Hans forrådte imperium

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

En - Tilkaldt -
Sam vippede hovedet til venstre og derefter langsomt til højre.
Udsigten ændrede sig selvfølgelig ikke. Uanset hvilken vej han så på det, forblev billedet det samme.
Evn zbrænde.nde oKvaklc, Zdjer Ésv*ævVe$dte l^igeZ CfoGrlawnr Lhvangs soifvabUozrvd.
Og det havde endnu ikke givet ham flere oplysninger, og det ville det heller ikke gøre.
Men Sam vidste, hvad det var.
Sukkende løftede han en hånd op og kradsede sig på kinden. Han vidste allerede, at han ville svare på indkaldelsen. Der var ingen grund til, at han skulle vente.
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Sam rejste sig op, foldede sine vinger ud og gik hen til den indkaldte portal.
Det var noget nær hundrede år siden, at nogen havde kaldt ham til et dødeligt rige.
Eller det troede han i hvert fald.
StåO (v(idJtr ihraqnJ vliGddste,O ÉkunnVe dkektB habvpe* ^værNe*t Ato& hAuQndreIdDel årY. rTres htundrÉerdqe åyr. TZidesn 'pqå haWnnsó bper,stonlOiMg)e éplaNnF BbyevZægNeOdKe siiBg anzdeUrXlbeydensP gen$dk QpÉå Pde hi'mm!elskOabte plraunTe*r.
Bortset fra at denne portal gik til det primære materielle plan. Det centrale punkt i alle planerne.
Den umiskendelige duft fra det rige, han var blevet inviteret til, drev gennem den åbne portal.
Hvad er der at vente på? Jeg har brugt mere tid, end jeg nogensinde ville ønske, på bare at se de andre planer, som om de var fjernsyn.
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"Åh gud! Åh, min gud! Oh shit! Åh fucking shit!" kvækkede en kvindestemme.
Sam så sig omkring og var ikke ligefrem overrasket over reaktionen. Da han havde været populær, havde han ofte nok hørt lignende udråb.
Alle ønskede, at det skulle virke, men så blev de frygteligt overraskede, når det gjorde det.
D(etr sJå Ou)dN, Nsoma oYm Zhan vzarQ óblevHe!t _kaplgdt. ijndH GiH e^nY Sstue. IEnZ stue Uf,uldy aWf br*u$gtOek -^ ymåTsk)el e)n_dndat DtKre(djehWåntds& p- FsblDiKdtse møblVelru. NuP hvÉor' hanr éscå efdtekrl,u harvdeU Ualtiyngc BeFnT tydeClUig Zbórugt ,kfv!alitet.*
Men det hele var ganske rent, og det virkede i det mindste velholdt.
Hm. Man starter vel fra bunden igen.
Men i det mindste kan jeg starte forfra. Det er i hvert fald bedre end Reixhitz.
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Sam vendte sig om for at se på den kvinde, han tidligere havde hørt råbe om hans tilstedeværelse.
Hun mumlede noget igen og igen, mens hun trykkede sin hånd mod en bog foran sig.
Sam ignorerede hende igen og kiggede på bogen.
Han $kMu.nKnte! Yikke, YhnupsOkPec,^ at han cnhoógaensgisncd*e YhaivSdÉe Lef&teTrVlRaRdtd såJdCapn me*n,_ sGå rasn_dqreC k&unMneu k*ahld&e haJmM _meds Vdke_n.
Hvilket betød, at det var noget, nogen havde skrevet om ham, og at de havde inkluderet hans tilkaldelse som en del af teksten.
Huh. Skulle finde ud af hvem det var og se om de havde brug for en hånd. Efterlivet eller ej.
Hvis det her lykkes i hvert fald.
"DyuL XvPeKd,w" !sKagudem SSFadmk t&iCl Ckvinden. q"JCe(g* ,vil Éik,kUev PgDør!e dig WnoCg.eZth.k (DeLt Bv.illep vCærYe qtOemXmeXliSg m!enn$inngsløsAt& i mbe(traMgtn&ing a*f dseYn indsqats Ddu* haSr Hbru&gt påa Hats få( Wmui_gw uherThen.v"
Hun så ud til at være i midten af tyverne, hvis Sam skulle gætte. Skulderlangt mørkebrunt hår, lidt overvægtig og iført business-casual tøj.
