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“Some Chimera asshole had been stalking her in her dreamscape for a while. She took too long to ask for help. Tried to handle it herself. And now your mercenary today… She had no help whatsoever again, and after she takes care of him, she goes and trudges back across the Scrape. She doesn’t recognize limits , and one day it’s going to kill her.”
    The last part echoed from some hollow place in his gut. He knew Sera would’ve never let Vince escort her back. A crazy man at her back would’ve compounded her anxiety.
    “You’re still in DC, right?” Vince asked.
    “Yes.” Harlen would try to find her in her dreamscape tonight, though he had a feeling that she might not go back to sleep. Then he’d catch a flight first thing in the morning. Get to her as fast as he could. Director Bright would just have to handle the rest of the meetings.
    “I can get you on a plane back to the West Coast tonight,” Vince said, as if reading his mind. Some revelers could do that—read minds—but Harlen hadn’t thought Vince had the ability. Would be scary if he did.
    Harlen shook his head no , but said, “How?”
    Vince opened a bloody hand. “I have a few friends left. Some favors I can call in. You go straight to Dulles. A plane will be waiting.”
    Harlen inhaled deeply at the possibility. Before Vince had become a criminal, he’d been a rich guy, owner of the SpiderSly Company. He sounded like that rich guy now, not the nightmare-infected man he’d become.
    “My name can’t be connected to yours in any way,” Harlen said. Not now that he was the new Darkside Division head.
    Vince gave him a bored stare. “I’ll make sure it’s not.”
    Still Harlen hesitated.
    “Least I can do,” Vince said. “She killed the hired man coming after me and Mirren. I owe her. I owe all of you. A flight doesn’t even start to cover it. You just be there.”
    She killed reverberated in Harlen’s mind. Screw it. He was going.
    “You know Fleight won’t give up,” Harlen said. A last warning. He was sure the senator would demand explanations and then redouble her efforts. “She’ll send someone else after you and Mirren.”
    “Yeah, I figured out that much myself. Now we’re warned. You and I had better wake up. I have some arrangements to make.”
     
    ***
     
    “This is the black market , Mrs. Wallace,” Viv said softly to the young woman nervously wringing her hands. “Malcolm is not here to witness your Echo, but to make certain that it runs smoothly. He will not interfere unless he feels there’s danger.”
    Rook stood next to Viv, his expression guarded. His first clients’ emotions were a cocktail of anticipation and anxiety. At the moment, the latter was more powerful in the dreamwaters, creating eddies of panic that everyone could sense.
    “You told us this was safe,” Mr. Wallace said to Viv. He was older than his wife by at least ten years. With a quick glance at Rook, he added, “I’m not willing to have my mind fucked over by either of you.”
    Rook said nothing to put them at ease. Not his job.
    “But Emma ,” Mrs. Wallace said to her husband. “I want Emma. Just one last time. I’ll do it alone if you don’t want to, but I’m going to hold her again. You promised.”
    Emma—their deceased daughter.
    Echo Rêves drew from memories, in this case of a lost loved one, but the Rêves didn’t have the ability to help someone deal with their grief. Mr. Wallace was right: this was a mindfuck. Even if they got everything they wanted out of it—and Viv would make sure they did—they’d still leave in pain.
    “I run a safe Rêve,” Viv said, “which is why Malcolm is here. You are paying for him to be here.”
    Mr. Wallace’s gaze darted from Viv to Rook and then to his wife. “This is the only time, Gwen. The only time. You got that?”
    Turned out Viv didn’t have to do much to sell the Rêve. Echo Rêves, by their nature, sold themselves. She just had to sell the guard.
    “She’s your