Proto blinked and squinted at the light. Mist hung over his sight, and it clung there even after he rubbed his eyes. But a bluish hallway soon emerged from the bleariness.

  It was long and straight. Silvery glow strips wove strange patterns along the walls at about chest height. Some white doors without knobs were scattered at random intervals. The faint fog in the air piled up and became opaque about a hundred yards ahead.

  He looked down at himself. He was wearing his old high school tracksuit—navy sleeves and pants lined with yellow, white chest, and, of course, the logo of the planet Saturn over his left breast. It’d made a strange school mascot. Having a ringed planet bouncing and waving its arms on the sidelines was more amusing than inspiring.

  Where am I?

  He didn’t think he had amnesia. Twenty-seven years of life loomed clearly in his mind’s eye. He recalled going to sleep—closing his eyes on the couch, hand still closed around his game controller. And he felt vaguely certain he’d woken up later. But what’d occurred after that point dwindled into mist. Much like this hallway.

  He had a history of sleepwalking. It’d been a big problem in his youth. Once, his parents had spent all morning searching desperately for him, only to get a call from his friend’s mom. Somehow, he’d been curled up sleeping in the back seat of their station wagon. But his sleepwalking had recessed with age, and now he mostly just woke on the couch instead of the bed, or vice versa. Certainly nothing like this.

  He started walking down the hallway. The doors looked like the sort that would slide open as you approached. But nothing happened when he tried touching a few of them.

  There were some intersections too, but he continued straight. He’d prefer not to lose track of where he started—maybe there was a reason he’d been there. That’s how Proto was. He liked to keep his past close enough that he could get back to it.

  After about five minutes, he reached a door that, unlike the others, was open. He heard a faint clinking from far within.

  As he crossed through the doorway, the misty blue and silver decor ended. It was replaced by wood paneling and wallpaper of green and purple with interwoven gold vines. Old-fashioned gas lamps threw more shadows than they dispelled. The clinking grew louder as he advanced.

  He emerged into a late-19th-century-style bar room lounge. The sides of the tables had exquisite inlays of medieval scenes. The chairs had cushions matching the wallpaper. Both were mahogany.

  On one wall was a gigantic painting of a long-bearded old man with a thick tome in hand and a butterfly-winged fairy beside him. He was watching a young man work on the beach, as a late teenage girl reclined nearby and spoke with him.

  On the opposite side of the room was the bar. Behind it stood a woman with her black hair up, except two long strands that framed her face on either side. Her eyes were similarly dark, but her complexion was powdery pale. She wore an elegant French waitress outfit of black and white. She had just finished polishing a glass and was setting it back with the others. Clink.

  Her curved eyes caught upon him as she did so. “A visitor?” Her head tilted and she squinted at him. She seemed to be asking him an actual question, not just politely welcoming him. But he wasn’t sure what to say other than the obvious.

  “Yes?” he replied.

  “Well, we’ll see about that!” another voice jumped in. This was a man’s baritone, booming and affable.

  Proto turned and saw that a lean but strapping fellow of about forty had entered through a doorway under the painting. He had dusky hair midway down his back and wore a long robe matching the wallpaper. A nocked bow was embroidered in gold on his left breast.

  “We’re a private establishment, you know. Not just any old pub!” the man went on. “This is Somnus’ Palace.”

  Proto rubbed an eye. He felt lucid, but everything around him seemed strange and hazy, like he’d just woken from a dream but the world was still sleeping. “And you are?”

  “The man himself.” He spread his arms forth winningly. “Somnus, in the flesh. So to speak. A pleasure . . . ?”

  “Proto.” This was all beyond strange, but the woozy warmth in his head obscured that fact.

  “A pleasure, Proto. Please, have a seat.”

  He did so, following the man’s hand to a barstool.

  “Anything you’re partial to?” asked Somnus. “I favor an old armagnac myself. That or absinthe. The richer, the deeper, the better.”

  “That sounds fine,” said Proto. He was at that age where he felt he should learn more about drinks. At this point, he knew the difference between a vodka-tonic and a gin and tonic, but not much beyond that. He wished his friend Yemos were here to recommend a good bourbon.

  The bartendress didn’t ask him which of the two drinks he meant. She just grabbed a brown bottle and poured it into a small glass without measuring. She didn’t ask him if he wanted it on the rocks. She held it toward him, the nails of her pale hand as maroon as her lips, and he nodded his thanks.

