Hellforged - Page 15/64

Tyler answered with a gentle snore. I’d take that as a yes.

I stuck an extra clip in my pocket and stood up. Whispering the password and holding my gun ready, I stepped into the dream portal’s sparkling beam. Immediately, I got that fizzy feeling in my veins, like all my blood had turned to club soda. Tyler’s bedroom faded and ran like a watercolor in the rain. The lights of the portal grew brighter, their colors more intense. Wind roared in my ears. I squinted against the flashing, swirling colors. Then the wind stopped abruptly, and I found myself in a conference room.

A dozen executive chairs surrounded a long, polished table. Oil portraits of wealthy stuffed-suit types hung along one wall. The opposite wall was floor-to-ceiling windows. The room was empty except for me. I switched on the InDetect and held it out, turning in a slow circle to check for hidden Drudes. Not a click. The room was clean.

A door opened to my right, and a group of businessmen filed in. They could have stepped out of the portraits. Each one was a white guy over sixty, wearing rimless eyeglasses, a tailored suit, and a no-nonsense expression. I pointed the InDetect their way. Nothing. These weren’t Drudes; they were legitimate dream figures, drawn from Tyler’s subconscious. As they passed, each glared at me with the same scowl and made the same harrumphing sound. These guys had to be the spitting image of Tyler’s boss. Or maybe his father. I’d bet tonight’s fee on it.

They sat at the table. As if on cue, they all turned to me, but only one spoke.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Of course I am. I’m here for the board meeting.”

Identical startled blinks ran around the table, but no one argued. Dream figures are a cinch to persuade. Usually, “of course” does the trick—say those words in a dream, and suddenly a bizarre situation makes perfect sense. If only it were that easy to convince people in waking life. But dreams have their own logic.

“Then take your seat.” The old man gestured impatiently.

“Thanks, but of course I’ll stand.” I had to be ready for action when a Drude showed up.

A door opened on the other side of the room. In walked Tyler, wearing nothing but an itsy-bitsy red Speedo and black patent-leather high heels. The outfit didn’t exactly flatter his paunchy physique, and his face was as bright red as the bathing suit.

The InDetect went crazy. Here was Tyler’s Drude. In a Speedo.

I switched off the InDetect before the Drude noticed its clicking. This kind of extermination was tricky. When a Drude takes on the dreamer’s form, the dreamer believes that the Drude is him. Right now, Tyler had a double perspective, seeing himself standing mostly naked in the boardroom and also seeing the boardroom through the Drude’s eyes. The easy route—blasting the Drude into oblivion—wouldn’t work in this situation. You’re not supposed to die in your dreams, and watching yourself get blown away can be more than a little traumatic. I wasn’t sure Tyler had been awake when I explained about the gun.

The Drude, fiddling nervously with a projector, hadn’t seen me. I holstered my pistol and slipped into a seat to look as though I belonged there. No matter that I wasn’t part of the matching set of old guys; the Drude didn’t notice. Like I said, dreams have their own logic.

“Start your presentation, Tyler,” the Bosses said in unison.

“I—I’m sorry,” said the Drude. “There’s a problem with the projector.” Out in the real world, the dreaming Tyler groaned.

The Bosses booed and threw paper airplanes at him. Tyler dodged, teetering on his heels and looking like he was going to cry.

It was clear how this Drude operated. The demon tormented Tyler through humiliation—the old “I’m naked and unprepared” dream. (As for the heels, I didn’t want to know where in my client’s psyche that fashion choice originated.) The more Tyler writhed with embarrassment and humiliation, the better meal the Drude was getting, feeding off his feelings.

That gave me an idea.

“Of course, it’s awfully hot in here,” I whispered to the Boss sitting beside me. One Boss was all it took. He pulled out a handkerchief to mop his forehead. The others followed him, using identical handkerchiefs. They all loosened their ties and unbuttoned their top buttons. A minute later, they’d taken off their suit jackets and hung them on the backs of their chairs.

That’s what I was waiting for.

Before the Drude could figure out what I was doing, I jumped up and snatched the nearest suit jacket. I ran to the front of the room and draped the jacket over Tyler’s shoulders. No more half-naked humiliation. The real Tyler, asleep in his bed, sighed with relief.

The dream-Tyler wavered and grew semi-transparent, the Drude’s true features becoming visible through the mask of Tyler’s face. Yellow eyes narrowed, a forked tongue slithered out. I’d just cut off its food supply, making this one seriously pissed-off demon.

I drew my pistol.

