Dreamland (Riley Bloom #3)(14)

So please, tell me, how can I ever repay you?”

I pressed my lips together, struggled to make sense of his words. What he’d just said was entirely different from what I thought I’d just witnessed.

“Wait—” I squinted, shook my head. “You mean to say that you didn’t actually create that dream?” I gazed right at him, noting how he was so short, he was exactly eye level with me. “Are you saying that you merely re-created a dream that was already in progress?” My mind ran with the concept—it was an even bigger feat than I’d imagined.

I glanced toward Mort, alerted by the way his eyebrows shot up so high they practically blended into his scalp, and when my gaze landed on Balthazar again, well, he just looked at me and balked.

Like, seriously balked.

His lips flattening, whitening, as his nos-trils flared, his ears twitched, and his cheeks threatened to explode in a burst of red, anger-fueled fury.

And then, just when I was sure it couldn’t get any worse, I watched, completely mortified (completely mystified!), as Balthazar spun on his heel and stormed away without another word.

10

For someone who had just professed to be in my debt—for someone who had just claimed that because of my dog I had heroically saved the day—for someone who claimed to have ginormous gobs of gratitude reserved just for me—well, all I can say is that when Balthazar stormed away, it pretty much cancelled all that.

Buttercup slunk to his belly and let out a low, sorrowful whimper, as Mort mumbled a whole string of words under his breath that sounded like, “Oh boy, now you’ve done it

…” I just stood there and gaped, having no idea what I’d done to offend Balthazar in such a big, apparently unforgivable way.

It was Mort who finally went after him, somehow convincing him to stop long enough to hear him out. And though I still have no idea what he said, I do know that Balthazar reconsidered, turned, and finally made his way back where he stood before me, taking great care to enunciate each and every word as he said, “I am told this is your first visit to Dreamland, no?” I nodded, far too afraid to say something wrong.

He paused, studied me closely, fingering the knotted silk scarf at his throat. “And so, this … this … ignorance of yours, it must be forgiven, yes?”

I nodded again. Not really liking the word

“ignorance” being so easily applied to me, but knowing better than to say anything.

“And so, we shall agree to never speak of it again?”

I glanced between Mort and Buttercup, saw their dual nods of encouragement. Then I looked at Balthazar, and said, “Um, okay …

I just thought maybe you could help me send a dream to my sister, but I guess I misunderstood, so …”

Mort gasped.

Buttercup placed his paws over his eyes.

And just when I was sure it couldn’t get any worse, Balthazar spoke in a voice that was quite a bit higher, quite a bit screechier than I’d come to expect. “Correction!” he practically shouted. “We do not send dreams.

Nor do we create dreams, but, rather, we dream jump. You would like to dream jump, I think, yes?”

He nodded. Nodded in a way that told me that if I knew what was good for me then I would nod too.

So I did.

And then, I cleared my throat and said,

“Yes,” just to reiterate.

And then I nodded again.

It may have been overkill. But heck, practically from the moment I’d arrived I’d said everything wrong. From what I could tell, these people were really stuck on using just the right words, so I don’t think I can be blamed for trying to do something right for a change.

Though luckily, it seemed to work, because Balthazar just looked at me and said, “Good.

Now, please, come with me, Miss Riley Bloom.”

According to Balthazar, time, or rather, the time of day, really wasn’t all that important where dream jumping was concerned. Something which I considered a good thing, since A: from what I’d been told, there is no time in the Here & Now, and B: also from what I’d been told, Dreamland had some pretty strict opening and closing hours.

Also according to Balthazar, a person didn’t have to be asleep to receive a message.

While it may be the preferred way—mostly because the dream state lowers a person’s defenses, leaving them more receptive to messages from the beyond—it wasn’t entirely necessary. It wasn’t the only way.

Apparently a message could be sent just as easily when a person drifted off in a day-dream (something that I used to do a lot of in my math class) or even, surprisingly enough, while going for a very long drive.

“Driving is meditative,” he said. “A lot of people—how do you say?” He paused, finger placed on his chin, taking a moment to cap-ture the word he was hunting. “A lot of people zone out when they drive.” He looked at me, nodding, skunk hair wagging before a pair of darkly twinkling eyes.

I couldn’t help but giggle at the way he’d sounded when he said zone out. Perfetto and magnifico were two words I’d already grown used to—they were words that suited his strange, quasi-European accent. But hearing that same accent pronounce zone out … well, it was just so hilarious I couldn’t resist the laugh that burst out.

“And, if that is not possible,” he added, ignoring the way I bent forward, clutched at my belly. “There is always music.” I looked at him. He had my full attention again.