Once we were out of earshot, I hunched in and asked in hushed tones, “What have you found out?”

“Not much,” he answered with that disappointed regret typical of such confessions. “The villa’s big. The grounds are bigger,” he added a bit sardonically, gesturing around at our surroundings. “Nobody’s guarding the doors or anything, but even if you’re wrong and we can leave, there isn’t a good reason to.”

“No?” I prompted, my brow furrowing a touch in confusion.

“Wherever we are, it’s way out in the middle of nowhere,” he explained in normal registers as we arrived where we were going and stopped, bringing Dresden into the fold of our conversation. Thomas was absent, I noticed.

“No cell signal?” I asked, disentangling myself from Butters’ arm and unable to think of another explanation as to how he might know that information, or at least think to say it with that kind of certainty.

He shook his head with one of those confirmation of bad news half frowns that looks like a half smile.

“You aren’t planning to try to leave on foot, right?” I asked them worriedly. “It could be miles before you’re in service range, with no way of knowing what direction is your best bet for civilization.”

“Exactly,” Harry said, “Right now the plan is I’ll open a Way, and we’ll sneak out before Farnsworth notices you’re missing.”

I leveled him with a dubious expression. “Yes,” I agreed flatly, all snark, “Because ‘lost in the Nevernever’ is so much better than ‘lost in the middle of nowhere.’”

“I know my way around the Nevernever,” he argued defensively, “I can get us back to Chicago from anywhere in the world.”

My face lapsed further into incredulity. “Margaret LaFey knew her way around the Nevernever,” I corrected emphatically, then pointed at his chest. “That stone you inherited is a travel journal, not GPS.” I put my hands to my hips. “We could be wandering around forever, or just get eaten by something in the first half hour, or run into a spot where there isn’t any air, or gravity doesn’t work right or something.” I shook my head. “Until we know exactly where in the world is Carmen Sandiego, we should stay put.”

“Normally, I’d agree with you,” he argued with an irritated sort of patience, “but we aren’t likely to get a better option any time soon.”

“Have you even tried to open a Way?” I challenged, “How can you be sure it’ll work like you expect?”

A petite figure joined us on my right. “Sora,” she said, interrupting our debate, “Could we talk?”

I blinked owlishly and turned to give her my attention.

“She’s getting rescued,” Dresden answered for me, also turning to face her, “You can come too, if you want.”

Anita leveled him with an unamused and unimpressed expression, then returned her attention to me. “You seem to have some idea what the hell is going on here,” she said quietly. “Do you know where we are?”

I shot a non-verbal ‘I told you so’ at Dresden before answering, “Not a clue. I was just telling Harry here that I don’t think it would be wise to try to leave until we have a plan that doesn’t include getting lost immediately.” I began introductions, barely even pausing to breathe and gesturing between them. “Harry, this is Federal Marshal Anita Blake. Anita, this is Harry Dresden, wizard and preternatural consultant to Chicago PD.”

Harry’s eyebrows tried to escape his forehead. “You didn’t say she was a fed,” he accused me in slightly hushed tones.

I shrugged. “‘Necromancer’ seemed like the more important detail; sue me.”

He shrugged and tilted his eyebrows before lowering them in a way that said, ‘fair enough,’ and we moved on.

“How do you plan to leave?” Anita asked him. “I’ve had my people scout the perimeter, and if anyone came here by car, they aren’t leaving that way.”

“No vehicles?” he tested, perplexed.

“None,” she confirmed. “Not within about a mile radius, anyway.”

“A mile?” he repeated, incredulous now, “That’s a couple of stops on the L downtown, not a perimeter.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “My people move fast,” she explained enigmatically. Then she turned her attention back to me. “You said this party was ‘poorly controlled chaos,’” she reminded me, “What did you mean?”

I floundered for a second or two, wincing with some thoughtful guilt as she and Harry both watched me expectantly. “We’re sort of…” I floundered some more. “Swimming in a big pot of reality soup right now?” I finished, shrugging helplessly.

She narrowed her eyes at me in skeptical uncomprehension. 