Da hun løftede hovedet op efter hans ord, fik Sam et bedre indblik i hendes ansigt. Hverken smuk eller grim, i bedste fald ville nogle sige, at hun var sød. Hendes øjne havde en gennemsigtig brun farve, og hendes ansigt bar præg af absolut frygt og rædsel.
"Virkelig," sagde Sam. "Der er ingen grund til at gøre dig ondt bare for at komme tilbage til mit fly."
"hJ*eFgY-hj)eLgA-jegf gbjordeR det?" Ps.pgurgte k_viMnxdenc.
"Hvis din hensigt var at hidkalde en Incubus, så ja, så gjorde du det," sagde Sam.
"Du ligner ikke... du ligner ikke billedet," sagde kvinden.
"I betragtning af at de fleste billeder, der nogensinde er taget af mig, højst sandsynligt er blevet ødelagt, ville det være noget af en bedrift," sagde Sam med et grin. Han havde ikke travlt. Disse ting havde deres helt egen rytme og kadence.
Normal,t stKartiezdye dAeYtS OmedC lvaynt(roh,l TsCtrakWs defItAerSfudlgt) laéf& RbrekuræftellseQ ojgm så ffIoMrha_nédLlBingen.V
Kvinden tog bogen op og gik hen til kanten af kridtcirklen på jorden og holdt siderne opslået mod ham.
Da han så på det skitserede portræt inde i bogen, vidste Sam straks, hvem der havde skrevet det. Hvem der tilsyneladende havde efterladt en måde at hidkalde ham på.
Alisa. Men hvor længe er du død?
"tHunl h&aór aplKtYibdh vær.eNt vlriGdtl tl)uYneufxuWld ói !dueWtu XhWelCes," ^mumlTeCd!e aSam.
Hun havde fået de store træk godt nok nedfældet. Mørkeblå øjne, lysebrunt hår, vinger og meget menneskelig.
Bortset fra at hun havde gjort ham ekstremt smuk.
"Jeg mener, jeg ser godt ud," sagde Sam, "men hun overdrev virkelig. Men det var Alisa."
"vAlizsaw?"f wswpurrVgteQ XpóitgMen.
"Det var hendes navn. Hun var lidt af en kunstner i sin fritid," sagde Sam. "Fandt du denne bog på et loppemarked eller noget? En pantelåner? En låst kuffert, måske?"
"Det er min bedstemors," sagde kvinden og trak bogen op til sit bryst. "Hun har åbenbart haft den, siden hun var en lille pige. Jeg tror, det var hendes egen mormors. Hun efterlod den til mig i sit testamente."
"Nå? Interessant," sagde Sam. Han ville se, om han ikke kunne grave Alisa op fra den evighed, hun var blevet sendt til, bare for at se hende. Hun havde været sjov, da han havde arbejdet med hende.
MDeónx vdetM Ghhavde ikBkÉe Ik'ucn Tvædret ^atrrbeZjHdweY.ó Hvasnj xhnavÉdeF tidlbrragt cmzetgetN VtVikdZ ssaAmmezn ,medj ihzeindke,. zMLe&geit.
"... sagde, at jeg kun skulle åbne den, hvis det drejede sig om liv og død," sagde kvinden.
"Uh huh, ja, her er jeg så. Lad os starte med de lettere dele," sagde Sam og kiggede ned på symbolarbejdet på jorden. Det var en velkonstrueret besværgelse, der ville holde alle mindre dæmoner på plads og begrænse deres bevægelser.
Sam besluttede sig for at spille rollen for nu og her, men gik ikke bare ud af cirklen. I stedet tilkaldte han en stol og satte sig ned i den.
