I eye him warily. ‘I thought they caused nightmares. Hence, they’re mares.’
‘Why are nightmares bad?’
‘They’re not good!’
‘They allow your psyche to work through problems and resolve issues. They’re as natural as,’ he nudges the trap with his toe, ‘the mares themselves.’
‘Are they from the Badlands?’
‘Who told you that? Bron?’ There’s a sneer in his voice and I suddenly realise why he’s acting so abrasively.
‘You’re pissed off,’ I say, ‘because instead of seeking you out yesterday, I went to talk to Ashley and Bron instead.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘It’s true!’
He turns around, as if to leave.
‘Wait!’ Shit. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean...’
‘Go back to the town, Zoe. It’s clearly where you belong after all.’
‘I need some help!’
‘I’ll say,’ he mutters.
I desperately try to think of something that’ll keep him here. ‘Please?’
He turns back and looks at me assessingly. ‘What do I get out of it?’
It’s on the tip of my tongue to suggest a wild, passionate bout of lovemaking but I manage to stop myself and say something sensible. ‘The mare. Pegasus. I’ll introduce you to her so you can get to know her.’
He glowers at me. ‘Get to know a mare?’
‘Well, you did say you respected them.’
A muscle throbs in his jaw. ‘Fine,’ he snaps. ‘What do you need help with?’
‘Um...’ I scratch my head awkwardly. ‘There are a few things.’
‘Of course there are,’ he sighs. ‘Go on then.’
I go for the simple option first. ‘The statue in the square, the one that used to be Albert Hall – do you know who it is now?’
‘So that’s what changed with last night’s lightning. Interesting,’ he says slowly.
‘Why is it interesting?’
‘It’s of no matter to you,’ he says dismissively.
‘How do you know?’
He looks amused and I clench my fists. He’s not seen the new statue so even if he knows who the old man is, he won’t be able to tell me right now. It doesn’t stop me feeling exasperated at his patronising manner though.
‘Never mind.’ I move on to my next question. ‘Have we met before?’
Something sparks in his eyes. ‘Of course we have.’
My stomach turns. ‘When?’
Dante lazily reaches out and brushes the base of my neck. I flinch, then curse myself for doing so. ‘Don’t you remember?’ he drawls. ‘I did give you a little memento.’
‘Not then,’ I say, as evenly as I can. ‘When I was a kid. Maybe five years old?’
He leans back and folds his arms. ‘I didn’t come here until I was seven. And I was something of a child prodigy. How many other children have you seen around here?’
Fair point. There have been lots of people – and there were those teenagers in the pub – but I’ve not seen any kids.
‘Zoe,’ Dante asks quietly, ‘have you been here before?’
I look down. ‘Maybe.’
He reaches out to me again but this time his fingers lift my chin gently. He looks into my eyes, his expression serious. ‘When you were five?’
‘I think so. What does that mean?’
‘Probably nothing.’ His jaw tightens fractionally.
I don’t pursue it. Whether it’s important or not, it’s clear he can’t shed any light on the matter. I lick my lips. ‘What’s the password for Somnolence?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘The website. Or forum. How do I log in?’
Dante looks blank. I shrug; it was a long shot anyway.
‘Is that it?’ he inquires. There’s an edge to his voice that gives me pause. Something I’ve said has alarmed him. My five-year-old self visiting? ‘One more thing.’ This is the one I’m worried about, especially after Ashley’s reaction.
‘Spit it out.’
How do I know I can really trust him? My gut instinct was to dislike him and I’ve always trusted my first impressions in the past. But I desperately want information. I take a deep breath. ‘Do you go into other people’s dreams? Into their heads? After you’ve touched them?’
His face whitens. ‘What did you just say?’
‘If – if you touch someone in real life,’ I stammer, ‘do you end up in their dreams afterwards?’
He grabs my arm. ‘Who put you up to this?’ he snarls. ‘Was it the Mayor? Bron?’
‘I ... I ...’
From somewhere in the depths of the forest, there’s a high-pitched, animal scream. It’s filled with terror and pain. Dante drops my arm and takes off. For a frozen moment I stare after him as he’s swallowed up by the familiar darkness. Then I follow.
Dante knows these woods far better than I do. Soon he’s some distance ahead of me, although it’s easy to follow because the screaming doesn’t let up. I crash through the trees and undergrowth, my heart thudding. Whatever is going on feels very, very wrong.