Proto woke in his simple white bed in his blue room at Somnus’ Palace, exactly where he’d fallen asleep. It occurred to him that that’d been true for weeks now.

  For most people, that would not be terribly significant. Proto, though, had been prone to sleepwalking and often had woken away from his bed—say, on the couch or the carpet. Somehow, being here in Somnus’ Palace had put an end to his nightly ventures.

  He wasn’t sure what that meant. Maybe it supported his long-running theory that this was all a dream. You generally don’t dream of sleepwalking, even when you’re doing it. That would explain why he hadn’t done it in weeks.

  On the other hand, most dreams don’t last for weeks either.

  Blearily, he shook away these dream-addled thoughts, donned his tracksuit, freshened up and headed to the lounge.

  He smiled faintly upon seeing the room. It felt like a part of him now, and he felt like a part of it: the wood paneling; the dark green and purple wallpaper with interwoven gold vines; the old gas lamps; and, of course, the bar, with its elaborate wooden inlays of medieval scenes.

  No one stood behind the bar. Scanning the room, he didn’t see Lilac—or Astrid, Dahlia or Mayger for that matter. But he did find Jet and Jag sitting at a table, so he approached them.

  “Have a seat, Partner!” hailed the better-dressed of the twins.

  “Quick game of Euchre? Think we can find a fourth?” asked Proto.

  “Lilac, you want to play?” called Jag. “With you, I might have a chance against these two.”

  Proto looked where Jag was facing.

  There, emerging from one of the booths, was Lilac. He must’ve missed her earlier since, for the first time since he’d met her, she wasn’t wearing her French waitress outfit.

  Instead, she was wearing a yukata—a light summery robe. It was mostly white with black edging, but its belt was fraught with blue and yellow primroses.

  “No cards for me! Or Proto.” She approached their table.

  “What? What’s this now?” asked the sweatsuited twin.

  “Somnus gave me an assignment for Proto,” replied the black-haired woman.

  “Ah. To be continued, Partner.” Proto fistbumped Jet, then faced Lilac. “So, where’s today’s visit?”

  “No visit. You’ll be going somewhere new today,” she said.

  “Oh. Am I meeting Astrid somewhere? Or is it Mayger?” he asked.

  “Nope!” responded Lilac, as Paunch emerged from the same booth. “Thanks again for covering the bar today,” she said to the aproned man.

  He waved dismissively. “Could do with some change. And less food.”

  “I hope Paunch doesn’t lose too much paunch!” she said lightly.

  “Oh, he can afford to lose a bit.” He patted his belly.

  Lilac turned to face Proto, whose head was tilted in bemusement. “Ready to go, Provisional Visitor?”

  “I . . . suppose I am!” he declared. “Should I pack anything?”

  “I’ve taken care of that. I always do.” Indeed, Lilac was holding a bag at her side—well, something baglike, but it had a woven basket base.

  “Well, alright then! Let the mysterious journey commence,” he declaimed. “Lead the way, Liliana Lightrobe!”

  She looked down at her white yukata. Then, she flicked his ear and walked toward the kitchen stairs.

  “I do feel somewhat underdressed though!” He snapped the elastic cuff of his tracksuit against his wrist.

  “You’re just starting to feel that way today?” she replied evenly.

  “Ouch,” frowned Proto, rubbing his Saturn emblem.

  “It’s okay, Partner. I’ll hook you up later,” said Jet. “New suit, new man. Same card skills.”

  Proto fistbumped him again and followed Lilac down the stairway.

  “Down into the mirky stony depths, is it?” he called to her ahead. “Back to the treacherous river of forgetfulness?”

  “No. Maybe tomorrow!” she replied calmly.

  She left the stairs before reaching the bottom floor and passed through a tall doorway.

  Following her, he found himself entering a grand foyer. Mists hung about the dim blue walls and ceiling, similar to the corridors upstairs. But here, the silvery patterns on the wall crept all about the chamber in an ornate swirling pattern, forming a shape like the Milky Way. At its center was an image of Somnus’ face, blowing out a puff of breath—the same image that was on the Breath Tokens.

  People were strolling to and fro in twos and threes. They wore diverse clothing from various historical periods, like an acting troupe practicing several plays at once.

