above me are angry, fiery skies.

This looks just like the place where all the subdreams take place, except it can't be: I double-checked to make sure Wrakar was in REM sleep, and more importantly, when inside subdreams, I never realize that's what's happening.

Why and how would Wrakar be dreaming of this? Did a dreamwalker describe subdreams to him? That would imply other dreamwalkers see the black ocean and fiery skies when they end up in subdreams, and I thought that was just my subconscious at work.

Something else occurs to me, something even stranger.

I don't see Wrakar anywhere.

Odd. Can a dreamer be missing from his own dream?

Looking around, I realize the necromancer isn't completely missing. As I concentrate, I feel a presence.

A presence that's slowly congealing out of nothingness to stand on the ocean in front of me.

When I can make it out, I realize that he—or it—looks nothing like the necromancer, even one distorted by the most nightmarish imagination.

The creature is humanoid but taller than the biggest giant. Even without that size, it would be the most frightening thing I've ever gazed upon—yet paradoxically, I can't explain what scares me about it so much. His face is beautiful, but in a terrible, overwhelming way.

If I had to pinpoint what makes it so, I'd say it's those eyes. They make me think of black holes. Looking into them is like seeing every nightmare I've ever experienced. Like looking under a dark bed as a small child. Like licking the floor in a public bathroom. Like—

"Begone," the creature booms, its melodious voice conjuring my every fear.

An image of my friends dying before reaching the hospital flits through my mind. Then one of Mom never waking up. Then—

"Begone!" the voice repeats, and just like that, I'm kicked out of the dream.