I sighed. “It’s hard to explain,” I excused in exasperated apology. 

“Are you still trading for information this evening?” she asked, both seriously and with the faintest tug of a knowing smirk.

“Oy,” I muttered, “Of course. If Asher overheard, everyone with you probably heard, and at least one of them would have told you, so the question is have you gotten a play-by-play of every word I’ve said this evening, or just the highlights?” I finished, returning to normal conversational registers and tossing my ringlet curled fringe out of my eyes as I lifted my head from the droop it had fallen into.

She narrowed her eyes at me for a moment, more thoughtfully amused than anything, then inhaled sharply and said, “I’ll take that as a yes.” Then she moved right back into questions. The detective flavor was strong. “What organization are you with?”

I blinked at her. “Beg pardon?” I asked airily.

She pursed her lips disapprovingly at what she apparently took to be my stubborn evasiveness. “Well, I know you’re not an animator, or any variety of undead,” she listed, an example, I took it, “And I’d probably be able to tell if you had a strain of lycanthropy. We’ve established you aren’t fey or part-fey, either. As far as I can tell, you’re human.”

“Why, thank you, I’m so flattered you noticed,” I sassed primly, adjusting my hair with one hand in saucy slow motion. 

She spent a second leveling me with a flat look. “So, what is it, then? Are you psychic? A preternatural studies major? The press?”

I did some more perplexed blinking at her, letting my ear flop practically to my shoulder by way of tilting my head quizzically. A beat. Two. On the third, I inhaled sharply and exclaimed, “Oh!” then pointed as I realized aloud and explained, “You want to know why I know things!”

Her turn for some blinking, though hers was a tad bit more embarrassed than mine rather than strictly confused and she set her jaw, putting her hands to her hips and resettling her stance. “Pretty much,” she admitted, eyebrows raised, when she’d recovered.

I grinned. “It’s what I do,” I answered without answering, “I don’t drink and I know things.”

Her brow furrowed, the confusion catching up to her with a vengeance, and she asked, “What does that have to do with -” then cut herself off with a sigh. “Never mind,” she decided.

“You don’t drink?” Dresden repeated. “At all?”

I tilted my head at him for his apparent takeaway, and before I could answer that I wasn’t being literal; it was a reference he probably wouldn’t get and ‘don’t drink’ is closer to my personal truth than ‘drink,’ so here we are, Anita fired off another question for me.

“What can you tell me about the other people here? You talk like you’re worried for just about everyone’s safety, but you don’t seem to be all that nervous,” she pointed out, explaining her reasoning for the question.

“Oh, good,” I grinned, heaping on some more chipper sarcasm, “I’m masking the anxiety well enough, then.”

Butters snorted, not quite containing what I assumed to be a sympathetic laugh.

She stared me down expectantly while I folded my hands in front of me and my smile fell slowly. Finally, I said, “You missed my Bad Exposition mood earlier, and I don’t like to do that sort of wanton dumping of information, so I’m not likely to get into another one voluntarily.” A beat in which I settled my shoulders. “What would you like to know about the other people here?” I countered both pointedly and patiently.

“The vampires,” she answered, “How old are they? What kind of abilities are we dealing with?”

I finally went a little serious. “The oldest is one of the first of his kind, so very old. The youngest here are roughly in the two century range. Most of their abilities and vulnerabilities are fairly standard, but generally speaking, guns aren’t going to help. Unless you happened to bring silver ammo, bullets won’t even slow most of them down.” I winced with an apologetic shake of my head. “It sucks, but you’ll want to stick with close-quarters, or just stay out of the way.”

“Stakes?” she guessed and prompted.

I nodded. “I mean, some cases, yeah, but I was talking about decapitation.” I shrugged. “It’s pretty much the only universal ‘kill shot’ amongst all those gathered.”

She nodded. “Good to know,” she said, in all seriousness. Then she seemed to spot something and a smirk got started. “Who’s the Lestat wannabe?” she asked with a nod in that direction.

