Chapter 33

I'min the apartment I've been sharing with Mom on Gomorrah. She's looking at me, her pretty brown eyes sad as always. I know for a fact she's had at least a week of poor sleep, yet she's as beautiful as ever. Whatever pleasant facial features I have, I undoubtedly inherited from her. In fact, out of the two of us, she's the one who looks like Halle Berry.

"Not this again," she says, sounding tired.

"Your symptoms are worsening." My voice rises an octave; I can't help it. "I heard you screaming at night."

Her face turns ashen. "Did you walk into my bedroom?"

I glare at her. "No. More importantly, I didn't break my promise. I didn't invade your precious dreams."

She exhales in relief. "I just had a nightmare, that's all."

"About what?" I cross my arms in front of my chest.

"Can't remember. Can we talk about something else now?"

"Was it something to do with my father?" I watch for her reaction.

Some emotion flashes in Mom's eyes, but so fleetingly I can't be sure I really saw it, let alone figure out what it was. "How many times do I have to tell you?" she snaps. "I don't remember him, nor is it a topic I like to talk about."

"If you don't remember, how do you know you don't want to talk about it?"

She shrugs and looks away.

"Fine. You haven't been eating much, either. And haven't left the house in forever. In fact, this is the first time this week I've seen you in real life." I pointedly glance at the last-generation VR goggles on the end table.

Her jaw juts out mulishly. "Maybe it's because no one pesters me in VR. I'm the parent and you're the child, remember?"

I reach deep for my patience. "Look, Mom. I see your symptoms all the time. If you would just let me into—"

"No!" She beelines for the door, throwing over her shoulder, "Don't ever suggest that again."

"If your symptoms keep worsening, I might not have a choice," I yell at her back. "If your life's on the line, I'll break my stupid oath!"

She freezes and turns to look at me, her expression so full of betrayal I regret my words instantly.

"You wouldn't," she says hollowly, backing up toward the door. "Please say you wouldn't."

"Fine." She's been making me swear not to dreamwalk in her since I was a kid—and I've kept my promise, despite the overwhelming temptation. "But you have to see someone. A conventional shrink, perhaps? Maybe make a friend and talk to them? Or—"

"You don't understand! I've tried everything."

"Not everything."

With a growl, she turns on her heel and storms out, slamming the door behind her.

"Well, good!" I shout to the closed door. "At least you'll get some fresh air."

* * *

I'min the emergency room. Mom's unconscious body is hooked up to an array of machines that do everything for her, from breathing to eating. Her brain activity is completely flat.

"She got hit by a car," the elf social worker says, as if from a distance. "We're figuring out what to do…"

I tune out the rest of it, my guilt and grief so overwhelming I can barely stand straight, let alone think. She went out because of my nagging. She went out angry and didn't see that pucking car coming at her.

"…don't have a lot of experience with this," the elf's voice reaches me again. "Self-driving car algorithms prevent pretty much all accidents. The last time—"

"Who gives a puck?" I bite out. "You think it makes me feel better that my mom is a one-in-a-million victim?"

The social worker backs away from me, mumbling platitudes—and I realize why she was telling me this.

Money.

Gomorrah has free universal healthcare, but on occasion, the free hospitals can't handle something, so they defer to paid establishments, ones usually patronized only by the rich. Like this place. And given the extreme rarity of what happened to Mom, there's no insurance that would cover it, just like there's no insurance for getting hit by a meteorite.

"I'll pay whatever's necessary to continue her care," I say to the elf. "Let me know what I need to sign."

She looks relieved. "I'll have a doctor speak with you shortly."

The wait for the doctor is the longest twenty minutes of my life.

When he finally arrives, I feel a slight sense of relief. He's a gnome, a rarity in the medical profession. Gnomes have a reputation of being the best in any scientific field, but they rarely choose medicine. Here, apparently, is the rare gnome who did—although it figures that the best of the best would be working in this paid facility.

"I'm Dr. Xipil," the round-cheeked gnome says in a voice distorted by his breathing mask. "When your mother first got here, I thought we'd lose her. After five nanosurgeries and a vampire blood transfusion, we were able to heal most of the bodily trauma. Her brain, however, is a different story."

He peppers me with a torrent of medical jargon that boils down to this: Mom is in a coma, and her brain isn't running her body's functions as it should.

"There isn't much more we can do," he says. "It's possible that a healer might help, but given the expense of—"

I hold up a hand. "Assume money isn't an obstacle."

"Then you should try hiring a healer. In the meantime, you need to keep her on the machines." He frowns. "Bear in mind, most hospitals would unplug her at this point, but here we can keep her hooked up until—"

* * *

I wakeup drenched in cold sweat. Blinking my tear-swollen eyes open, I realize I'm still in the stinky cell.

I was right to fear falling asleep. Without being in control in the dream world, I can't avoid the memories I've been trying to suppress—my own trauma loop. Though I've been telling myself that I've been taking vampire blood to have more waking moments in which to make money, avoiding these dreams was a big part of my motivation.

Well, I've faced them now.

If I were one of my clients, I would feel less intensely about what happened. But I don't. Maybe I need another dreamwalker's assistance in order to enjoy the healing effects of dreaming.

Still, at the very least, I'm no longer terrified of going to sleep. In fact, I can't wait to sleep more. The drowsiness is like a heavy blanket cocooning me, dulling the impact of the painful memories.

I yawn, struggling to keep my eyes open. I don't want to fall asleep again before I do what I recommend to my clients: examine my emotions with an open mind.

Guilt, of course, is the main one. I know Mom's accident wasn't really my fault. It was good advice to tell her to leave the apartment. Living as a shut-in, staying in VR for days on end, wasn't healthy. But I was the reason she'd stormed out onto the street. It wasn't just the driving algorithm that had failed; Mom must not have seen that car, either. That part's my fault—and I'll always carry that knowledge with me.

Underneath the guilt is anger. At her, at myself, at the pucking algorithm that didn't stop the car in time. At the Council, for interfering with the Bernard job and tasking me with this impossible mystery, then punishing me for failing to solve it. And deeper still is the hollow ache that I've carried with me for as long as I can remember… a longing for a father, for some family other than my moody, taciturn mom. A part of me has always hoped that one day, she'll relent and tell me about our family, about where we came from and why she's been unwilling to talk about them all these years. Now that hope is gone, extinguished as surely as my life is about to be. I'll never learn about my past—or kiss a guy in real life.

I'm going to die a virgin.

I picture Valerian and his sensual lips, his ocean-blue eyes, the way his body looks in that bespoke suit… Puck, we should've done it at least in the dream world.

Speaking of—how much time has passed? Based on how sore my body is from lying on the stone floor, I must've snoozed for at least a few hours. Could my powers be back?

I touch Pom and try to go into the dream world that way.

Nope.

Despite the disappointment banding my chest, I yawn so loudly it fills the small room. Maybe the introspection can wait until I get more sleep—or better yet, until I'm in the afterlife.

Even the thought of the pending execution doesn't suppress my next yawn.

Fine. Why fight it?

I close my eyes again and instantly fall asleep.