beam and back into the real world.
PHYLLIS’S KITCHEN WAS THE SORT OF GRANDMOTHERLY place that should always smell like gingerbread. Red-and-white-checked curtains framed the window over the sink. Between the tall wooden cabinets hung plaques with sayings like BLESS THIS KITCHEN and RECIPE FOR FRIENDSHIP . An oval braided rug in shades of blue and brown warmed the yellow linoleum floor. There was even a teddy bear–shaped cookie jar sitting chubbily on the counter.
I sat at the kitchen table, a glass of cool tap water in my hand, my third since I’d exited Phyllis’s dreamscape. My throat was dry, and I was still coughing up cottony puffs of fog. Pookie rubbed against my legs, his purr rumbling like a diesel engine. Phyllis was asleep upstairs. After exiting her dreamscape, I’d checked her vital signs and they were fine—better than mine, probably. Now I was waiting for her to wake up.
I reached down and absently stroked Pookie’s gray fur. This job had been a disaster. I’d killed exactly one Drude. The interloper with the sack had snatched at least one other, but I hadn’t been able to make sure Phyllis’s dreamscape was totally clear. I’d have to come back another night and do a sweep for any lingering Drudes. That is, if Phyllis would allow me back. That black door I’d opened—it was obviously the forbidden door, the one behind which terror lurked. Not only had I opened it; I’d gone through, plummeting headfirst into her fear of falling.Falling and heights, two of her biggest fears. She’d checked those boxes on her pre-extermination information sheet.
A noise in the hall made me look up. Phyllis stood in the doorway, wearing her pink robe and slippers. Pookie ran over to her. She picked up the cat and offered me a tentative smile.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, jumping up to pull out a chair for her.
“Hungry,” she said, waving me off. She set Pookie back on the floor and went to the refrigerator; its light reflected from her glasses as she peered inside. She removed a carton of milk and a slice of cake. “Would you like something?” she asked as she poured the milk into a glass. More milk went into a saucer for the cat.
“No, thanks. Do you feel ready to talk about what happened tonight?”
“Give me a moment, dear.” She returned the milk carton to the fridge and set the saucer on the floor. Then she carried her glass and cake over to the table. She settled into her chair with a sigh, took a long swallow of milk, then smiled at me. “Well, that certainly was exciting, wasn’t it?”
“I hope you weren’t frightened.”
“Frightened? Whatever for? Why, I haven’t had a dream like that since I was…well, since I was much younger.” A blush colored her powdery cheeks. “And much more romantic.”
Romantic? That was a funny word for a dream about endless corridors, falling through space, exploding demons, and shadowy figures with automatic weapons. She must have had a follow-up dream after I left. If it wasn’t a nightmare, that was a good sign.
“But where is he?” Phyllis leaned sideways and craned her neck as though trying to see behind me.
“Who?”
“Your helper.” She twisted around in her chair, then bent over and looked under the table before returning to me. “And why didn’t you introduce him to me before I went to sleep? I would have slept better knowing
he’d
be in my dreams.” Her blush deepened.
I sat up straighter. “Did this helper carry a sack?”
“Yes. For removing demons.” She frowned. “Nasty, scaly things they were. I’m glad I never opened a door if that’s what waited on the other side.”
“Tell me about him. What did he look like? What did he actually do in your dream?”
“He came into the dream the same way you did, stepping out of a beam of light. I saw you both do that. But I watched him because…” Girlish dimples framed her smile. “Well, because he was so attractive. The very picture of tall, dark, and
PHYLLIS’S KITCHEN WAS THE SORT OF GRANDMOTHERLY place that should always smell like gingerbread. Red-and-white-checked curtains framed the window over the sink. Between the tall wooden cabinets hung plaques with sayings like BLESS THIS KITCHEN and RECIPE FOR FRIENDSHIP . An oval braided rug in shades of blue and brown warmed the yellow linoleum floor. There was even a teddy bear–shaped cookie jar sitting chubbily on the counter.
I sat at the kitchen table, a glass of cool tap water in my hand, my third since I’d exited Phyllis’s dreamscape. My throat was dry, and I was still coughing up cottony puffs of fog. Pookie rubbed against my legs, his purr rumbling like a diesel engine. Phyllis was asleep upstairs. After exiting her dreamscape, I’d checked her vital signs and they were fine—better than mine, probably. Now I was waiting for her to wake up.
I reached down and absently stroked Pookie’s gray fur. This job had been a disaster. I’d killed exactly one Drude. The interloper with the sack had snatched at least one other, but I hadn’t been able to make sure Phyllis’s dreamscape was totally clear. I’d have to come back another night and do a sweep for any lingering Drudes. That is, if Phyllis would allow me back. That black door I’d opened—it was obviously the forbidden door, the one behind which terror lurked. Not only had I opened it; I’d gone through, plummeting headfirst into her fear of falling.Falling and heights, two of her biggest fears. She’d checked those boxes on her pre-extermination information sheet.
A noise in the hall made me look up. Phyllis stood in the doorway, wearing her pink robe and slippers. Pookie ran over to her. She picked up the cat and offered me a tentative smile.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, jumping up to pull out a chair for her.
“Hungry,” she said, waving me off. She set Pookie back on the floor and went to the refrigerator; its light reflected from her glasses as she peered inside. She removed a carton of milk and a slice of cake. “Would you like something?” she asked as she poured the milk into a glass. More milk went into a saucer for the cat.
“No, thanks. Do you feel ready to talk about what happened tonight?”
“Give me a moment, dear.” She returned the milk carton to the fridge and set the saucer on the floor. Then she carried her glass and cake over to the table. She settled into her chair with a sigh, took a long swallow of milk, then smiled at me. “Well, that certainly was exciting, wasn’t it?”
“I hope you weren’t frightened.”
“Frightened? Whatever for? Why, I haven’t had a dream like that since I was…well, since I was much younger.” A blush colored her powdery cheeks. “And much more romantic.”
Romantic? That was a funny word for a dream about endless corridors, falling through space, exploding demons, and shadowy figures with automatic weapons. She must have had a follow-up dream after I left. If it wasn’t a nightmare, that was a good sign.
“But where is he?” Phyllis leaned sideways and craned her neck as though trying to see behind me.
“Who?”
“Your helper.” She twisted around in her chair, then bent over and looked under the table before returning to me. “And why didn’t you introduce him to me before I went to sleep? I would have slept better knowing
he’d
be in my dreams.” Her blush deepened.
I sat up straighter. “Did this helper carry a sack?”
“Yes. For removing demons.” She frowned. “Nasty, scaly things they were. I’m glad I never opened a door if that’s what waited on the other side.”
“Tell me about him. What did he look like? What did he actually do in your dream?”
“He came into the dream the same way you did, stepping out of a beam of light. I saw you both do that. But I watched him because…” Girlish dimples framed her smile. “Well, because he was so attractive. The very picture of tall, dark, and
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