He lunges for me first. I dodge the blade by inches and jump onto the nearest pew to escape. Ensi grabs my ankle and I fall flat, knocking my cheekbone against the wooden pew. Pain flares like a flame, and my breath leaves my lungs in a rush. I taste blood. He drags me toward him and I scrabble away desperately. Far away, my body in the Chair will have begun to bleed as well, I’m sure of it.

I kick back and his grasp weakens. I kick again, pain flaring in my ankle as I hit his torso. Ensi grunts in pain. Gasping, I turn toward him. Nazarin and Ensi roll on the ground, snarling. Nazarin manages to free an arm and punches Ensi, his knuckles glancing along the other man’s cheekbone.

I try to stand, but the chapel shudders. The world seems to fill with warm, dark green muck, like in Mia’s dream. I don’t know if it’s Kim’s code, my fear, or Ensi’s.

The mud laps at my ankles, my knees, my hips. It rises over my head. If I breathe in, the muck will coat my lungs. I can’t see Ensi or Nazarin, but I feel them, close, struggling against the collapsing dream.

I close my eyes, think of all my Meditation training. I push and push, and let go.

29. Taema

TWENTY-NINE

TAEMA

The green muck disappears, leaving dregs of dried mud. I fall to the ground, landing on my injured ankle. I hiss in pain, drenched and cold, spots wobbling in my vision.

The dream is still broken. The chapel still shakes and flickers, except where I focus my eyes. Nazarin and Ensi still fight, both of their faces bloody and beginning to bruise. My head pounds.

I hold on to a pew for support and move toward them, biting down on my lip to keep from screaming in pain.

I can’t move forward another step. It’s as if I’ve met an invisible barrier I can’t cross. Ensi hits Nazarin again, and his head jerks back before he falls to the floor. Ensi’s eyes flash to me, the corner of his mouth curling in triumph. Like me, he has found a measure of control in this broken world. He knows I can’t come any closer. He moves toward me. I struggle, but I’m stuck fast.

“This is my mind. My dream. Your lucid dreaming may be impressive, but you can never hope to be as strong as me. Whatever you’ve done to the code, I can fix it. This night may have had an unnerving start, but I can still have fun with you and your pet detective. I can still hear my little canary sing so sweetly.”

The chapel isn’t wavering as much. It’s almost as if it’s repairing itself. Was this all a ploy, somehow? A trap within a trap?