  Once again, Proto marveled at how much bigger Somnus’ Palace was than the single floor he’d come to know. Maybe he should take more breaks from cards and cocktails to explore like this.

  His robed guide swished and shuffled around the passersby and led him outside. They passed through a misty courtyard with twelve fountains, some shaped like animals and others like people. He realized after a moment that they matched the twelve zones of the dream visitor floor upstairs—the Zones of the Ram, the Bull, the Twins, and so forth.

  Following her out of the courtyard’s grand gates, he emerged into nature—a few half-bare trees growing amid the sparse grass beneath mirky skies of grey. The scenery terminated in a cliff about fifty yards way.

  Lilac glided toward the precipice. “The Mists,” she said simply, pointing below.

  Sprawling below them was a barren plain fraught with drifting mists. It looked familiar.

  After a moment, Proto realized that the dream where he’d met that redhead girl, Mercune, had occurred somewhere like that plain. Maybe the same place.

  Beyond those crowds of mists, he could see some shadowy figures walking about. The way they ambled aimlessly reminded him of how sleepwalkers were depicted in movies. Maybe sleepwalkers really did look like that. He had no way of knowing despite being one.

  A memory suddenly flashed through Proto: Somnus, eying him with his usual look of ironic mirth, the day they’d met. “I might ask why you roved so far along the borders of the dream realm that you managed to find this place! I might ask why you waltzed in here like you owned the Palace!”

  “ . . . is this where I arrived here?” he asked.

  She nodded twice at him.

  “I don’t remember that,” he said. “Is that normal?”

  “I don’t know what would be normal. I don’t know anyone else who arrived the way you did,” she replied.

  Vaguely, Proto recalled something Lilac had said a while back—something about choosing her job after she’d arrived here.

  “What about you?” he asked. “This wasn’t how you got here?”

  She looked at him and silently shook her head.

  He wanted to ask more. But something about her wide black gaze made him keep quiet. He had a feeling that if he descended now into those dark depths, he would not be prepared to climb back out.

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  Instead, he pointed toward the horizon. “Those people down there look like they’re sleepwalking.”

  “That’s a good way of putting it,” she agreed.

  “You know, I have a long history of sleepwalking,” he noted. “Never know where I might wake up!”

  “That, I don’t doubt,” she replied drily.

  His lips quirked up. “Well, anyway, that all stopped when I got here. Haven’t sleepwalked once here.”

  “That’s not surprising,” she said. “After all, this is all just one big dream, right?”

  “I’ll prove it someday, Lilac! Or, should I say, Dream-Lilac!?”

  “And I’ll prove I’m not a figment of your imagination!” she replied evenly. “But maybe I can be the Lilac of your dreams.”

  His eyes widened at the pale lady whose black stare suddenly was square upon him. His lips parted.

  Smiling, she placed one finger on his lips. Then, she turned and faced the Mists.

  Proto forced the dazzle down. “Those people down there. Are they dreaming?”

  “Yes. Their dreams have taken them near the border of the dream realm and the Mists,” said Lilac. “The part where the dreams of many begin to meld.”

  “So . . . they’re dreaming of this?” replied Proto. “Wandering around a barren plain?”

  “Not exactly,” she said. “Think of it like . . . being inside a cruise boat. You can wander around inside all day, in your own world with its own people and stories and things. But from the outside, all people see is a big boat drifting forward.”

  “It’s like that,” she explained. “Each of these dreamers is inside a dream, like a cruise boat, in his own little world. But you’re seeing it from the outside, drifting around.”

  “What happens if they touch the Mists?” he asked, recalling his dream with Mercune.

  “They wake up,” she replied. “Or, if they can’t wake up, like if they’re unconscious, the Mists bear them away, further into the dream realm and away from the border.”

  “Ah.” Proto stared at them and pondered. “So that’s what I was doing when I got here. Sleepwalking aimlessly on that misty plain.”

  “Well, no. Not aimlessly. That’s the thing about you,” she replied. “Somehow, you made your way through those Mists all the way up to Somnus’ Palace.”

  He looked down. The manifold pathways amid the Mists wound about in a veritable labyrinth—except, unlike a labyrinth, those pathways constantly were forming and unforming as the Mists drifted, making it impossible to memorize the layout. “How did I do that?”

  “First knows,” she shrugged.