I followed her gaze and saw that it was, in fact, someone rather than something. I noticed the curly blonde hair tied back at the nape of his neck with a neat bow first. I was sure I knew him, but I couldn’t place him from the back like that. My pulse fluttered as he happened to turn around just then, and I recognized him instantly. There was no mistaking those baby blues, or that commanding presence. If I’d been less distracted, I would have wondered why I’d overlooked it before, but that was probably explained by the modern clothing.

Perhaps he’d felt my eyes on the back of his head, or perhaps he really was just bored, because he scanned the room as he turned as if looking for something, perhaps idly, or with the appearance of disinterest, and since I was naturally too transfixed to look away, of course, he caught me staring. 

I froze, unable to control the tiny gasp my lungs took in through my parted lips, that moment crystalizing in my perception and stretching for a brief eternity.

A slow smile started on him then, and time resumed, the sounds of the ballroom meeting my ears again after the breathless silence that had happened only in my head. 

I smiled back, so genuine as to be a reflexive response to his expression. Still without really thinking about it, I lifted a hand and twiddled my fingers at him in a subdued, if perhaps meekly or even coyly flirtatious, wave. 

He smiled wider, showing fang that I could almost but not quite make out over the distance of the width of the ballroom. 

I felt a flush start over my cheeks immediately, and I was finally able to break my gaze away, averting my eyes and my attention back to the conversation and the question. “Lestat de Lioncourt, I’m sure,” I answered, momentarily very French, and impishly knowing throughout.

She blinked at me, confused, a little shocked, and trying to figure out whether I was joking or crazy, because even if I wasn’t just yanking her chain, there was no way I was right.

I blinked back, mostly just batting my eyes sweetly, perhaps still with a little mischief.

Before she got the chance to accuse me of insincerity or insanity, Dresden interrupted our pow wow. “This is all very interesting, but none of it matters. We’re getting out of here before the enchanted masquerade from Hell has a chance to go sideways.”

“How do you propose we do that?” Anita pointed out, arms folded. “Like I said, there aren’t any cars around. We’re far enough out into the country that there aren’t even roads for at least a mile in any direction.”

“I’m a wizard,” he shot back emphatically. “I’ll magic us out of here.”

I was happy to let Anita become my proxy for this particular discussion, and the two of them grew steadily more testy with the other as their respective take-chargenesses clashed. Meanwhile, I let my gaze travel around the room again, allowing myself to be distracted from the argument by the movement and colors and sounds surrounding me and my lack of any real desire to leave this place, this moment, this dream, at least for the time being.

I spotted a stand-offish figure clad in black with a mop of equally black hair over top of his pale, gaunt face. He seemed content to watch the festivities, but a tension in his shoulders betrayed that he was ill at ease. I found myself drawn to him. I extricated myself politely, meaning ‘quietly, so as not to draw attention’ and with only one wary glance between them to ensure no one was paying special attention, and I allowed my feet to carry me. 

I cut a mesmerized swath through the dancers on the floor, who seemed to part for me without creating an obvious walkway between them, but each instead happened to be somewhere else rather than in my path as I moved through their midst. 

When I was close enough to the gloomy fellow to make out his eyes, I saw that in fact, he didn’t have any. Where eyes should be were two pockets of night sky, black but for the twinkling of stars. He watched me approach him with placid interest.

“Dream?” I tried quietly, hopefully, barely daring to breathe.

He didn’t respond right away, but seemed surprised by something, or perhaps several somethings.

“Morpheus?” I tried again, a disbelieving smile spreading across my face. 

“You can see me,” he said, a question that was a bemused statement.

“Is it really you? Are you really here?”

“I am Dream of the Endless,” he replied, leaving out an operative word, I noticed, “And I am here.” He paused. “Who are you?”

I didn’t answer. I barely heard the question. I was too busy rushing him in a desperate, joyous hug. He startled, raising his arms, and ultimately kept them aloft, not returning my embrace. I didn’t care.

“You can’t be here,” I protested ecstatically, somewhere near his belly button, if he had one. “You’re dead!”

“Am I?” he asked, seemingly amused and perplexed by the assertion.

