Dr Nisha pauses, enough for me to know she means no. ‘We have had the toxicology results back, and there is nothing to suggest that Sebastian has been poisoned. So far as we can tell at this stage, all of his bodily functions are consistent with someone who is fast asleep. He is not fighting any obvious infection that we can see. There is no elevated blood pressure, or heart rate; his blood-oxygen levels are normal …’

That word again. She goes on and on. EEG this and ultrasound that … I can’t remember it all. Then she seems to slow down, like a clockwork toy before it needs rewinding, and then stops. The room is quiet for what seems like ages. Eventually, Mam speaks up.

‘Have you seen anything like this before, doctor?’

Dr Nisha glances down, as if embarrassed. She takes a breath and holds it a little before replying.

‘No. I have not personally come across a case like this. What we propose doing is keeping Sebastian in for observation, and as soon as possible he will be seen by a neurologist and a sleep specialist to determine the exact cause of his failure to wake up.’

So the minutes tick by in the beige room, and they become another hour while we wait for people to arrive, and I have plenty of time to stare out of the window at an empty paved square and at the Narnia mural and try to work out what I know about the Dreaminators.

It’s not much. All I know is that it’s not magic. It’s definitely not magic. How could it be? Magic doesn’t exist. What with the crystals and the pyramids and the batteries and everything else, it seems more like science. But it’s not like any science I’ve ever heard of.

Is it possible for something to be … both magic and science? Like the two are somehow combined and the result is that Seb now can’t wake up?

What’s worse is I was warned. I was warned by Susan Tenzin and her grandmother, and all of that started the very morning after my very first waking dream when I floated to the cave ceiling.

The problem was – I didn’t listen.

Four Weeks Ago

Chapter 17

It’s the first day of Year Seven. No – this time it really is, although part of my head still feels as if I’m in the waking dream.

It’s a longish walk to school, but we don’t have a car, anyway.

I’m thinking: the big mammoth-dog peeing on the rugby goals … Fit Billy talking Chinese … Kobi the Cave Boy and his strange cartoon body … Me floating up to the ceiling … Cuthbert appearing under my desk …

But most of all I’m thinking, Seb had the same dream as me. How can that even happen?

There is something else as well, though.