Chapter One
The thing you had toremember about the Hotel of Dreams was that the nightmares were real.
I ought to know,Alice thought. This was the second time she had checked in. The first occasion had been her wedding night. The following morning, she had awakened in the locked ward of a hospital for the criminally insane and been informed that she had murdered her husband.
The amenities and the service had not improved. Tonight she was hiding in the bathroom of Room 205, a flamer in one hand, a sleeked-out, poised-to-attack dust bunny crouched at her feet, and a dead man in the shower behind her.
She watched through the crack in the partially open door as a figure in a medical mask crept toward the bed.
She had only herself to blame. She had not simply reached for the bait that had been dangled in front of her—she hadlungedfor it. In doing so,she had violated Core Principle Number One of the Ballantine Method for Achieving the Harmonic Life:Do not mistake impulse for true intuition.
She stayed very still in the deep shadows and tried to will away the shivers. Shivering was not good, because she was clutching a flamer. It was set to stun, but she had only rezzed it a couple of times and her aim was still problematic due to lack of practice. Setting the bed on fire by accident would not be helpful.
She did not like having to resort to the weapon—it went against all her training—but she had learned the hard way that a woman alone in the world had to take personal security into her own hands. It was either the flamer or the dark side of her talent.
There were significant reasons not to go full-rez with her psychic senses for the purpose of self-defense. The results of using the negative side of her talent could be unpredictable. She did not want to take the risk of sending a potential informant into a waking coma. It would make it difficult or even impossible to get the answers she desperately needed. Besides, she hated having to brush up against someone else’s dreamlight for even the few seconds it took to unlock the nightmares. She had enough bad dreams of her own.
And then there was the inconvenience of having to spend who knew how many hours in the demanding mental and physical practices needed to restore her inner harmonic balance. She did not have the time to spare. She was too busy trying to survive. Priorities.
The shivering was caused by adrenaline, not panic, she decided, opting for positive self-talk. She had been doing alotof positive self-talk in the past ten months. But what if returning to the opening scene of her own personal nightmare was causing her to lose control? What if she was hallucinating? Undergoing a psychic break? Maybe she was imagining the dead man in the shower and the figure stalking toward the bed.
Sebastian pressed against her lower leg and looked up at her, all foureyes—the baby blues and the amber pair he used for hunting—wide open. It was as if he knew she was questioning what they were both seeing in the other room.
She wasn’t imagining things. The dust bunny was ready to roll in hot. Now that he was not fluffed up and looking like a large wad of dryer lint, you could see all six paws and his sharp little teeth. He had even left his beloved sunglasses on the floor of the bathroom in preparation for battle. As far as he was concerned, the danger was real. That was good enough for her. Reassured, she tightened her grip on the flamer.
The masked figure reached the bed and looked down at the bundled shape beneath the quilt. In a horrifyingly swift, efficient motion, he yanked back the covers. He raised his other hand in preparation for plunging a small weapon of some kind into what he assumed was a sleeping woman.
Moonlight sparked briefly on the syringe. At least it wasn’t a knife. Maybe murder wasn’t the goal. Of course, you could kill a person quite easily with the injection of a lethal drug. Nevertheless, it was starting to look like someone wanted to abduct her—not kill her—again.
She jerked open the bathroom door, clutched the flamer in both hands, and tried for a firm, authoritative voice. Attitude was crucial in situations like this. She could not let the incipient panic show.
“Stop or I’ll fire,” she said.
Everything happened very quickly after that. Too quickly. The situation became a blur.
The intruder realized that the bundle on the bed was made of strategically arranged pillows and swung around to confront her. Most of his face was concealed by the mask, but there was no mistaking the violence that blazed in his eyes.
He tossed the syringe aside and pulled a pistol out from under his jacket.
A flamer set on stun was no match for a high-powered weapon like a mag-rez, a gun that was illegal to carry unless you were in law enforcement.
Not that her flamer was entirely legal, either, but that was a different issue. Sort of.
“Stupid bitch,” the intruder growled. “Drop the flamer. Now. We’re supposed to take you quietly, but if you want to do this the hard way, that’s fine with me.”
Sebastian, evidently realizing she had lost control of the situation, took matters into his own paws. He raced out of the bathroom, moving low and fast. In the shadows, his target never saw him coming. He darted up the intruder’s pant leg, heading for the throat.
The man yelled and batted furiously at his nimble assailant.
“Get it off, get it off, get it off.”
The door of the room slammed open. Another masked figure loomed.
“What the fuck?” the newcomer snarled. “What’s going on? Where’s the woman?”
“Right here,” Alice said.
She aimed at him and rezzed the flamer. Miraculously, in spite of her trembling fingers, the bolt of energy struck the second man in the vicinity of his chest. He grunted but he did not go down. She caught a whiff of singed fabric, but that seemed to be the extent of the damage.
