A rapping at the door woke Proto, about an hour earlier than he’d have liked. He hoped it would go away if he said nothing and pretended not to hear it.

  Fifteen seconds passed, and he started slipping back toward sleep.

  “Proto, it’s rude to keep the Lord of Dreams waiting!” boomed the man’s voice outside.

  “He does that to everyone,” assured Astrid.

  So much for that.

  “On my way!” grumbled Proto. Clambering out of his covers, he opened his wardrobe.

  He’d put off laundry too long. Now, most of his clothes were being washed. He currently had one wrinkled and dirty tracksuit, plus two tunics that were missing their leggings. And then there was the robe like Somnus’.

  Yeah, not happening.

  That left the chiton—the toga-like thing that Dahlia wore while shadowcasting. She’d kept her promise to get him one. His was dark blue and yellow, and a bit more shirt-like. But it still made him feel like he was an extra on the set of Jason and the Argonauts.

  He started toward the door—then caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and winced. He brushed his hair, then quickly brushed his teeth.

  “First’s name, Proto, are you putting on your makeup?” called Somnus.

  “Can’t forget the eyeliner and mascara!” he replied, as he finished shaving.

  When he finally opened the door, he found not only Somnus and Astrid waiting there, but also Lilac and Dahlia. All of them had folded arms and baleful eyes.

  The blonde bookworm, though, promptly gasped with pleasure. “You wore it! And you didn’t even know I’d be here!” She pinched some of the blue fabric and rubbed it between her fingers. “Isn’t it comfy? Don’t you just feel . . . classic? Or maybe classical?”

  “I feel tired.” He rubbed his eyes.

  “You’ll want some coffee.” Lilac handed him a travel mug.

  “You know me, Madame Bartendress!” He sipped in satisfaction.

  “Lazy as a bear in Winter,” she nodded.

  “You know me!” he repeated.

  “You know what,” mused Dahlia. She unsashed her Victorian robe, removed it and tossed it into Proto’s room. This left her toga-like chiton. “Now I’m ready too.”

  “Anyone else? Astrid, you good with your spacesuit?” asked Somnus. “No more coffees? Bathroom breaks, anyone?”

  “Are we in a rush?” asked Proto. “Also, where are we going?”

  “To save the world. Where else?” replied the Lord of Dreams.

  “One dream at a time,” affirmed Astrid.

  “Indeed!” said the robed man. “But it’s not every day we visit a dreamer who’s caused worldwide pandaemonium, and has the power to stop it.”

  “We’re visiting the President?” asked Proto.

  “Thank you, Jon Stewart,” replied Somnus. “No. Fyrir! The scientist! The man whose genius set the world aflame!”

  “Was that a timely reference? From Somnus?” asked Lilac.

  “A broken sundial is timely twice a day,” the robed man said.

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” said Astrid. “Sundials don’t have hands like clocks.”

  “ . . . Astrid, do you remember sundials?” asked Proto.

  “Like I said. Old lady.” She flipped back her silvery-blue bouffant over her jumpsuit, looking no older than twenty-two.

  “Ah, I’m going to miss you, Astrid,” mused Somnus. “Who will remember the good old days with me? I’ll have to—alas—visit my mother more!”

  “She seems nice,” offered Proto, recalling the red-haired Queen of Heaven in her leafy raiment.

  “Oh, she has lots to say about you!” said Somnus. “Talked my ear off just yesterday, and half of it was ‘Proto this’ and ‘Proto that.’”

  Proto tilted his head in confusion. He didn’t see how that was possible, having met her for only two minutes in Mercune’s dream.

  “Really, Proto?” muttered Astrid.

  Lilac flicked his ear.

  “Anyway, we discussed saving the world too,” Somnus went on. “Which is good. I may be the Lord of Dreams, but this fiery worldwide pandaemonium is a bit above my paygrade.”

  “This calls for the Queen of Heaven?” asked Proto.

  Somnus’ lips quirked up. “She loves that nickname. You’re going to give her a big head, you know! But yes, visiting Fyrir was her idea.”

  Something that Somnus had said a minute ago was nagging at Proto. He’d meant to ask about it, but it slipped his mind now.

  “So,” Proto said instead, “today we need not only visitors, but a shadowseer and a bartendress?”

  “And a Lord of Dreams!” added Somnus. “Quite an expedition.”

  “You’re coming?” said Proto.

  “Indeed!” affirmed the robed man. “I may be a fifth wheel, but I roll with anything.”

  “What the F does that mean?” asked Astrid.

  “It means,” said Somnus, “you don’t have to do an evaluation today.”

  “Your terms are acceptable,” she said. “Welcome to the team.”

  “Hmph. You, welcome me?” He shook his head. “Like Steve Jobs being welcomed back to Apple. I made this place!”

  “Is that two modern references from Somnus in one day?” asked Lilac. “Modernish.”

  “As I said, every sundial,” he replied. “Now, let’s get going before Astrid starts lecturing me on clocks, or Lilac starts brewing more coffee, or Dahlia decides she doesn’t need her toga.”