  “So . . . are we going down there?” he asked.

  “Really? That’s so you.” Her lips curved up. “You find out you miraculously made it through the Mists. And your very first thought is, let’s go back into them!”

  He smiled at first. But then, something that subconsciously had been bothering him since he got here abruptly surfaced. “Lilac, how long was I wandering on that plain?”

  She looked at him for several seconds. “I don’t know exactly how long. You should ask Somnus.”

  He recalled how Yemos had looked middle-aged in that dream of his. He’d assumed his twenty-something friend had simply dreamt of being older. But was it possible that all those years really had passed?

  “Anyway,” Lilac broke into his brooding, “that’s not why we’re out here.” She turned from the precipice and headed toward a rocky pathway leading downward along the cliffside.

  “Why are we out here?” he asked, following her.

  “Be patient!” she replied archly. “It wouldn’t be much of an odyssey if you knew where we were going before our journey even began, would it?”

  “Actually, isn’t that exactly how the Odyssey goes?” Long ago, his dad had read him a children’s version probably a dozen times.

  “Proto, this is your day with Lilac, not your day with Dahlia,” replied his date. “Try to be witty in ways I’ll understand.”

  “Noted. Apologies.”

  “Accepted.”

  She glided gracefully down the stony path until they reached a yawning cave mouth. Retrieving a flashlight from her basket-bag, she pointed it inside and flicked a switch.

  The cave shone pink. From the dusty floor to the craggy walls to the stalactite-ridden ceiling, the whole thing was pink. And not just the vaguely pinkish-peach hue of flowstone, but the pink of Barbie’s convertible or a Florida man’s polo shirt.

  Proto laughed.

  “Is there something funny, Proto?” asked Lilac.

  “Nope! Just looking forward to the bright prospects ahead of us. Very bright.”

  “Are you making fun of pinkness, Proto? I’m going to tell Mayger!” she threatened.

  “Please do. Once for every time he’s remarked on my tracksuit,” said Proto. “But yeah, after so long at Somnus’ Palace, it’s weird not having everything be blue.”

  “It’s because we’re not in Somnus’ domain anymore,” replied Lilac.

  Proto stared at her. “Whose domain are we in?” He felt like every day, this little world he’d woken in became a little larger.

  “You’ll see!” She glided onward into shadowy pinkness.

  “Well, can you tell me anything?” he entreated. “Like, why are we venturing into a cave that looks like She-Ra’s castle?”

  “Why are all your references from the era of VCRs and latchkey parents?” she asked calmly.

  He clutched his chest and held out a hand like Bon Jovi. “Shot through the heart!”

  She’d been joking, of course. But there was also something about the way she’d said that. . . . How long had he been wandering that misty plain?

  “Anyway, old man, we’re here to get Breath Tokens,” she went on.

  “Why does Somnus send out his bartendress as his coin carrier?” he asked.

  “Since I’m one of the few people here who has absolutely no interest in collecting them,” she replied.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  She stopped and stared in silence. “Because I already have everything I need here without Breath Tokens,” she finally answered. “Or at least, if I don’t, Breath Tokens aren’t what will fix that.”

  Proto tilted his head at her. “You . . . don’t need any favors, you mean?” He lifted one of his two Tokens from his pocket and held it up.

  She stared at him and the coin blankly. Then, she blinked and made an ah sound. “Correct, favors aren’t what I need.”

  Sometimes, Proto felt like everyone here was required simultaneously to be truthful and avoid telling him anything. But he didn’t say that out loud.

  “What Lilac needs, she takes! She doesn’t ask for favors,” he instead declared.

  The black-haired bartendress shrugged agreeably, and he followed her into the mirky pink.

  After a few minutes, a shimmering of the flashlight’s beam ahead revealed a river. This one was not like the last cave’s river, black and slow and somber. No, its waters ran crystal-clear and tinkly as they rippled. It also narrowed enough here that they could leap across it—though it looked oddly deep, bottomless even. And very sparkly.

  “I take it that touching that won’t make me lose all my memories,” observed Proto.

  “No, you’ll just grow fairy wings, and flowers will blossom beneath your feet,” she replied.

  “Well, wouldn’t be the first time,” he mumbled. He assumed she was kidding but wasn’t quite sure.

  She suddenly looked excited. “Wait, do you cosplay?”