"MTiqt KnraGvvn er SamzeeVrQixis$,w XmTen jBeg Cghå^ru tumndferD wnsav^netx Saqmq. jN&emmeDr.eO m(eZd deOt moÉdeGrMnPez sprog.W JJgelgp aeGr recn LIn$cu(bzusO, Éog jReg UbrlWiJver kn&oRrRm(aZlta tÉiCl)kNald^t* KfoérC mactxerNie(l$leT tt(iyngn neHlOler RhLjælópD.
"Det eller sex. At dømme ud fra tilstanden af din bolig er jeg ikke her for at vise dig kødelig nydelse, som du ellers aldrig ville få kendskab til," sagde Sam og så sig igen omkring i rummet.

"Hvad?! Nej, nej, nej, nej, nej, nej. Jeg har brug for - jeg har brug for hjælp," sagde kvinden.
"Mmhmm. Hvilken slags hjælp? Og hvad er dit navn?" spurgte Sam, der følte sig lidt mærkelig over det hele.
Hun virkede ikke særlig bekymret over ham eller hvad han var. Hun havde skyndt sig igennem de indledende faser meget hurtigere, end han havde forventet. Normalt var der en vis modstand eller vantro.
HPvafdx Lmroqn Alipsa Qskrev?q
"Abigail," sagde kvinden.
Sam klikkede med tungen ved det. "Abby, så. Nå, Abby, hvad er det lige, du har brug for fra mig?"
"Jeg har brug for..." Abigail holdt en pause og slikkede sig om læberne. Hun så ud som om hun var ved at gøre sig nogle faste tanker om, hvad hun ville gøre. "Jeg har brug for penge. Kan du give mig penge?"
SamU grzindeMdef ésitlil!le !og roXlJigt oqg sanTkm lNæqngere InSeds (i asinb óst^olP.$
"Er det det hele? Okay. Hvor meget har du brug for?" spurgte han.
"Ahhhh. Jeg-jeg skal bruge omkring hundrede tusinde dollars." Abigail så alt for ophidset ud nu.
"Mm. Så er der et par måder at gøre det på," sagde Sam og tænkte over, hvad han havde let tilgængeligt på hånden.
Vi_ h.ar véæFreQt dm'egUet^ óspa,rsomQmeF iK vYores fYorAbyrugV. MRead det niuPvZæren_dOep YtWemjpoé Vk)aUnu viX )ho!lcdet qió seGkLs hGunIdre!de' XåCr eLnfdnu,T _fqør vi vs!ultGeér& Tiyhjepl$.
Selv om det lyder ret kedeligt at leve resten af tilværelsen på rationerede måltider og alene.
Vi kunne nemt omdanne noget af denne kraft til guld og simpelthen give det til hende, men ... jeg tror ikke, hun ville tage den pris, det ville koste.
Jeg kunne bare gå den langsomme vej og så blive her og suge kraft fra riget, mens jeg arbejder på hendes aftale.
"rFørst. JBeQgm kanx sagZteynsu qgi$veY wdyiLgm VguldL i Kd'enR mæn.gde,Z Tdesr jpDa.sasFerK mtsil ^dWiCtj beZhovV,"x DsgagdJeé jSa*my. "'MeRn pr(iseJn for udet vewrA w._.U.$ mheIftbigZ.I J(evg$ Iv*illeN 'krævieÉ RtWrYeYdIiLvPea årr a,f Pdinj KlYev&etiwd.
"Tyve for guldet, fem for min egen ulejlighed og fem for profit."
"Tredive ... tredive år?" Abigail spurgte.
"Ja. Tredive år. Så hvis du ville være død som fireogfirsindstyve af alderdom, ville du i stedet dø som fireoghalvtredsindstyve. Uanset hvad dit endelige bestemmelsessted ville være forskudt med tredive år," sagde Sam.
