“It wasn’t dreamers I was saving,” Bryde said. “It was ley lines.”

Good, thought Ronan. Deep inside him he felt a certain peace, even alongside the turmoil of the nightwash. Good. This was even better than what he had hoped. Yes, good. Long ago, Ronan had helped to wake the single ley line that ran beneath his forest. He had not known this was what he wanted of Bryde until he said it.

“And what were you saving the ley lines from?” Hennessy asked.

Bryde laughed. It was a laugh like his smile, contained and cunning. “Every plugged-in machine, every flat-black road, every stacked-up suburb, every humming cell. Choked and flattened and drowned and suppressed. Can you imagine a world where you could dream anywhere?”

“God,” Hennessy said.

Ronan pressed his ear into his shoulder as he felt the nightwash trickle down his neck. “Why aren’t we doing that?”

“You,” Bryde answered simply. “It’s not a game for the reckless. It’s not a game for those who go to sleep and bring everything they see back with them. It is a game that requires control, and right now you two have precious little of it. Look at your face. Feel your guts turning to grime, Ronan? Your game is this: Stop sucking. That is hard enough for you right now.”

“Hey,” Hennessy said. “I love a good roast, but come on now.”

Bryde waved a hand. “Why do you think we stopped here? When you two dream, there are consequences for every other dreamer who is living a little too far away from a ley line. Do you think you’ve killed anyone with your casual dreaming? Do you think you’ve pulled the ley line out from beneath a dreamer who needed it more than you? Has anyone died in nightwash because of some plaything you pulled from a dream?”

It was too easy to imagine. All the enormous things Ronan had dreamt over the years. All the living creatures, all the noisy machines. An entire forest. A brother. He couldn’t quite bear to think too hard about it. Not now, not with the nightwash eating away at him. Guilt was never too far away anyway.

“You can’t hide away from the consequences of who you are,” Bryde said. “Don’t laugh at me, Hennessy. How much power do you think it required to pull out all those girls with your face? You cannot do this carelessly. You’re not children anymore.”

Nightwash trickled out of Ronan’s nostril. Hennessy threw her remaining fries back over the counter. They didn’t look at each other.

“You’re right,” Ronan said finally. “Now I really do feel shittier.”

“Good,” Bryde replied. “Lesson over.”

Chapter 7

As best the FBI could tell, Nathan Farooq-Lane had killed twenty-three people.