The Children of Hypnos

[Vol. 3] Chapter 2: Peacemaker

Though McFeer wasn't real, Wes still did his best to pretend the man was only sleeping. Emery didn't seem bothered by it in the slightest. She also didn't seem bothered by Wes. Her impossible horse dissolved into smoke when they reached the steps of the jail, and she led Wes inside. Her office was off to the left; the cells were to the right.

"Put him in the first one there," Emery said. "The undertaker'll come for him."

No sooner had Wes sidled into the cramped iron cell and dumped McFeer off his shoulders than the body collapsed into smoke just like the horse. Nothing to be done about that—if the Dream wanted McFeer gone, McFeer was gone. Wes stepped back out and moved into the office area.

There were no deputies here now. Emery had removed her hat and taken a seat behind the wide oak desk. She leaned back and surveyed him as he walked in. Wes tested the atmosphere of the Dream carefully. It felt stable, like he was still on the right track. He'd never gotten this far before, and he didn't want to do something that might cause it to reject him. Or, worse, to make Emery flee deeper inside it.

"I was hoping to speak to you," he said. He'd never realized how hard it could be to hold his own in a staring contest with Emery, but then she'd never stared at him like she was doing now. Her pupils were huge in her pale eyes, her gaze like a hunting creature. She was very still. "I think...we may have met before."

He didn't know what he was supposed to say. It was her consciousness that was lost, and he had to coax her back out somehow. He had to remind her who she was, but not too fast, and not with the wrong things. If presented too soon, some memories would only cause her to retreat deeper inside herself.

Her fingers flicked and suddenly there was a coin between them, flashing over her knuckles. Wes hadn't known she could do that trick. "I don't recall you," she said in a stereotypical southern drawl that was not at all her own, "and I have a good eye for faces. You're not local, so where'd you come from?"

"Up north," he said. "Some people call it a...ah...sleepy city."

She cocked an eyebrow, but showed no other recognition. "If you don't want to tell me the name of the place, you could say so. I'll admit it's been some time since I left Heartwood, but I do know most of this country."

"Some time ago?" Wes ventured. "You don't look old enough to have gone far." That could be a stretch. Did she know how old she was here? Did she think she was older than eighteen?

But Emery just narrowed her eyes at him and kept moving the coin and said, "What's your name, stranger?"

Even this could be a risk, but he was willing to take it.

"Wes," he said. "Wesley Jager."

The coin paused for only a second, then began moving across her fingers again. "My name is Emery Ashworth, Mr. Jager, though I suppose you already know that, since you were looking for me. Where is it that you think we met before, and what did you come to speak to me about? I have to warn you, if you plan on trying to kill me, I'm a very quick draw. Even when sitting down."

"I don't doubt that." He'd seen her do it plenty more times than outside the saloon. Quick was an understatement. "We worked together, once. If you don't remember, I'd be happy to—" The Dream swelled around him like the air filling with humidity. The coin fell to the desk. Emery's face twisted into confusion, then anger. Too much, too fast. Wes quickly backpedaled. "—I must be mistaken. But I came to you to talk about—uh—" He looked around. Glanced back toward the cells. "The bandits." The Dream relaxed a bit, and so did Emery's expression. "I heard about the—the bandit problems you've been having, and I came to offer my help."

Emery's expression smoothed completely. The Dream settled back into its natural rhythm. "You have experience with this kind of thing?"

"With hunting people down?" he said. "You could say that."