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  “It’s not a toga!” said Dahlia and Astrid simultaneously.

  Dahlia blinked, staring at Astrid. “I know that since I like old books. You . . . ”

  “Old lady,” affirmed the silvery-blue-haired woman.

  “Please, you weren’t even around for the Bronze Age,” waved Somnus. “You’re not even older than the pyramids! Or Stonehenge!”

  “Stop bragging,” chided Dahlia.

  “Is that bragging or self-deprecation?” asked Proto.

  “Must I choose?” asked Somnus.

  “You all talk too much. Let’s go.” Lilac walked away.

  The others agreed on that much, at least, and followed her down the misty blue hallway.

  As they walked, Dahlia read a pocket copy of the Iliad, squinting at the tiny text through her monocle.

  “Some light reading as we save the world?” Proto asked her.

  “Why not? It’s my Bible. I read it for edification. I swear my oaths upon it. You wouldn’t believe all the things I’ve done while reading this!” Her eyes gleamed.

  “Did you know I’m in that book?” remarked Somnus.

  “Book XIV,” replied Dahlia, without looking up.

  “Oh, but that was fun,” Somnus chuckled. “The Bronze Age was the time to live, I’m telling you!”

  “Is that why you’re here?” Lilac asked Dahlia. “To make Somnus feel timely and relevant?”

  “Indeed! And she’s seen the future. She knows what has to happen, and what maybe doesn’t,” answered the Lord of Dreams. “Handy to have her around when seeking a future where the world survives.”

  “I see the future, love the past, live in the moment, and wear a chiton,” replied the shadowseer. “Who wouldn’t want me around!”

  “Wives with their husbands, perhaps,” replied the Lord of Dreams.

  Dahlia frowned slightly, then shrugged.

  Proto began whistling Maneater.

  Dahlia banged him on the head with the Iliad. Fortunately, the pocket edition didn’t hurt too much.

  “I feel like Somnus deserved that more than me.” He rubbed his head.

  “The Fates aren’t always just, Proto,” she replied calmly. “If you’d read this, you’d know that.”

  “So, Dahlia’s here to tell the future and flatter Somnus,” said Proto, turning to Lilac. “How about you?”

  “I’m here to do what I always do,” answered the pale woman.

  “Kick ass and make coffee?” asked Proto.

  “Yes. But I’m not all out of coffee.” Lilac lifted a pouch of coffee beans from her pocket. “Somnus’ idea.”

  The others raised their brows at Somnus.

  “I had a feeling this would be a long dream!” he explained. “Look, no one ever says, ‘I wish I hadn’t been prepared.’”

  They’d arrived at the sliding white door. Somnus waved his hand and it opened.

  Proto frowned. “I can’t even open it by touching it. And you can just wave your hand?”

  “As I said, Provisional Visitor,” replied the Lord of Dreams, “I made this place!” He strode into the mirky passage, and the others followed.

  Proto heard the sound first—a soft electric hum, swelling and fading—then saw the light. It flowed from blue strips along the matte grey walls. They emerged into a futuristic room that looked like something between Star Trek and a Tesla car interior.

  One wall was a giant computer screen, covered in text of various colors. One of Proto’s programmer friends was always telling him that “Linux is best” and that “no GUI is as powerful and efficient as the command line.” It looked like that guy’s screen.

  Ergonomic chairs sat in front of terminals around the room’s periphery. At the center stood a large hexagonal table. A man on the other side of it was facing away from them, eying his watch and shaking his head.

  At the sound of their footsteps, he turned around.

  This was an old man. What little hair he had atop his head was white, as was his belt-length beard. He wore a white lab coat. His eyes were icy blue, but his cheeks had warm dimples. The glow of the computer screens gave him a faint aura. On the whole, he looked like an angel sent down bearing good news about the Theory of Relativity.

  “Well. Hello there.” He squinted at them. “Do I know you . . . ?” Some mist started swirling up from the floor.

  “What? Have you not had your coffee, Fyrir?” asked Somnus amiably. Somehow, he was already wearing a similar lab coat. “You’ve forgotten our summer lab interns? Again?”

  Fyrir winced. “Ah. I do apologize.” He rubbed his temples. “Every year, I swear I’ll do better. And then I don’t.”

  Somnus introduced them one by one. “This, of course, is the one and only Fyrir. And, as you all know, I’m his humble assistant Somnus.”

  “Ah, right,” murmured Fyrir half-audibly. “Yes, this is my assistant Somnus, of course. And this is Wraithing Research Center.” He rubbed his temples again. “I do miss being forty. Or fifty, sixty or seventy, for that matter.”

  “Would you like some coffee, Sir?” asked Lilac, lifting her coffee beans. “I can brew it up.”

  “No, no, quite alright, Dear. We used to make our internesses brew coffee, but we’ve come a long way since then,” said Fyrir. “Now, I leave it to my secretary.” He looked around. “Where is that Moll? Probably off snatching a wink somewhere.”