  “Yes, I dress up as a French waitress and serve coffee and cocktails,” he said.

  She flicked his ear, then pointed at the water. “Careful, or I’ll slip this in your next cocktail!”

  “Well, I’ll make you share it with me!” he threatened.

  She stared at him. Then, she removed a glass jar from her basket-bag, delicately filled it with the water, and corked it shut. “It’s a date!”

  He blinked.

  She winked.

  He stepped backward away from her.

  She flapped her arms.

  He ran and jumped over the river.

  She laughed delightedly and leapt after him. In her robe, she seemed to glide through the air like Princess Peach. Or Princess Toadstool, rather.

  . . . Man, I’m old.

  They wound through cavernous coral hues till a stone cliff loomed before them, about fifteen feet high.

  “Might have a hard time climbing in that thing,” remarked Proto, gesturing at her yukata.

  “It’s okay. I have a big strong man to help me.” She retrieved a rope from her basket-bag and held it out to him. She smiled sweetly.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, a male, anyway,” she acknowledged. “So, all you have to do is climb to the top and tie the rope to the pointy rock you’ll see up there,” she instructed. “A big, pink stalagmite, but wider on the top, so the rope won’t slip off. It sort of looks like . . . you know, just tie it. Then, toss it down. Okay?”

  He eyed the vertical cliff face. “Have we thought through our alternatives?”

  “Of course,” she immediately replied, lifting the glass jar she’d filled with water. She flapped her arms.

  Proto stared. Then, he turned and started climbing.

  Her laughter sounded behind him.

  The pink cliff was not exactly sheer, but it was no rock-climbing wall with handholds either. Fortunately, he was in decent shape, his strength-to-body-mass ratio was pretty good, and he was flexible.

  “Good thing I wore this tracksuit!” he called down.

  She flicked his calf. “What’s next, Mount Everest?”

  The climb got harder. He often had to stretch to reach the next handhold or foothold. At a few points, he had to make a sort of half-jump from ledge to ledge, or shift his weight far over empty space, such that there was no way of turning back. He’d inevitably fall if he messed up.

  Once, as he made such a maneuver, he found out too late that the stone he’d reached for had a jagged edge. Even as it cut him, he had to put his whole weight on that hand for a second to avoid falling. When he managed to find a foothold and release the sharp rock, warm, stinging wetness dripped across his palm.

  But exhilaration surged through him too. The top of the cliff now loomed almost within reach. This was a challenge he could surmount. Last time, he’d had to cross the River Lethe, the forgetful black waters, to reach Lilac’s little beachy paradise. This time, it was The Cliff. Here he was, just inches from surmounting it. What awaited him beyond?

  Proto clasped his bloody hand around the top of the cliff and heaved himself overtop. Lying on his back for a moment, he loosed a long sigh of satisfaction.

  A rope plopped down atop his belly, startling him out of his contentment. “Heads up!” called Lilac after it’d landed. “Flashlight’s next.”

  He scrambled up in time to see her winding up and tossing the flashlight. As it spun through the air, its beam whirled in wild ellipses across the cavern walls. He barely caught it in his torn-up hand, then almost bobbled it.

  “Nice catch, Sausage Fingers,” she noted calmly. “Now, go tie the rope.”

  Grumbling and pondering where to wipe the blood from his fingers, he scanned for that stalagmite she’d mentioned. He beamed the flashlight back and forth.

  And there it was: pink, jutting straight up, and wider at the tip.

  Smirking like a twelve-year-old boy, he approached and began uncoiling the rope.

  From behind the pink pillar emerged a ghostly fairy.

  She was human-sized and semilucent. He could see her body and see through it at once. She had red and purple butterfly wings and a matching little dress. Her pale hair was pinned up with sprigs of mistletoe. She looked like Tinkerbell as painted by a pre-Raphaelite.

  Proto blinked at her.

  She flapped her wings at him.

  A glittering dusty breeze wafted from her wings and swept over him. She beckoned alluringly with her finger.

  Much as he might’ve liked to oblige, he’d read enough fairy tales to know this probably wouldn’t end well. He resisted the temptation, girding his superego against the urgings of his id. He thought of ice-cold baths and that wrinkled old lady from The Shining, and he resisted.

  But that all changed when he inhaled.