“I saw it, I was there! The funeral, the wake…”

A few things clicked in my head while I spoke, which made my smile falter and my sentence trail off. First, I was most certainly dreaming, and that it was an important dream. Second, of the few times I could recall the Dream Lord appearing to a mortal woman, while she was dreaming or otherwise, it hadn’t been for shits and giggles. I panicked a little and backed out of the hug enough to try to read his expression. He was even taller than I’d imagined, so it was a stretch to see his face at that distance.

“Oh, crap,” I said, “Am I a Vortex? Are you here to kill me?”

He seemed surprised and puzzled yet again. After considering me a moment, he asked, “Should I be?”

“If you’re asking me, then no. Definitely not,” I replied, comically serious. Then I grinned up at him more bashfully. “Sorry, I…” My voice held an embarrassed laugh and I backed out of my forced hug. “I’m just so relieved. You’re not the first dead person I’ve seen tonight, but then I guess you’re not a person. Eric said I wasn’t dead, but you being here makes it make sense. Where else am I going to meet a bunch of dead, or imaginary, or dead imaginary people but in a dream, right?” I realized I was rambling and stopped, actually snapping my mouth shut and halting my arms mid-gesture before folding my hands in front of me.

“This is no dream,” he corrected, quite seriously.

I nodded once, very slowly. “Right,” I said, also slowly. “Of course it isn’t.” I didn’t wink or elbow him, but it was obvious that my sly sarcasm was my very loud hint that I was playing along.

“Who are you?” He asked again, making a scrutinizing face down at me, eyes narrowed and glinting. “What are you?”

“You mean you don’t know?” I asked, somewhat teasing.

He straightened from glowering down at me to towering over me. “You appear to be human, and mortal. You also seem to be familiar with me, but either this is our first meeting, or I have forgotten you, and I am not in the habit of forgetting things. I ask again...” he said, “What are you?” A cold anger began to creep into his voice, lacing it with warning. It sent chills through me and stole my smile right off my face.

“I’m human,” I jumped to reply, a little nervously. I decided to try to recover, if I could. “A mortal, as you say, and if I’m neither mistaken nor a Vortex, that puts me in your care. May I beg your forgiveness for my informality, and for the favor of your hospitality?” I curtsied for good measure.

When I looked up again, his expression had relaxed but for the creases and tilt of his brow. They were almost fearful. “My forgiveness you may have, but I am afraid I am not at liberty to grant you hospitality.”

My smile fell, worry gripping me. “Are we… not in the Dreaming?” My voice was small.

“No,” he confirmed, peering around. I got the sense that he was seeing with more than his eyes. “We are close by, but this is not my realm.”

“Oh.” I fidgeted with my hands. “You… don’t know where we are, either?”

“No.”

“And… you didn’t come here on purpose?”

“No.”

“That’s bad,” I said, nervous again, “And it looks suspiciously like I’ve kidnapped you, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

“I haven’t,” I assured him, “At least, not on purpose. I came to in the hallway outside the ballroom, standing straight up.” A beat. “How did you get here?”

“How would that information help you, little mortal dreamer, if that is what you truly are.” He raised an incredulous eyebrow as he spoke.

“It probably wouldn’t,” I conceded with a shrug of one shoulder.

A brief silence, I supposed in which he weighed the possible merits and pitfalls of taking me into his confidence. I supposed he decided something then, because he picked his gaze back up from my face to over my head and answered, “I was traveling between dreams, and it was as if the path slipped out from under my feet, moving this place under them.”

“Hm,” I said thoughtfully. “Are you alright? You don’t seem hurt…” I gave him a visual once-over. “You weren’t… summoned, were you? By a circle?” I asked timidly.

“No,” he answered, anger at past wrongs stirred up by the question, only evident in the slight lifting of his chin and the flash of it in his eyes.

“Oh, good,” I sighed, genuinely relieved. “Jerry, our host,” I explained, “He’s probably responsible for bringing us both here.” I kept thinking out loud, “Along with everyone else, I’m sure. I don’t know how or why, and he wouldn’t tell me when I asked.”