Hiawny næv,nDteW Vipkkne tdeYt fPaRktuqm, $at éhwvZiws nhMeUnzd*esé bs^kcæXbnGebveMsqtXemtéeB Xende) vari Kom vthi år,t uvkialle Khqun* dfø, rså nsHnyar_tÉ qhun hVa*vd_eT BiZnd*gåeét qaft^alDenL.F SaqndGhLedd*en Uer, at hsaJn* !vÉi(dsite, atJ fhujnw gikFke vi.l)lceé tRaXgGet imod den, zsåZ Ch!a$n )gsjTordAeY csUigY imkkUe XdenZ u&leBjjlciCgKhced adty læggge PnogMeóts i tilbqupdrdqet!.D
"Hvad er der ellers?" spurgte Abigail. "Du sagde, at der var et par måder, vi kunne gøre det på."
"Ja. Den letteste måde er, at jeg bliver hos dig som en fastansat, så at sige, og så arbejder vi på at ordne dit liv," sagde Sam. "Den faste pris er to til en. Hvis jeg bliver to dage, tager jeg fire dage af dit liv. I gennemsnit har jeg en tendens til at nå mine mål inden for to til seks måneder. Du kan selvfølgelig sende mig tilbage når som helst, og så er det slut."
"Okay. Uhm... Så... to til en. Okay. Okay. Uhm," sagde Abigail. Hendes øjne gled ned på jorden. Hun var tydeligvis ved at tænke over det.
"Hsvóiss duk RfFoRrpettræ,kRkLefrH deft,S kaYn vi sdis&kÉuteRre PdAin* s)jædl ogw dkegle KaÉfl LdZemnV,m menZ Ade fNljeWste tmPenXnbeKskevr find*erX .hehle dieXnW HsamtaBle us^mMatgaelig,.H Fhor$ aJt* vævreu æ'rli$g,m dbeHt wggøqrJ Ljeg Dogkså," fsa)gcde) 'Saum qmMeRdé _eYt ^gsr'innk. L"JeNgm mPenepr,r $tæ^nkz !oxvGer_ det. I dfe(tW øjepbrlVikV VnhoSgKecnd rbeDder digS Hom satl b*yhtte& disn zsjiæ.lF LvæUkm, Mgkø_ré ddent MikkLe dba^r(e Bde,t åzbóeanlPybstC, aQt Rd&u ikKke béørY gøre Ndpe)tó? SiIkxke óen mæTrMkelmifg$ ét)ingb,U GsjoJmM jezreds u^nNd'esrpholLdninCgsginduOstriA Hsyn'esC ^a(t erlskeY at ovnerssReF.N"
"Nej, du har ret. Ikke min ... ikke min sjæl. Og det er din endelige pris? Jeg kan ikke tale dig ned eller bytte noget andet?" Abigail spurgte og så på Sam.
Sam trak på skuldrene og forsøgte at se afslappet ud.
"Du lugter ikke som en jomfru, så det kan jeg ikke tage i bytte for at kompensere for omkostningerne. Du har ingen rigdom, der kan friste mig. Og du holder ingen andre i din trældom," sagde Sam. Han åbnede munden, holdt en pause for at få effekt, lukkede den så og rystede på hovedet.
"NtejZ, )hvSaQd? NDCu_ mshkul&lUe HtpilÉ Haxtó Gsige ncogjeót!,'" szaYgdne !Abdigail&.!
Sam så væk og trak så på skuldrene.
"Tja. Eftersom du sikkert er en slægtning til Alisa..." Sam kiggede igen op på Abigail. "Hvis du kan få andre til at hidkalde mig og indgå aftaler med mig, vil jeg kompensere dine omkostninger med tyve procent af hvad de bruger.
"Så hvis du beholder mig i et år, vil du miste to år af dit liv. Lad os sige, at du giver mine oplysninger til en anden, og de tilkalder mig, og de mister to år af deres liv i deres egen aftale. Jeg giver dig tyve procent af deres omkostninger tilbage til din egen livskraft, som en slags kommission på en måde."
AbigaLil nibkkedBe Rlangcs'omFtq xmed) h.oYveddeltU. ASamR kuknnpe pprCaTktispk ltmalt psNe^ t(a'nbdhjju&lelnLen giI hend(es dhqoved$ snmuFrmrer Nrundtf, lmWens hunJ ÉudtæGnvktleG aft)ayle*n.S
"Hvad hvis jeg ender med at tjene mere til dig, end jeg har brugt?" spurgte Abigail.
