“I thought you said he couldn’t help us,” Robin said, hurrying after me. She had her new jacket thrown over her shoulders—no sense in leaving without what we’d come for—although she’d picked a dark green bomber jacket with a blue inlay around the shoulders that reminded me of an upright lizard. “I thought you said he’d kill me worse than Fletcher.”

“No, that was the other guy, Drakon,” I said. “Keep up.”

“So will Carrion help me get home?”

The police headquarters weren’t far from the shop, the streets getting wider and the walls getting cleaner as we approached. No one really thought they cared, but if the laws were on the books then they could be selectively enforced against anyone they wanted. “Give it up. You’re not getting home.”

“You keep saying that. Why should I believe you? Starling!” She ran forward and grabbed my shoulder, dragging me back. “You keep telling me I’m stuck in this horrible place forever because you’re stuck here. You keep telling me I shouldn’t trust what anybody says, so why should I trust you either? Maybe you’re lying like everyone else. Maybe you’re as bad as all of them!”

I rubbed at my eyes in frustration. “Yeah. Maybe I am,” I said. “Maybe I’m vicious and murderous and will slit your throat if you rub me the wrong way. Maybe I’m conniving and cruel and ruthless. Maybe I’m your worst nightmare even if I don’t have the good fortune to be a true nightmare myself. So you can run away, Robin.” I gestured down the long, empty street, which I knew snaked all the way to the edge of the city. “I won’t stop you. Go anywhere you want, see if you can find that way back home you’re so desperately convinced I’m not telling you.”

She hesitated. “I-”

“Why aren’t you running?” I demanded.

“Because I don’t know how to get there!”

“Because I’m the best you’re going to get,” I said. “And you know it. So do as I say and give up these stupid questions.”

The precinct was a squat, ugly building taking up the space of three. Its bottom floor was concrete and windowless, and even on the higher floors only a thin strip of glass ran all the way around the building. Sharp triangular extensions jutted out above the sidewalk like devil’s horns, thin rebar beams the only thing keeping them from falling. The interior was no more welcoming, filled with thin-walled offices and harsh bright lights. The benches were thin and hard, and the air itself was freezing cold, so that both Robin and I drew our coats around us.

I didn’t bother to wait by the receptionist’s desk. I thought I could guess where Conjager’s office was, and even if not I didn’t want to wait with the petty nightmares stupid enough to get caught and I certainly didn’t want them wondering about what Robin might mean. She shouted ineffectually after me as I led Robin through the thin hallways and past the thick doors of clean empty interrogation rooms. Someone had pinned up an orange, abstract-art poster that said Dreams Start Here-, but the rest of it had been torn off.

I knocked on his office door once before I shoved it open. He was sitting hunched over a pile of folders and papers, with an incomprehensible cursive scrawled thick and heavy across half of them. “I’m not to be bothered right now,” he said without looking up. “These have to be finished and there’s a backlog of several months at the very least.”

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

“Shame,” I said. “Guess I’ll come back another day.”

“Hexel?” He had a pair of round glasses which he pushed up onto his forehead. “What’re you doing—I mean, I’m surprised to see you so soon. What’s gone wrong to send you here already?”

Robin conscientiously closed the door, then walked right up to the desk. “Can you get me home?” she demanded. “All the way home, I mean. Starling said you could help us.”

“Not like that,” I said.

Conjager moved the files out of the way. He folded his hands on the desk and leaned forwards. “The waking world?” he said to Robin. “We as nightmares catch glimpses of it when we occupy dreamer’s heads. In many ways, we are but pale reflections of it. But we’ve never figured out a way to physically reach it—and you should be glad for that, for nightmares walking your world would be terrifying indeed.” As she digested that, he turned his gaze to me. “Don’t know what I’m talking about, huh? You were lying to me.”

“Yeah. I was.” I shrugged. “I didn’t trust you.”

“Now you do?”

“Now I’ve got no choice. One of your boys attacked us not too long ago. He’s lying on the floor of the Black Box right now, but when he comes back and complains I need you to keep her under wraps. And not file charges.” I took out Bella and spun her between my fingers. “Did you tell him to follow us? Nasty little guy, blond, slimy? Not many reasons I can think of otherwise.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And why would I do that for you? You’ve admitted to obstructing an investigation and will likely continue to do so, as well as assaulting an officer who will no doubt claim you instigated the fight.”

“That’s not true,” Robin said. “I saw it.”

I nodded. “You serve the city, don’t you? You want to know what happened to Chesnes, don’t you? That means not tipping off Drakon so that you can find the truth before he burns it. That means keeping us safe by not throwing us to the wolves. We don’t have to be friends. You don’t have to like me. But if you really believe what you told me this morning, if you’re really as honest as you say, it’s the only choice you have.”

He thought for a moment. Then he stood. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Why does everyone—I’m not a kid. My name’s Robin.”

“Robin, then. Go look through the files over there,” he said. “That’s everything official pertaining to humans in the Outscape—including Starling’s arrest record. I pulled it specifically yesterday because I recognized the odd details in Chesnes’ murder. You’re welcome to look through it. The adults are going to have a little chat and sort out the specifics.” He opened the door, checked that nobody he didn’t like was passing by, and ushered me out.

“Awfully generous of you,” I said.

“She won’t find anything. But hope makes anyone wonderfully pliant, if applied well.” He stopped near another door, rapping his hand against it three times. “We shouldn’t talk in the hall. In here.”

“She doesn’t remember anything.”

“Not yet, so you say. But if she trusts me, she will tell me if and when she does. Perhaps more than she will tell you.” It was an interrogation room that we stepped in—quiet, I supposed, so that no one could claim to have heard what happened inside. “Don’t you think so? It is the problem with us cops as an institution. We give nobody any reason to trust us.”

“If you’re trying to convince me, you’re not doing a great job.” I grinned. “When you work alone, you don’t have to worry about anyone else dragging you down. Do we have a deal or not?”

He grimaced. “You called me honest—but I don’t think that’s quite correct. I simply do what I do for the right reasons.” With a practiced motion, he produced a pair of handcuffs from his belt. One end snapped around my wrist and the other around a metal bar set into the table for precisely that purpose. “So sometimes I must be as calculating as this city demands.”

“What the hell?”

“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t trust you. And so now we’re going to do this in the usual way, and you’ll tell me what you know.”