CHAPTER 99

The wound was bad enough that the centaurs had taken him in, and were constantly opening his wound to clean it and apply medicine. Based on the light coming in through the flaps of the yurt, it was almost evening. He could hear music coming from the camp followed by the smell of freshly baked bread that made his mouth water.

"Okay, we may be in the clear," Zel announced. "I want you to lay there until you clot. I'll be back in an hour."

"But I—"

"No arguments." He could hear her tail swishing angrily. "I'm going to make sure you are in the clear before you leave, especially since you refuse to follow directions."

He sighed, and decided not to argue. She had been guilt tripping him ever since his arrival, and not only did his head still hurt, he was bored out of his mind. Zel and her assistant left, and it occurred to him that he should have asked for a snack.

Alone in the dark with his thoughts, he went over his plan for the days ahead. He needed to find a way to cross into the Underworld without simply dying, and felt his best bet would be to speak with Death. Sulyvahn might be willing to explain it to him, but he got the feeling that the dullahan was probably under orders from the queen to keep his mouth shut.

Someone laughed outside the tent, and Mike shifted to make himself comfortable, careful not to rub the back of his head. Zel had given him a haircut to see the wound better, and now his neck was all itchy.

Between lying in the dark and doing nothing else, his mind began to wander. He didn't want to take a nap, but he felt like one was coming, and maybe then he could just skip the next fifty or so minutes and go straight to going home.

He closed his eyes and emptied his mind, then pictured the white sand beach of the Dreamscape. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to get away to the salty shores of his mind after all and take a small vacation where Zel wasn't there to yell at him.

The transition was swift, and he found himself on the beach, his eyes gazing along the horizon of his mind. He was getting better at entering the Dreamscape from a waking state, but it was still more common to fall into normal dreams.

"Ha!" He stood up and rubbed the back of his head. There was no sign of his wound, so he walked down to the edge of the water and pulled off his shoes, then nonchalantly tossed them over his shoulder where they burst into smoke upon impact with the sand.

The water felt cool on his feet and he started walking along the shore. Despite walking a considerable distance, anytime he looked up from the waves, the house was sitting right there, watching him. Sometimes he could circle it, other times it followed, but this little beach paradise was still plenty of fun to visit.

Out in the ocean, a cloud dropped from the sky and rolled toward him, over the waves. Curious, he stopped to watch it break apart on the shore and scatter around him, casting the world into shadows. The house disappeared from view, and all he could see was the surf beneath his feet. The waves broke somewhere to his left, and he kept walking.

"So what's it gonna be this time?" he asked. "Your world will burn, mer mer mer." This was most likely the shadow come to bother him, and he simply wasn't in the mood to deal with the spirit.

The fog lifted in front of him, revealing a pier that went out into the ocean.

"Okay, I'll bite." He stepped onto the wooden planks of the pier and walked out into the water. The fog was thick out here, and he could only see a dozen feet in front of his face. "So when do you think you'll—"

He froze in place at the sight of the cage that appeared from the darkness. Inside, a lone figure watched him, her hands wrapped around the bars.

"Cecilia?" he asked.

She nodded, then stretched her arms to him through the bars. He ran to meet her, and they embraced through the metal bars. Was she an illusion? Just a figment of the dream world, appearing to torment him? Or perhaps a memory of some sort to give him comfort?

"Mike. A Ghrá mo Chroí," she said, and his shoulder became wet with her tears. "How I have longed to see you."

"Is it really you?" He stepped back to get a look at her. The red stripe in her hair looked a little bigger, and her hair was a couple of inches longer. "I can't be sure this is real."

"Nor I," she told him. "I have been in this cage for such a long time, but my dreams have become so real. Did you know that? I can have dreams now. Often they are lovely, and sometimes not. I only sleep every few days, and not for very long."

"Oh." It couldn't be her, then. Banshees didn't need to sleep. Even so, her presence gave him a sense of peace, and he gladly embraced it, willing the dream to stretch out so they could spend more time together.

"Please," Cecilia begged. "You mustn't come here, it isn't safe. The queen is planning—"

A whiff of sulfur tickled his nostrils and his eyes popped open. The Dreamscape shattered apart and he was back on his table. The yurt had filled with the sound of roaring flames, and a dark figure fell from above, landing face down in the dirt next to him.

"Lily?" He sat up on the table and looked down at the succubus, doing his best to keep disappointment off his face. Cecilia had seemed so real, even if it was only for a few seconds, that all he wanted to do was go back to sleep.

"Hey there, Romeo," Lily said. She was covered from head to toe in soot, and she stumbled to her feet, her face a mask of aggravation. When she shook her head, ash sprayed out in every direction. When she rubbed her eyes clean, it reminded him briefly of a coal miner.