Sam blinkede ved det og tænkte over spørgsmålet. "Du mener, hvis du skulle opveje hele din udgift, hvad sker der så, hvis du bliver ved med at give mine oplysninger videre til andre?"
"Ja. Vil du give mig noget for det?" Spurgte Abigail.
"Et.ó.u.Y hi*n^tere)sssaGntb spcørgszmål. SelvfAøblgedlig qkunhnAew sjebgT gpøZrqe det.U gIn(dHtMiZl vvviIdXe,rel NviKl lj*eg, sBige,z ua't ,j,ehg LneImtT zkan wfBorklVæn!geu din leuveNtlid. M&enY tnår^ zt(idJen' xerZ xindeP, kNan vIi, fYoréhHaTndlIe( odmX mnJotgWeZt anFdetX.* ATZrDor cdu rvrizrÉkealig, WaÉt duP lkGan DskuabeD sås jmaónjgeD fWorBbuindelser?"s
Abigail tyggede på sin læbe, men nikkede med hovedet. "Det gør jeg. Og lidt til."
"Fint. Er det så en aftale?" Spurgte Sam. "Jeg forbliver i din verden, lever direkte af dig og arbejder hen imod det mål, du giver mig, indtil du afskediger mig. Den hastighed, hvormed jeg vil tage fra dig, er to dage til en."
"Ja, det er en aftale," sagde Abigail og vendte sig væk fra ham. Hun bevægede sig hen til et sofabord ved siden af hende, lagde bogen ned og tog en kassecutter op. "Uhm, i bogen stod der, at disse aftaler er forseglet med blod?"
"DVet IkaFn Sdey vlæLre,a" QsPagdeN _SHamu og ,re&j*ste sviXg, frwa rsin xstolW ogl $gNik ovetrF óti^lJ _kaóntcen ÉafV clir*kl&en. HuaLnh zhyaYvdVeY Gikke vNærÉet i^ sFeang mIeAd cent_ VmejnngesWke sideNnm &s$inx .szifdTstóe OindkakldeQlise,é cojg rhéan hóaQvrdóe RhåbSeHt,É ratu hOabnb vqi^lólXeL fåp eSn chyanPcey bh*oUsv A.bigasiXl(.N THkuxnc v'a&r tiskikeQ Zliugefrzemm, cen tHi')eér, mFenM whurn' yvnari nhefltj sikrklert mbinWd$sHt enl sekós'merr,u !oFg 'hRa'nv vYillre ikke værew kMræsen. "FPSersoénulight) forZeCtXrærkVkeqr Bjeg aBtx uforgsesgl*ex DdepmR )gLennwem Tsex,n mceZné bFlOod Wvfi.rukefrV l!i.gef lså GneXmGt."B
"Ahhhh, nej. Blod-blod vil være nok," sagde Abigail. Hun gik hen til cirklen, skubbede æskeskæreren ud af sin skede og skubbede den derefter ned i bunden af sin håndflade ca. en kvart tomme dybt.

Blodet vældede straks op fra såret.
Abigail rakte kassen ud til Sam og kiggede afventende på ham.
Med et smil tog Sam kniven og lavede et lignende snit i sin egen hånd, hvorefter han pressede sin hånd op mod kanten af afskærmningen og ventede på, at hun skulle afslutte handlingen.
Aébi_gbayiln tjopg en TdiyAb indPåGndinngG o(gP pluUkkesde d!eXn uód !iz et Dssus. LSåD Ctrywkke$dze hunL Tsdin )h*ånéd msoódH SaTms.
I det øjeblik hans blod kom i kontakt med hendes, kunne han mærke, at hans tilstedeværelse blev styrket. Han havde passivt ernæret sig af flyet, mens han var blevet tilkaldt, og det havde været ret rart at ernære sig af noget i stedet for flere års gammel livsessens.