  “I love inappropriate grandpas!” murmured Dahlia to Proto. “Will you be one someday?”

  “Inappropriate, yes. Grandpa, to be determined,” he replied.

  “We’ll work on that,” she affirmed.

  He blinked.

  “Anyway, pardon me if I seem distracted,” said Fyrir. “My Mercune is missing, and I’m beginning to get worried. Any chance you’ve seen her? Red hair, green eyes, freckles. Talks one ear off, and then the other.”

  “Oh, you’re her ‘Gramps,’ right?” recalled Proto.

  “Ah, you’ve already met!” observed Fyrir. “Not sure why I’m surprised. She’s been introducing herself to everyone within a mile since she was a toddler.”

  “Yep, we met this morning.” Proto felt a surge of inspiration. He decided to go for it. “She said she was going to . . . a cosplay convention.”

  Somnus raised an eyebrow at him.

  “A cosplay convention? In Dubai?!” exclaimed Fyrir. The mists swirled up to waist level. “Is it safe?”

  We’re in Dubai? Proto knew roughly as much about Dubai as the Theory of Relativity. He stared blankly and searched for words.

  “You know, don’t answer that. I have to go find her!” Fyrir started to hasten away, then paused and frowned. “Ah, might one of you know where this cosplay convention is?”

  “Yes, we all know. As you might’ve guessed.” Lilac gestured at their outfits.

  “Ah,” said Fyrir. “That’s why you look like a French maid, and your friends look like Antony, Cleopatra, and Jane Fonda as Barbarella?”

  “A French waitress, to be precise,” corrected Lilac politely.

  “They’re all alike, those cheese-eaters,” waved Fyrir. “Anyway, yes, I was wondering where your lab coats were. But I wasn’t going to say anything. Last time I mentioned our dress code to an interness, there were whole news stories about it!” He shook his head, then chuckled. “Now, we’re in Dubai. Anyway, lead the way, Lily! Or Fleur-de-Lis, or whatever it was.”

  Lilac led the way, heading toward the building’s entrance—or at least, did her best.

  “What’s this? Why are we headed to the underground levels?” asked Fyrir.

  “Sorry, I’m new here!” winced Lilac. “Still learning my directions.”

  “Not at all. My Everleigh was the same way,” waved Fyrir genially. “It’s winsome.”

  “I love this guy!” whispered Dahlia to Proto.

  “What, you’re coming too, Somnus?” asked Fyrir, seeing the other white-labcoated man had fallen into stride beside them. “Don’t you have work to do?”

  “And leave you with childcare duty?” asked Somnus. “You’ll have your hands full with Mercune.”

  “Fair enough, fair enough,” agreed Fyrir, as the mists dwindled away.

  “I’m really quite old,” grumbled Astrid.

  “I know you are, Doll.” Fyrir patted her back. A moment later, he fell back and murmured to Somnus, “The things the fillies wear these days, eh!”

  “Oh, I’ve seen it all, at this point,” mused Somnus. “You should’ve seen the Minoans!”

  “Eh?” Fyrir cocked his head. “Were they on the cover of National Geographic?”

  “Not exactly!” said Somnus. “Although the comparison is apt—”

  “Let’s go find Mercune,” interrupted Lilac.

  “Mm, quite right, Dear,” said Fyrir. “Let’s go see what this costume play rubbish is all about.”

  They left the futuristic building and walked the streets of Dubai. Lilac did a good job of striding confidently and nonchalantly, as though she’d walked this route a hundred times. Or at least, so it seemed to Proto.

  Then, Fyrir paused and frowned as Lilac rounded a corner. “Eh? It’s at one of the consulates?”

  The pallid woman blinked and brushed a strand of black hair from her face. She opened her mouth, as the mist swirled back up to knee height.

  “Probably the only place they can’t ban it!” observed Somnus.

  “Eh. Good point, good point,” murmured Fyrir. The mists stopped rising.

  They walked about fifty yards down the road, then Lilac halted in front of a stately civic structure. “Here we are!”

  Fyrir raised an eyebrow skeptically, but followed her and the others inside.

  The details in the building were hazy, like an old video game where you could only see about twenty yards before fog swallowed everything. They were approaching a security checkpoint with patdowns and bag checks. Mists lapped around their upper legs.

  “Why is it like this?” whispered Proto to Astrid.

  “Because Fyrir has no idea what to expect right now,” she replied. “Remember, he’s the dreamer. He’s imagining all this into being. He’s an eighty-year-old guy who’s never been to a cosplay convention, trying to imagine one at a consulate!”

  After passing through security, they followed colorful signs to a staircase with double doors at the top.

  Lilac threw open the doors. Light beamed in through them, and Fyrir squinted.

  Mists whirled and rose all about them. No image clarified beyond the doors. The light just kept coming.

  “I . . . eh?” Fyrir rubbed his eyes. “Need my specs, I think . . . ” He shook his head. “Odd.”

  “What is this—?” whispered Proto to Astrid.

  “He’s clueless!” she hissed. “We have to dream it! Quick!”