I met the man’s stare dead-on, then rummaged in my pocket, retrieving a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Almost bored, I fished one out and placed it in my mouth.
I don’t usually smoke, but this cigarette contained more than just tobacco. I inhaled the contents, not bothering to light it. I felt the powder in my mouth. Rancid, dry, evil. I leaned against the peeling wall, and said, “Why don’t I just leave, taking the stuff with me, asshole?”
The large man stood up. He was much taller than me, which was no great feat, but he towered over Ronald as well. This was a guy who didn’t simply stand. He loomed. His face twisted in a mixture of anger and superiority—a man used to scaring people into compliance. “The bitch has a mouth on her.”
Tendrils of smoke started rising from my palms. In a room filled with hookah smoke, they went unnoticed.
“Dan, there’s really no need for violence,” Ronald told him, voice quavering. “Lou and I agreed on the price beforehand. I have the rest in my room, I’ll go get it, I—”
“Shut up,” Dan grunted. “Two hundred is more than enough for this shit.”
I sighed, mentally nicknaming him Big Dumb Dan. “Really? Are you an expert on dream value?”
He took a step toward me. It was like looking at a bulky, very sweaty glacier approaching. “You know what? Why don’t I just take it?”
“Go on, give it a try,” I said. I could almost feel the powder I’d swallowed intermingling with my blood, dissipating, spreading in my body.
Children’s dreams were potent stuff, but not all were sweet. Some were nightmares.
A child’s nightmare could be infinitely worse than an adult’s, their rampant imagination unhampered by years of experience. And a talented alchemist knew how to distill those nightmares as well.
I was a very talented alchemist. And the nightmares were coursing through my veins.
My usually delicate hands morphed into rough, deformed claws, the nails long and broken. My skin became gray, dry, lifeless, sections of it peeling to reveal rotting flesh underneath. My hair twisted on my scalp, like a writhing pack of angry snakes.
Big Dumb Dan’s eyes widened, his mouth going slack. Behind him, the other guy said, “Her eyes—oh god. Look at her eyes.”
I smiled and licked my lips with a tongue that felt long and serpentine. “Well?” I asked, and my voice echoed strangely in the room, the words reverberating with an otherworldly, high-pitched, tortured scream. “I thought you wanted to take it. What are you waiting for… bitch?”
“I’m… sorry.” Big Dumb Dan took a step back, his voice shaking. “You’re right, of course. Your price is fair.”
I turned to Ronald. “The price just went up,” I said, my voice still echoed by the tormented wail. “It’s six hundred now.”
Ronald went for the money quickly while I stared flatly at the two other men, occasionally licking my lips with that strange tongue. If Big Dumb Dan had decided to risk rushing at me, he would have found out I could easily be overpowered. My appearance was nothing more than smoke and mirrors—parlor tricks to impress the crowd. A punch in the face would have knocked this nightmare out easily.
But you don’t punch nightmares. You cower from them, trembling, hiding under the blanket, crying for your mother.
Neither man acted, their eyes clear windows to the terror that paralyzed them.
Ronald returned, shoving a bundle of bills into my outstretched claw. I handed him the powder, and he shuddered as my dry, peeling skin touched his. With a final smile full of bared teeth, I left the apartment.
Chapter Two
My hands were pulsing with infernal heat as I closed the door behind me. The skin of my palms burned, itching for relief. I unfurled my fingers, still long, gray, and misshapen, and let the flames erupt.
The fire covered my claws in the blink of an eye, orange and red flames licking my skin, enveloping my hands up to the wrist. If anything, I was even scarier now, a nightmare with her hands ablaze. But unlike the nightmarish illusion that cloaked me, the flames were real, my body’s reaction to the mixed anger and fear inside me. They would burn for a few moments until I calmed down. I considered waiting out there in the hall until the flames—and the nightmares’ effect—subsided. But it stank, and I didn’t want Big Dumb Dan to have a change of heart and find me standing just outside the door.
I left the apartment building, my flaming hand leaving the front doorknob pulsing with heat. To my chagrin, the man in the trench coat was still outside. He had moved slightly, and now stood directly by my bicycle. To retrieve it, I would have to approach him, looking literally like a nightmare.
What I had done just now was bad enough. These men would tell their friends about this, and it would start a rumor about a witch, or a monster, or the bogeyman. A local tabloid might hear about it, publish an article. It would get some undesired attention. And that was bad. It was the one thing we all agreed upon. Magicians, witches, alchemists, demons, monsters—all the creatures beyond the veil tried to avoid being discovered. Because if there was one thing more deadly than us, it was the mass hysteria of regular people.
No, I wouldn’t risk another man seeing me like this. In a few minutes, the effects of the nightmare powder would wear off, the flames on my hands would dissipate, and I would look like a regular human being again. I turned my face quickly away, trying to hide my burning claws with my body. I walked a few feet into the gloom, away from the dim streetlights.
In the dark, I glanced at my blurry reflection in a rain puddle, and nearly recoiled in horror. The eyes staring back at me were the eyes of a demon—orange and dark, something flickering inside them. My tongue was forked and black, and my hair was styled in a manner popular among Medusa and her friends. No wonder those guys were terrified.
I gazed at the puddle, wondering what would happen if I took a selfie and posted it on Instagram. Woke up a bit cranky this morning. #NeedMoreCoffee.
Someone cleared his throat behind me. It was that man. “Are you okay?”
I nodded brusquely, not turning around. I clenched my fists, trying to hide the flames.
“Isn’t that your bicycle over there? I hope I didn’t scare you away.”
“I’m fine,” I said sharply. My voice was echoed by the sound of a tormented, agonized shriek.
There was a moment of silence. “You don’t sound fine. Cigarette?”
Damn it. I turned around, face full of fury, giving him an eyeful of a creature from hell. “Leave me alone!” I snarled, and bared my teeth, unfurling my claws to let the flames rise.
His eyes widened. Now he would pee in his pants and run into the night, screaming about a demon.