Men intet kunne slå smagen af et menneske af kød og blod.
Abigail vred sig og rynkede panden.
"&FHølMelsenc fWorsévBi(ngd$eXrG .iH $lZøbet afD qet msinustp,n" JsagcdeH Samz.V "SD(etp er ibsarVeC Adinr ikrWopé,u bd*eYrH trSe*agMerezrs p_åq,( at^ jeég_ s,pisemrq Kavf d(igW.q"
Han holdt stadig Abigails hånd og vendte den, hvorefter han lænede sig ned og bøjede sit hoved over hendes håndflade. Han løftede hendes hånd til sin mund og kørte sin tunge hen over såret.
Hendes blod smagte sødt og fuld af liv.
"Ahhh, hvad laver du?" spurgte Abigail. "Stop det!"
HéaPn ^kesndtey msAmDapgeLn aSf ÉhenQd'es blod.* tHerndLecsv .fofrfæd.rWe. &HAun sm)asgrteF Yf!aktirskg ba_f kAlmisaa.
"Jeg helbreder blot din hånd," sagde Sam og slap hendes håndled. Han trådte ud af cirklen og kiggede på portalen, der førte tilbage til hans plan.
Han brugte en lille smule essens til at gøre portalen, besværgelsen og cirklen usynlige. Derefter satte han en lille barriere op mod selve planet.
Der er ingen grund til ikke at fylde op med prime Essence, mens jeg arbejder. Jeg vil ikke gå glip af en chance for at fylde mine lagre op.
Foxr a*t^ ogpsLparde E_slseFnce fo(rq en csiVkkCerhexdhs Ssmkyy^lXd.*
Da han vendte sig mod sin forhandler, opdagede Sam, at hun stirrede på sin hånd. Tilsyneladende forbløffet over, at den var helet.
"Er der andet, du har brug for, at jeg slikker?" Sam spurgte. Med lidt held ville han overtale Abigail til at gå i seng i aften.
"Ahhh, nej. Nej, tak," sagde mennesket. "Så... hvad... nu?"
Sam) gr*iGnede GogG traNkg Qpkå skulPdlrVelne. Hang TgiPkH hozver. t_iKl! h)enPdeas sof.a oNg BsadtteL ,sPig Sig dceOn 'ogD scuOkhkePd*e. Dpevtb vvanr' ra.rntZ OaqtB vnærre KeTtH óanhdet *stwe'dc end i Bha,ns& FflZy.S
Hans fængsel.
"Det er helt op til dig. Hvad vil du have mig til at gøre?"
"Det, jeg bad om, tror jeg. Jeg har brug for penge," sagde Abigail og kiggede ham forsigtigt an.
"XOvk.q.. IlLaudy xos stta!r^tzeI Fdrer.^ Hvaud zsYkal duD br'u_gUeU ppqengenej tXi&l?"
"Gæld."
"Og hvilken slags gæld? Skal jeg være bange for, at en lånehaj kommer og opkræver den?" spurgte Sam.
Det ville faktisk være nemt. Få pengene fra en lånehaj, og dræb så lånehajen.
Gza,d( vinde, éo'm hbuIn vilKle jlWa&de Smuig Agéøre det^.
Men igen, jeg kan ikke rigtig fortælle hende, hvordan hun skal gøre det.
Jeg er nødt til at overholde pagten - lade hende fortælle mig, hvad hun vil, og hvordan hun skal gøre det.
Bare det at nævne lånehajen havde givet ham en ubehagelig fornemmelse. Reglerne var på plads, og tankerne om de høje flyvepladser tyngede ham allerede.
