Enter the Nightmare

Chapter One

The thing you had to remember 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 had lunged for 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 a lot of 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 four eyes-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.

Should have set it on high, like Vinnie the Broker said.

But she had wanted to avoid murdering someone, and at close range a flamer on full burn could kill.

"Well, shit." The man in the doorway produced a mag-rez. "Nobody said you would be carrying, but it doesn't matter. Ditch the flamer. Now."

"I'm not going back to Serenity Gardens," she said. "Ever."

"Got news for you, bitch."

The first intruder yelled again and dropped the mag-rez so that he could use both hands to fight his small attacker. He finally managed to flip Sebastian off his chest.

Sebastian sailed through the air, landed on the bed, and prepared to launch himself at his target again. The intruder shuffled backward, bent down, and tried to grab the pistol. Sebastian changed course and leaped onto his target's arm. He drew blood from a hand before bouncing adroitly out of range.

Distracted, the second intruder turned to see what was happening to his partner.

Alice seized the opportunity to shift the flamer setting to medium. She rezzed another little lightning bolt. The shot struck the wall behind the second intruder.

"That does it," he snarled. "You're fucking lucky the boss said you were only good to the client if you were alive. But you're not going to enjoy waking up after getting hit by a mag-rez stun shot. This is no wimpy flamer."

Alice fumbled with the buttons on her weapon, desperately trying to shift to the highest setting. This was the result of ignoring Core Principle Number Three: Expertise in any endeavor comes with practice.

A bolt of miniature lightning flashed from the doorway. It struck the second intruder in the upper shoulder and spun him around. A second shot took him down.

Startled, Alice reflexively rezzed her flamer. The shot went wild. Before she could figure out what was happening, two more shots from the other weapon sent the first assailant to the floor.

Sebastian leaped aside to avoid getting trapped under the weight of the falling body.

Neither of the downed intruders moved.

Alice turned back to the doorway. It was empty.

A man spoke quietly from the hall. "Please don't rez the flamer, Ms. Radstone. I'm not wearing a vest like those two."

He knew her real name. Another wave of near panic slammed through her.

"Who are you?" she managed.

"My name is Owen March. I swear I'm on your side. I owe you an apology. I'm afraid this disaster is my fault."

Chapter Two

Sebastian responded to the voice by fluffing up, chortling, and dashing out into the hall. Alice heard him greet this unknown Owen March as if the stranger was a long-lost pal.

He popped back into the doorway, chortled again, and then returned to March.

And that, she thought, was as good a character reference as she was going to get.

But still.

"Why are you responsible for what just happened in here?" she said.

"Explaining my role in this mess is going to take some time, and we don't have a lot to waste."

"What do you mean?" she demanded, desperately trying to buy a little of that commodity to figure out what to do next.

"Consider the facts. There has been a lot of commotion coming from your room in the past few minutes-in fact, I think I smell smoke-but I'm the only person who seems to have paid any attention. No other doors have opened out here in the hall. No one has sounded an alarm. Doesn't that strike you as strange?"

"Unfortunately, no, not in this hotel."

"By now you must realize that you were set up tonight. I took out the front desk clerk and disabled the camera system, but it won't be long before whoever is running this op realizes that things have gone wrong. I give you my word I don't want to do you any harm. The dust bunny likes me. Is that enough for now?"

She wondered what I took out the front desk clerk meant.

She had a million questions, most of which boiled down to: Who was Owen March, and why was he claiming responsibility for her current disaster? But he had a point. The door of her room had been wide open for a few minutes and there had been a lot of violent action. Someone should have heard something-someone besides Owen March.

And he was right about the smoke. Now she could smell it, too.

Was this a case of The enemy of my enemy is my friend? Probably not. Given her track record, it was far more likely an example of The enemy of my enemy is another enemy.

But it was midnight, and she was in a hotel room with a dead man in the shower and two unconscious would-be kidnappers on the floor. She could not afford to be too picky about new acquaintances, even if they did happen to know her real identity.

"Come in," she said, trying for a crisp tone-the voice of a woman in command. "With your hands in the air."

"Understood."

The man who called himself Owen March moved into the doorway. His hands were raised, but he still held his flamer. She winced inwardly. So much for trying to make a forceful first impression. She should have instructed him to drop the weapon before inviting him inside. For all she knew, he was a rival kidnapper trying to con her.

Then again, he could have flamed her right after he dealt with the two would-be kidnappers, but he had not taken advantage of the opportunity. Another point in his favor.

Her thoughts were starting to whirl in increasingly muddled circles. That told her she was really rattled. In her head she could hear Dr. Webber insisting it was a sign that she needed to continue with the medication; proof that she was not ready to leave Serenity Gardens.

But Cadence Ballantine's soft voice whispered somewhere out on the psychic plane, silently reminding her of Core Principle Number Two: Focus is the key to control.

The flamer immediately steadied in her hand. Note to self: When in doubt, return to the Core Principles. Dr. Nathan Webber could go to hell-preferably the same hell in which she had been imprisoned for three endless months.

Sebastian bustled past Owen, only his innocent baby blues showing, and chortled reassuringly. He dashed across the carpet and into the bathroom to retrieve his oversized designer sunglasses. When he had them propped on his furry head, he trotted back out to examine the unconscious men, hovering over them with an avaricious air. She never knew what would catch his eye, but in general he liked bright, shiny things.

Owen casually slipped his flamer into the shoulder holster under his jacket. "Mind if I take a look?" He nodded toward the intruders. "They're professionals. We should collect their weapons. Also, it would be interesting to see if there's any ID."

"Okay," she said, mostly because she couldn't think of anything else that sounded logical. Of course they needed to confiscate the attackers' weapons and check for identification. She should have thought of that immediately.

"While I'm at it, you might want to smother the fire before it takes hold. We've got enough problems."

"What?" She remembered the smoke, turned toward the bed, and saw that a section of the quilt was smoldering. Now she knew what she had hit with that last wild flamer shot. "Oh, damn."

She set the weapon down, rushed to the bed, grabbed a throw pillow, and batted out the small flames.

"Speaking of ID," Owen said. "Here's mine."

He took a small leather folder out of a pocket and offered it to her. Gingerly, she inched toward him, snatched it out of his hand, and retreated.

He crouched beside the first intruder and performed what appeared to be a fast, thorough, professional pat-down. Sebastian paid close attention.

Satisfied that the quilt fire had been extinguished, she rezzed a nearby lamp and flipped open the folder, braced to learn that Owen March was a law enforcement officer, a bounty hunter, or maybe a private investigator-any one of which would make him a threat.

She was thrown off-balance when she saw the business card.

Owen March

President and CEO

Forensic Psi-Genetics Consulting

The address was Resonance City, a long way from Cape Midnight, on the isolated stretch of the coast where the Gothic monstrosity of the Hotel of Dreams was located.

She looked up, comparing the image on the driver's license with the man who was in the act of retrieving a nasty-looking knife from the ankle sheath of one of the intruders. The photo matched the man-dark hair with features that could be described as fierce, resolute, and possibly dangerous, but not standard-issue handsome.