I stare at the envelope. ‘What is it?’
‘It’ll send you off to sleep. Although,’ he adds with a wink, ‘I don’t imagine you’ll be wearing any sexy nighties like you were the first night I met you. Not in this place anyway.’ My eyes fly to his and I feel my cheeks heating up, but he’s already moved on. ‘I’m on your side, Zoe. I’m not trying to use you.’ He scratches his neck. ‘And about what I said on Somnolence? I was trying not to let anyone see what I was really thinking so I lied.’ His eyes glitter. ‘I think you’re beautiful.’
If Dante’s trying to make me feel better about myself, he’s failed. I’m horrified he’s brought it up. Now I look like someone who’s petty enough to be disturbed by a comment like that from someone I hardly know. I’m desperate to change the subject. ‘Why are you helping me now? You could have done something about the Mayor a long time ago. You can say it was too hard but you still could have tried.’
I’m surprised when he looks slightly shamed. ‘You’re right,’ he says quietly. ‘I should have done something. I guess I needed someone as brave as you to give me a kick in the balls and get me to wake up.’
I blink rapidly. ‘I’m not brave.’
He reaches over and takes my hands. This time I don’t flinch away. ‘You’ve done more in a couple of weeks in the Dreamlands than anyone since–’
‘Salib?’ I guess.
Dante looks surprised. ‘Actually, I was going to say Albert Hall. The last dreamweaver.’
I feel awkward. ‘Hey, I’m just making this shit up as I go along.’
‘I want to help. Let me help.’
I shake my head. ‘Everything’s in place. I just need to sleep. If you hang back then...’ I swallow, ‘there’ll be someone left to try again if I mess up. You and Bron.’
His face abruptly shutters. ‘Right, Bron.’
I chew on my lip. ‘Actually, there is one thing you can do.’
‘Name it.’
‘Somnolence. Get it back up and running. Tell anyone who’s still awake to go to the square and wait there.’
‘Wait there for what?’
‘I need an audience,’ I say grimly.
He looks like he’s about to say something but thinks better of it and nods at me. I’m relieved he trusts me. ‘Those pills are pretty strong,’ he tells me in warning. ‘Once you take them, the police will find it difficult to wake you up.’
‘That’s okay,’ I say, already thinking ahead. ‘If this doesn’t work then I’ll either be dead or sent to prison for a very long time. The police can wait.’
I stand up and take his hand, attempting to be formal. It’s my way of apologising for not trusting him any more than he initially trusted me. He turns my hand over, his thumb stroking my palm. Then he mutters something to himself that sounds like ‘fuck it’ and pulls me to him, his head bending down to kiss me. My stomach squirms – and for the first time in a long time, in a good way.
He breaks off abruptly, stepping back and watching me with an expression that’s completely unfathomable. ‘Good luck.’
I murmur something inane, press my palms to my cheeks as if to quell the heat that’s surged back into them, while he strides away.
Chapter Twenty
Ladies who play with fire must remember that smoke gets in their eyes.
Mae West
––––––––
Dante was telling the truth about the sleeping pills. Barely five minutes after I’ve swallowed them, I feel my eyelids droop and the heaviness of sleep encroach. I don’t doubt that despite the lateness of the hour I’ll be called back to answer more questions soon. I don’t know much about the justice system but my house is probably already being searched right now. I repress a shudder at the thought of strangers traipsing through it.
I’m relieved that Dante thinks the drugs are strong enough to keep me under. I’m going to need time to see my plans through.
The moment my ears prickle, I leave the forest using the same route I used the last time. It’s easier now I know what to expect and I have a route mapped out. When I scoot from rooftop to rooftop, however, the thatch is even more irritating and I stop several times to scratch at my skin. I end up not only scraped and raw from the compacted straw but also covered in scratches from my fingernails. If the Mayor does get the better of me and my fate is the same as Miller’s and Salib’s, whoever conducts the post-mortem will have a gay old time trying to work out what I did to myself.
This time I bypass the castle and take the long way round to the oxbow lake. I’m relieved when I cross the last row of cottages and spot Ashley sitting humming to herself. Sending her a silent apology for what I’m about to do, I check the coast is clear then leap down to talk to her.
She’s so lost in her own world that I’m behind her before she notices me. She jerks in fright until she sees it’s me. ‘Good grief, Zoe! You scared the living daylights out of me!’