He searched the room with his empty eyes again. He spoke as he searched. “If that is so, Jerry toys with forces best left alone.”

“He probably knows what he’s doing,” I said, “And I would advise against asking too many questions. He’ll tell us what he wants, when he wants, and he might just lie anyway.”

Dream didn’t seem to be listening, or at least wasn’t concerned.

“You know who Jerry Farnsworth is, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer.

“Lucifer,” I divulged at a hiss.

That caught his attention. “The Morningstar?” he asked, aghast and disbelieving, only discernible in the widening of his approximation of eyes, the raising of one of his eyebrows, and the fact that he looked down at me again.

“Not the Morningstar, so much as a Morningstar.” I shrugged, unsure how to elaborate. “Jerry’s a nice guy.”

“You are familiar with Lucifer Morningstar...” he repeated, a statement-sounding question.

“A little,” I admitted with a wincing shrug.

“...and you say he is a ‘nice guy.’” His incredulity was palpable. 

“He is,” I insisted, defensive.

Dream pondered this for a moment, then decided, “I will speak with him.” He began to head off with a determined expression.

“I would go with you,” I said hurriedly.

He turned.

“Would you be so kind as to escort me?”

He said nothing, but extended an arm toward me, holding it out in wordless invitation.

I smiled again and took the offered arm with a spring in my step. After a few silent paces, I got nervous again. “Lord Morpheus,” I implored in subdued, not quite hushed tones, “Please don’t antagonize him.”

He glanced sidelong at me, placidly not quite sure if he was offended or not.

“He may not be the Devil you know, but he is a Devil you don’t, and while I have faith in his civility and yours, I would be concerned for your safety and the safety of others should it come to blows.” I paused, looking him up and down. “Besides, you aren’t dressed for battle.” I paused again. “Do you have your helm with you? Or your pouch?”

He either didn’t have time to answer me before we were within earshot or he decided not to, and a moment later he addressed our host, holding up the open palm of his free hand in a regal sort of gesture. “I greet you, Lord Lucifer Morningstar.”

Jerry flashed us a warm smile. “Morpheus,” he returned the greeting brightly, holding his arms open, “So glad you could join us. How are you enjoying the party?”

“It is an… unexpected diversion,” Dream replied pointedly.

“Ah,” Jerry said to the floor, clasping his hands together, “Yes. Well, I’d have sent invitations, but I couldn’t risk not getting all the RSVPs back. You know how it is.” He went on, reaching for me. “I see you’ve met my guest of honor,” he deflected, pulling me off Dream’s arm and under his own, giving me a sideways hug.

“She is?” Dream raised an incredulous eyebrow, regarding me mildly.

“Well, sure,” he said, squeezing and jostling gently. “Isn’t she a peach?”

“You will excuse my ignorance, I hope, but… what is she being honored for?”

“No worries, my friend,” Jerry said, clapping the taller manifestation on the shoulder with some reaching. “Your ignorance is excused. Consider it forgotten.”

“How generous,” Dream lied, albeit very convincingly, containing his irritation and bowing his head politely, “I thank you.”

“Sora, my dear, are you still enjoying yourself?” Jerry released Dream’s shoulder and took one of my hands.

“Immensely,” I confessed with a guiltily giddy smile.

“Oh, good!”

“Although,” I went on a sly sort of tactfully, “My dear friend and host, I would find it easier to relax if I knew what this was all about.”

He chuckled, pressing the backs of my knuckles to his chin. “That would be telling.” He spun me in a turn, and I let him. “You wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise, would you?”

“In fact, I would,” I argued. “I hate surprises.”

He laughed some more, leading me through a few more dance steps. “No, you don’t. You hate secrets. You love surprises.”

“Isn’t this both?”

“You have me there,” he admitted. “But, I think you’ll really be surprised, and I think that’ll be a first, and I’m sure you and the Dream Lord can wait a few more minutes without dying of curiosity, hm?”

I shot Morpheus a guilty look. “I can wait if you can.”

“Curiosity is itself rarely terminal,” he observed by way of agreeing.