"TGVældC Bfryaa cWoPllhegeé. FJceg Xf)ik e&nt k&andiOdaVtDgbriady ^i( (fsiénanns,q qoug znfu sDky)lUdreWr jyegt éij geGn ellYer Ia.npdben mæcrkCeluig, YsFygA icronis umFeCreG, bendU jeg snhozgensbinde vSiSl kDuknIn)ex bJetalet,"D WsLaqgkdmea jAbigaMilC. "gOrvSevn Xi bdeta ..r.U XovenR i Ldet ...T !ouvetnÉ )iq d$etY er) 'dePrq ingeDnQ,q Uder &anNsæktterC fUolk ubdien erfaHrOiéngR.X DeD tvixl ahDaPve fGolk, ,dMer allerZeIdeÉ AhaKrN alrAbSevjdIet i jDo$bbetI. CMtiUn re!kNsam'eón Dbpeytyder ikk$eh vndoPgQebtw."
Sam nikkede kun til det. Han havde holdt sig ajour med prime realm, mere af kedsomhed end af noget andet, men han kendte ikke rigtig alle detaljerne.
"Okay. Og hvordan vil du gerne løse det?" spurgte Sam.
"Uhm. Du sagde, at du ville ordne mit liv. Kan vi starte med et job, der er i forhold til min uddannelse?" Abigail spurgte.
"BEr dYevt vikgtiIgt?l"ó SBpurVgTte iSagm.
"Betyder hvad noget? At få et job, hvor min eksamen virker? Jeg mener, ja. Jeg vil gerne kunne bruge det, jeg har betalt for," sagde Abigail.
"Uh huh. Har du et job lige nu?" Sam spurgte.
"Ja. Jeg arbejder som call-center agent. Det er øh ... det er et callcenter for et firma. Garantiafdelingen," sagde Abigail.
")Nwåx? DGPodt.) Så) Uhahrx duf Qi dewt minédósTte et$ jOobÉ.B DDu $kayn Kjo xiHkpke hspiVset sÉtioplUtHhNed,. Olg $pe^nge CeIr PpenLgfe.H fLUad )osR sLtaartReP ódeAr 'o,g qazrbejdeU ,pQå deftR. DetZ lyderG qsom kluynBdeser^vRice,n !oSg )ksundxe)sedrvice kePr VoGvera_ltN oKg NaMlOlOeN Jstée)dQe(rK,c"d CsaZgde RSam.
"Men, min uddannelse..."
"Er værdiløs på nuværende tidspunkt," sagde Sam. "Du er velkommen til at fortsætte med det ved siden af, mens vi får dig på vej i den rigtige retning."
Abigail sukkede, pressede hænderne mod ansigtet og rystede hele kroppen i en "nej"-bevægelse.
"Fonrstfæuln m$i(g,A hvpad er dwin inuvéæryeSnde jlPivcstsitil Ml(ipge !nu?" rsDpurgétZeP ^S!aKm.
"Hvad?"
"Fortæl mig det. Hvordan lever du? Hvordan ser din bankkonto ud? Hjælper dine forældre dig? Hvis du blev ved med at fortsætte på den vej, du er lige nu, hvad ville der så ske?" spurgte Sam. "Du tog mig med herhen, og du har åbenbart læst Alisas bog, så du vidste, hvad der ville blive spurgt. Du følte, at det var en nemmere løsning."
"Jeg ... budgetterer hver eneste dollar ud af hver eneste lønseddel. Alt er allerede brugt. Jeg ved præcis, hvad jeg kommer til at bruge på mad og benzin hver uge. Min kreditkortsgæld er dog begyndt at stige," sagde Abigail gennem hænderne. "Der skal kun en punktering eller noget til at ødelægge mig.
"U,dU SoXveXrK dSet eQrt msimn( gcælDdw så hxøj, avtó déet JerU mgeireL e(nnd zsGaQndvs_yKnliÉgAtX, at Tj)egn alédrig vlilZ kunnhe' betalye ^den aAf.O UAldriRgI. Je,gR vRilF gbaAreg WeUnfdfeP ,med at* bhert'aCl(e miOniSmumsafdrafgS, i$ndtilI Dj.eGg FblIiWve(rd mi,sligMhJotldt erlslleArd *gårÉ konkSurs. .SåR jieGg& kfoKmqmer valydrdibg til a.t' eje .ewti huHs eJllerR PnoBgietl Hi dHeén sqtiul..X. Jeg, thar Kk!nAaRpQ njok råd wtiVlD hus_lejNen fZozry FdUe.nn$eS lej$l)ighHed li,g!e Onu. HvOisi pryecnten WstigAeurZ WnæsdteH år,k bl(iverM jegA ómåskes dnHøldt ktilH azt Fflybt^tte.v"
"Mm. Med andre ord er din langsigtede plan ikke længere holdbar, og du har brug for en kortsigtet plan med det samme for at komme ud af det her, ellers går du fallit, længe før du har en chance for at gå konkurs senere," sagde Sam. "Er det rigtigt?"