The Drude yowled its rage, and the last wisp of illusion disappeared. In the dream-Tyler’s place stood a fanged, clawed, scaly horror eight feet tall. Teeth gnashing, it charged me. I stepped back, bringing up the pistol and holding it steady with both hands. I fired, but the Drude leapt into the air, and I missed.

The Drude leapt again, spinning around and lashing its razor-tipped tail. I ducked, but not fast enough. The barb sliced into my cheek. Damn, that stung. At least it hadn’t caught my neck.

Bull’s-eye. The bronze bullet tore through the Drude, which disintegrated into a cloud of sulfurous smoke and the fast-fading echo of a scream.

I let myself fall back and sat on the floor, breathing hard. I touched my slashed cheek; it was sticky with blood.

Around the conference table, the Bosses applauded politely.

I stood, wanting to finish the job and get out of here. I turned on the InDetect and opened the door the Drude had come through. It now opened on a brick wall, which I scanned with the InDetect. Silence. No more Drudes lurking back there. I crossed the room to the other door. No Drudes out there, either. I did one more sweep of the conference room, but Tyler’s dreamscape was clean. I’d expected that; humiliation dreams are usually caused by a single Drude. But it was a good thing Tyler called me before his fear and anxiety attracted more demons. The bigger the pod of Drudes infesting your dreams, the more terrifying your nightmares.

I went to check my watch, then remembered it was gone. Pity. I had no way of knowing how long I’d been inside Tyler’s dream. Watch or no watch, it was time to get out of there. I holstered my pistol and headed for dream portal that shimmered in a corner of the room.

“Wait!” said one of the Bosses. “What about Tyler’s presentation?”

“It was brilliant, of course,” I said. “You all agree Tyler deserves a raise. And a promotion.”

“Of course!” the Bosses exclaimed in unison. They slapped each other’s backs.

My suggestion wouldn’t have any effect on Tyler’s waking life. But he’d emerge from this dream feeling elated. It’s always a good idea to leave a client with sweet-dream memories after a Drude extermination. A happy client is a paying client, after all.

Again, I turned toward the dream portal. I’d mouthed no more than the password’s first syllable when the floor shook, hard, skewing the oil paintings and knocking me to the floor. Another jolt followed, this one even more intense.

A leather chair rolled past. I pushed myself onto my knees and drew my gun. The Bosses had vanished. The next shock toppled over two of their vacated chairs. The conference room went dim as something loomed in front of the windows, as if a mountain had suddenly erupted there.

“Of course,” I shouted, “such things can’t happen.”

Of course didn’t work this time. The shape grew larger.

A laugh whispered through the room, growing in volume and voices until it sounded like the roaring of a stadium-sized crowd.

Just like the laughter in my own dream yesterday.

The shape came into focus. A huge, slimy blue face peered in through the windows, eyes flickering with fire. It was Difethwr, fifty times its normal size—like the Hellion had been working out with Godzilla’s personal trainer.

I aimed my pistol at the expanse between its eyes, but the weapon slid from my hand and thunked on the floor. The demon mark on my right forearm flared with burning pain, and I doubled over, clutching the arm to my chest. The mark made that arm—my fighting arm—powerless against the Hellion.

But I’d claimed the bond, damn it. I was supposed to be in control.

Nobody told my arm that. It ached and burned and was as useless as a slab of meat.

The laughter tapered to a chuckle.

I looked up. “You have no business here, Hellion.” The words came out in gasps.

“Thou art bound to us, daughter of Ceridwen.” The thing’s voice sounded like many distinct voices, from low rumbles to high-pitched screeches, speaking not quite in unison. “Wherever thou art, there may we also be.”

“I sent you to Hell. I expect you to stay there.”

Another laugh shook the room. “Where we are, there Hell is also. This is Hell, shapeshifter.”

I tried to conjure the Sword of Saint Michael, the only weapon that could kill a Hellion. If I could pull the sword into Tyler’s dream, I could end this. I closed my eyes and concentrated, curling the fingers of my left hand around the sword’s imagined grip, hefting it, feeling its weight. I pictured the blade bursting into flame at the Hellion’s presence. At the thought of flames, my demon mark’s scorching agony yanked me back to the here and now. My nostrils filled with the stench of my own flesh burning.

The sword would not come to me. I could not fight the Destroyer here.

Hunched over, I craned my neck to look up at the massive demon. “What do you want?”

Difethwr smiled, showing swordlike teeth. Flames jetted from its eyes and licked at the windows.