The Ninth Nightmare

Kieran nodded. ‘He came out of the elevator and he left the hotel like he was in a hurry. Our guess is that he’s found a ninth victim already.’

‘But you didn’t see him enter the hotel?’

‘I don’t know why,’ said John. ‘I can only think that his real self is dead. The twins here, they can see dead people, but I can’t.’

‘You need to get after him right now,’ said Springer.

‘You look like shit,’ John told him. ‘Why couldn’t you choose somebody healthier than Deano to impersonate?’

‘Deano was your closest friend, wasn’t he?’

‘Sure, but I had plenty of other friends who were much fitter than him. My old buddy from my restaurant- inspecting days, the late lamented Laurent Pannequin — he was fit as a flea. He could run a half marathon and then sing three verses of Jolie Blonde without even pausing for breath.’

‘The late lamented Laurent Pannequin?’ asked Kieran. ‘What happened to him?’

‘Choked on a fish bone at The Bonefish Grill. Tragic. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.’

‘Listen, we don’t have time for this,’ said Springer. ‘If you can all recite the invocation to Ashapola and get yourselves to sleep, I’ll get in touch with Katie and Lincoln, and try to locate somebody who’s dreaming about Brother Albrecht’s circus.’

With that, he walked out of Rhodajane’s room, leaving the door open behind him. Kieran and Kiera followed him, but when they stepped out into the corridor, they found that there was nobody there, and that Springer had disappeared.

‘I think John was right,’ said Kiera, as they jogged along the corridor to the elevators. ‘Springer isn’t a who, he’s definitely a what.’

‘If you ask me,’ said Kieran, ‘he’s more of a how.’

Katie was almost asleep when she felt somebody shaking her shoulder. She turned over and opened her eyes. To her surprise, it was Davina, one of her old school friends from Beach High. Davina had long dark hair and dark wide-apart eyes and very pale skin.

‘Davina?’ she said. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

Davina put her finger to her lips. ‘I’m not Davina. I’m Springer. But I didn’t think it appropriate to come into your bedroom as Mr Flight, or any other mister for that matter.’

‘What do you want, Springer? It’s past ten thirty!’

‘I know. But we believe that Mago Verde took his ninth victim this evening and we need to get after him. Now.’

‘Now? You have to be kidding me! I’m tired enough from last night!’

‘We don’t have any choice, Katie. If Brother Albrecht gets his ninth sacrifice, that will be the end of everything as we know it.’

Katie sat up. ‘OK. OK, I’ll do it. Where’s your dreamer?’

‘Cleveland. He’s a music promoter called Mickey Veralnik. He’s been trying to get Kiera on his books for over a year, as a solo act. It could be that he has subliminally sensed her Night Warrior personality. That can happen sometimes, especially when somebody is in love with a Night Warrior, or obsessed by them. Night Warriors have a vibrancy about them which few ordinary people possess. Veralnik might be dreaming about Brother Albrecht’s circus because he subconsciously expects to find her there.’

‘All right,’ said Katie. ‘Just tell me where he is.’

‘The Cleveland Marriott Downtown. Room one-oh-three-three. He has had a lot to drink this evening so there isn’t much chance of him waking up any time soon.’

Katie lay back on the pillow. She could feel her heart beating hard. She knew that tonight was going to be critical, and that it would be much more dangerous than last night. Brother Albrecht and his freaks would suspect that the Night Warriors would be coming, and they would be prepared for them.

She recited the words of the invocation to Ashapola. ‘“Now, when the face of the world is hidden in darkness, let us be conveyed to the place of our meeting, armed and armored; and let us be nourished by the power that is dedicated to the cleaving of darkness, the settling of all black matters, and the dissipation of all evil. So be it.”’

She had barely reached the words ‘so be it’ when she was asleep; and within a few seconds, An-Gryferai arose from her somnolent body, and floated upward to the ceiling.

Lincoln was watching MTV when Springer came into his room at the Case Medical Center. Springer had taken on the appearance of Eulalie Passebon again, so Lincoln immediately knew who he was.

‘How are doing?’ Springer asked him, drawing up a chair and sitting beside his bed.

‘Not so bad. Doctors say I should have my spine operation tomorrow. I like your cornrows, by the way, sweet cheeks.’

Springer remained serious. ‘You have to go back to the circus tonight. In fact you have to go back right now.’

‘Don’t tell me. Mago Verde kidnapped victim number nine.’

‘We’re almost certain that he has, yes.’

‘This is it, then? Armageddon come early?’

‘It will be, unless you can stop Brother Albrecht from receiving this one last sacrifice.’

‘OK, then. Let’s lock and load.’

Springer reached out and held Lincoln’s hand. He was even wearing all of those elaborate silver rings that Eulalie wore, with tigers’ eyes and garnets and opals. ‘I want you to know how much Ashapola will appreciate what you and your fellow Night Warriors are doing tonight. Whatever happens, your names will be celebrated for all eternity.’

‘Hey, Ukulele, we ain’t dead yet!’

Springer stood up. ‘Your dreamer is a music promoter called Mickey Veralnik. He’s asleep in Room one-oh- three-three at the Cleveland Marriott. The sooner you can join us there, the better.’

‘Mickey Veralnik? I know that slimeball. He would have a dream about freaks. He’s a frickin’ freak himself.’

‘I’ll see you at his bedside,’ said Springer. ‘I’ll tell the nurse that you’re feeling tired and that you need a few hours’ sleep. I’ll tell her not to disturb you.’

‘Thanks. I don’t want her trying to wake me up in the middle of a firefight to give me a bed bath.’

Once they had recited their invocation to Ashapola, the Night Warriors fell asleep in less than twenty minutes. Their dream personalities rose from their beds and floated up into the night like ghostly kites. They sailed high above the sparkling streets of downtown Cleveland until they reached the Cleveland Marriott on Public Square, and then they descended through the ceiling of Room 1033. Dom Magator was first, followed by Jekkalon and Jemexxa, and then Xyrena and Zebenjo Y’xx. Shortly afterward, Springer appeared, looking like An-Gryferai’s music teacher, Mr Flight.

The magnolia-painted bedroom was vast, with a bed wide enough for three people to sleep in, but tonight the only person sleeping in it was Mickey Veralnik. He was lying on his back with his mouth open, snoring. His dyed black comb-over had flapped to one side, like a crow’s wing, and he was puffy-eyed and unshaven. He reeked of Jim Beam.

The Night Warriors looked at each other and none of them could hide their anxiety.

‘This is crunch time,’ said Dom Magator. ‘If any of you want to back out, that will be perfectly understandable. We won’t think any the worse of you.’

Springer added, ‘There’s a blessing that Ashapola bestows on those who are about to go into battle on the side of purity. “May your way be brightly lit by your devotion to duty, and may you be protected at all times by the shield of your honor.”’

‘And may we kick Brother Albrecht’s ass into the middle of next week,’ added Zebenjo’Yyx.

Mickey Veralnik snorted and mumbled and said, ‘For Christ’s sake, Vera, what have you done to your hair?’

The Night Warriors all held their breath and stood absolutely motionless. Ten long seconds passed, but Mickey Veralnik didn’t wake up. ‘OK,’ said Dom Magator, at last. ‘Let’s get going.’

He raised both hands and drew the brilliant blue octagon in the air. It opened up, but this time it seemed to