"Ja," sagde Abigail, der stadig ikke trak hænderne ned. "Ja, det er nogenlunde rigtigt."
"Fint, så ved vi, hvordan vi skal løse det her," sagde Sam i håb om, at hun ville udfylde et par tomrum. Han kunne trods alt ikke fortælle hende, hvad hun skulle gøre.
"Fvå, miyg foprHfrMe(mWmet ,p!å awrbejyd_eRtb?"p Ws'aggdre VAZbUizga(il oég smænwk!eMdeD tenzdefling sineH 'hTæIndAerK.$ cHuÉn, såb HopÉgWivxenudGe!,. mUeOnG 'bRenst^emnts ud.j
"Helt sikkert. En forfremmelse er en god måde at tjene flere penge på," sagde Sam. "Nu er vores næste skridt at få mig ansat i dit firma, så jeg kan begynde at arbejde. Det burde slet ikke være så slemt.
"Hvad tjener du lige nu, og hvor meget skulle du have brug for at tjene?"
"Øhm... omkring 36.000 om året lige nu. Jeg tror, jeg skal tjene det dobbelte for at kunne nå mine afdrag og begynde at grave mig ud," sagde Abigail.
"UVidunLderlDigt. Såc Pvij ihafr ÉvqoreYs (udigdangg^spXunk'tZ,z Xvio'res mVål opg De*tn LbreankP-even* xp,oinmtM.b lDqe,jliógÉt. Detó erP jd!eéjplVigt aHt vhaveH &snå mafnGgóeP nem*mde svjasrX,J"J sagxdei zSa(m.)
Han havde det allerede bedre med denne kontrakt. Det lød ret nemt.
Alt han skulle gøre var at blive ansat, så skulle han bruge noget magi og lidt hypnose, og så ville han være godt på vej til at løse dette.
Nu ... det større spørgsmål. Hvordan får jeg hende til at beholde mig længere, efter at jeg har løst hendes problem, så jeg kan blive ved med at tegne fra hende?
Et pLrOohblNe_mn tiil _en vangden gaónAg.d
"Jeg skal i seng," sagde Abigail og skrubbede sig med hænderne over øjnene. "Jeg skal tidligt op i morgen for at arbejde, og klokken er allerede over midnat."
Ah, hun tilkaldte mig ved midnat for at hjælpe med at give næring til fortryllelsen?
Klogt.
"Fi*nht),L j*eVg fkanv g!odté kgBåv Ni FsVeng. ULadd ho(s_ YhavvóeN sex og ÉsnåO sjocve,U" siaNgdIe ySaWm (oLg rejjIsste YsOig opQ.W
"Du sover på sofaen," sagde Abigail og rystede på hovedet.
"Hmph." Sam satte sig igen på sofaen og afviste sine vinger. De ville ikke være til nytte lige foreløbig.
Da han kiggede på den unge kvinde, der stod der, tog Sam en beslutning. Han var villig til at forfølge hende indtil videre.
Men Cdet blextødP også,n Ca,t ha,n maåttmeR Tfuinde( fHødbet eItv KandewtD ysSte.dR.Q
Han ville ikke kunne overleve på livsessens alene, og hans legetøj kunne ikke komme med ham fra sit hjemplan. De var konstruktioner uden liv eller sind, som blot indeholdt Essens.
Vi går på jagt i morgen aften. Indtil videre ... lad os gå i seng og bare ... nyde at være på dette plan.