Devil Sent the Rain - D. J. Butler Page 0,16

line of the wards was a piece he had to put in fresh each night, a length of spider’s web that he collected from the basement—he shared his space with many spiders—and painstakingly stretched from post to post in the frame of his uncle’s bedroom door.

Now the strand of web was broken, the two ends fluttering in the dank, humid air.

Was his uncle awake? The door was shut, but that meant nothing. Had his uncle observed him? If his uncle knew what Adrian had been doing, what terrible punishments would he inflict on the boy?

Adrian eased open the door down to the basement, slipped in and padded down the stairs in the darkness. They were muscular and meaty and they gave way a little to his touch. Dream-Adrian was nervous, and thought he’d be caught. Another part of Adrian found the dream even stranger than usual. What exactly it was that made it so eluded him, but he stretched for it, trying to pin it down with his mind as he opened the door and threw himself onto his ratty old futon bed.

The futon wasn’t ratty, though, it was warm and wet.

And also, there was already someone in Adrian’s bed.

He jumped up and back, preparing for the wolf and his insatiable tongue, and found the cord dangling from the light. It felt like an animal’s tail, and when he pulled it, a swarm of flying mites clouding about the ceiling burst into luminescent glow, showing him his tiny underground cell.

The futon lay wet and brown in the center of the room, like a giant rotting tongue. On it lay Twitch, Mike, Eddie, and the girl from the club—Mouser. They wore pajamas like kids ready for a slumber party, but the looks on their faces showed surprise and fear. Especially Mouser’s face.

“What new Hell be this?” she yelped. “Leave me in peace!”

“This be a Hell of bad grammar,” Adrian shot back. It was a reflex, he couldn’t help himself. But the fact of speaking to someone in his dream felt very strange. Usually he stood inside dream-Adrian, or behind him, and shouted unheard warnings.

Was this not a dream, after all?

Eddie sat upright and looked around. “It isn’t Hell,” he said. “Trust me.”

“This is wrong.” Adrian shook his head. “This is all wrong.”

Then he noticed that the floor of the room was covered in water. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but it was cold and brown and rising.

***

Chapter Four

“Don’t tell me it’s wrong, Adrian,” Eddie snorted, rolling to his feet. “Tell me how we get out of here.” Pushy bastard. He slapped his hand under his armpit and ground his teeth when his fingers found nothing but pictures of coiled whips stamped on flannel. The glowing flies scattered as he thrust his head into their cloud. “And tell me where my Glock is.”

“I don’t know where we are,” Adrian said quickly. He reached for nicotine gum and found he was wearing pajamas, too. No gum, no taser, no Eye, just pajamas covered with pictures of little kids … in pajamas. “Are you really here?”

Twitch groaned and rolled over. Her pajamas were speckled with birds and horses. They were stained with blood on the collar and shoulders, too, and there was blood matted in her hair.

“This is really me.” Mike stood up. His pajamas were yellow and covered in whisky bottles and sombreros. Just looking at his pajamas made Adrian feel a little guilty.

“Yeah?” said Eddie. “Prove it.”

Mike scratched the back of his neck. “What if I tell you something only you and I know?”

“I’ll still think I’m dreaming.” Eddie scanned the room, and so did Adrian. There wasn’t much here—a single shelf with a few Latin books on it, the futon, and the tail end of the old coal chute, from back when the basement had held a coal-fired furnace and this had been the coal room. Adrian remembered the lingering carbon smell from his youth, but didn’t smell it now. Today the room smelled like the inside of a mouth, badly in need of dental work.

“Then you can tell me something different that only you and I know,” Mike said, and then trailed off. “Carajo.”

“A day late, Mike,” Adrian said wearily, “et cetera.”

“Yep.” Eddie helped Twitch climb to her feet; the fairy leaned heavily on the guitar player, moaning. Her eyes drifted aimlessly and Adrian wondered if she had a concussion. Eddie’s eye wandered, too, for a moment, and he shook himself like a dog shrugging off water.