Delirium by Erin Kellison Read Free Book Online Page A

were creeping inside. And goddamn, they were.
    Rook silenced everything about himself to observe them. The nightmares weaved along the club’s floor, and then they passed into the sex Rêve beyond. He’d thought that maybe the nightmares were sneaking in one at a time to grab a reveler and drag their prey out into the Scrape, but this seemed more insidious still.
    What were they doing? What did they want?
    Harlen Fawkes needed to see this. The new Chimera Darkside Division should start here.
    Rook was torn—follow the nightmares or do his job?
    His job. Everyone who came to the black market knew they weren’t safe—like playing in a bad neighborhood at night—and yet they’d chosen to be here.
    He turned back to the Wallaces’ Echo to make sure that the only nightmares that breached the dream were the ones the revelers brought upon themselves.
     
    ***
     
    Sera curled up in a chair to watch the front door. Any minute now… She felt heavy, exhausted, as if recovering from a bad flu. Even her heart beat irregularly—slow and hard, and then it’d accelerate too much at the slightest bit of effort or if she thought about what had happened. Waking had been a laborious crawl to shore.
    She had no regrets, but she hadn’t meant for that to happen. She shuddered…again. But he’d attacked her. She’d given him chances. He’d been overconfident. And she’d been extra motivated. And so he’d died. Or at least, he would never wake again.
    An accident on her part. But still—
    A key scraped against the lock of her apartment door. Harlen was here. In spite of her lethargy, she was up and had the door open before the lock turned.
    Harlen dropped his bag, and suddenly she was being squeezed tight, held six inches off the floor. He smelled like airplane, but she inhaled deeper and found his unique scent, warm with the tang of a long day, all Harlen.
    Vince Blackman was now A-OK in her book. When Harlen had first called to tell her that he was coming home, she’d argued with him: She was fine. Her attacker had deserved what he’d gotten. Really. Harlen had work to do. But he’d already been at the airport, everything arranged. And she was so damn glad.
    “Hey, Chef,” he said, putting her down and searching her face with his gaze. “How are you holding up?”
    She searched his, too. Scruffy with new beard. Worried eyes. His suit had traveled well; his tie had not. God, he looked good.
    “I’m okay. I told you,” she said as she backed into her place so that he could come in and shut the door.
    She had not returned to the restaurant upon waking, even though time had cooperated with her. She could’ve even made the beginning of service if she’d wanted—quick dip in the dreamwaters, cross the vastest desert known to humankind, a sudden scuffle ending in her attacker’s never-ending sleep, and message delivered.
    Turned out she’d precipitously resolved Harlen’s problem. Or complicated it.
    “You’re the toughest adversary anybody ever had.” He put a hand to her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin. “And I should know.”
    She laughed wearily, leaning into his hand. “You really didn’t have to come.”
    “Yes, I did. I couldn’t stand another meeting.”
    She laughed again, but it was cut off by a sudden closing of her throat. “I pulled a Lambert.”
    There. She’d said it. Didier Lambert, aka El Maestro de Evil, had killed a lot of people by feeding them to nightmares. She had to admit, it was a very convenient method.
    Harlen took her by the shoulders and gave a soft shake that made her heavy eyes leak a little. “You defended yourself.”
    “Do you know who he was yet?” She didn’t want to know, not really.
    “Yeah. I think so, anyway. Ex-Army, worked in Rêve, just like me. I think I even met him once.”
    “You’re not going to tell me his full name?”
    “Nope. Not important.”
    “ Who he was isn’t important?” Did he have a family? The more she thought about it, the sicker she