  “As I said, we’re a private establishment.” Somnus sat on a nearby stool. “An employee lounge, one might say.”

  “Employees? Who’s the employer?” asked Proto.

  “The man himself!” repeated Somnus, smiling with his arms forth. “We’d give you a warmer welcome, but I regret to say most of my crew are out right now. They keep busy. It’s always 5 a.m. somewhere, as they say.”

  What are you talking about? he wondered. “So . . . where do they work?” He tried to shake the bleariness from his head.

  “That’s a complicated question. Like asking a traveling salesman where he works. The world is our workshop!” replied Somnus. “Except it’s not the one big breathing world you recall. It’s the billion little worlds of a billion dreamers’ dreams.”

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  What the Hell? “Why am I here? Am I dreaming?” asked Proto.

  “You could say that,” said Somnus. “It wouldn’t be quite right, but you could say that.”

  Proto frowned and pinched his arm. It hurt.

  “Yes, not quite dreaming,” smiled Somnus. “But the wheres and wherefores can wait. It’s what we do that matters, don’t you think?”

  Well, he’d play along. “What do you do?” asked Proto.

  “I’m glad you asked!” declared Somnus, slapping the bar. “To put it simply, we visit dreams. We try to be a good influence on people, try to guide people. And the only way we can reach them is through their dreams.”

  “Excuse me?” Proto squinted at the long-haired man and tried to parse what he’d just heard.

  “We’re visitors of dreams!” repeated Somnus. “People up there in the breathing world are all struggling with something or other. They all have hard choices ahead of them. We try to steer them in the right direction, by steering their dreams in the right direction. It’s a little indirect. But that’s why it works. And that’s why it’s fun! Don’t you think, Lilac?”

  The pale bartendress gave him a sidelong gaze. “I find fun is inversely proportionate to the number of people nearby. Living people.” Her black eyes flicked now to Proto, one eyebrow arched curiously upward.

  Somnus slapped the bar again and laughed. “That’s why we keep her around! That, and the best cocktails this side of the Mists.”

  Proto suddenly was feeling disquieted. “Um.” He looked at the bartendress. “What was that about living—?”

  “So, as I said,” interrupted Somnus, “we visit dreams and try to steer them in the right direction. We want a fair world! And we do what we can to make it that way, from this sleepy little corner of the cosmos.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Proto. “The ‘right direction’? A ‘fair world’?”

  “What’s right and fair? Ha! There’s a question beyond my paygrade!” replied Somnus. “Let your inspiration lead you, I guess. Try and follow someone else’s lead and you’ll surely end up in the wrong place.”

  This was all weird and getting weirder. Proto sipped his drink—his armagnac. It had a round raisiny richness, with an odd note reminiscent of bleu cheese. Despite his bleary bafflement, he rather liked it.

  Well, he would roll with this for now. He still was convinced this was a dream, despite the arm pinching. May as well enjoy it. “So, why am I here?”

  “That’s a funny question for you to be asking me, don’t you think?” said Somnus. “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! But it’d hardly be in good graces for a bunch of visitors like us to question your reasons for visiting.”

  Proto wasn’t sure why Somnus felt a need to answer questions in a way that just created more questions. But the free drink was good, and it smoothed over his vexation.

  Footsteps sounded from the room’s far side. Emerging from the shadowy doorway under the painting was a woman with silvery blue hair in a windswept bouffant. She wore a jumpsuit of grey lined with blue and purple, which followed her lithe curves. The overall look could be called cosmonaut-chic.

  “So you’re the one we’ve been hearing about?” she said to Proto. She looked at him like she’d been promised a pie and gotten a cow pie. “A visitor, huh.”

  “You all keep saying I’m a ‘visitor,’ and I ‘waltzed in here,’ and all that,” replied Proto, trying not to let his gaze travel over her jumpsuit. Fortunately, her wide violet eyes held his gaze. “But as far as I can tell, I just woke up in a hallway here. I don’t know how that could’ve happened, unless someone carried me in here. And who would’ve done that, except . . . ?” He spread his arms toward them.

  “I think you misunderstand us,” replied Somnus amiably. He’d received a clear drink and placed an ice cube inside a moment ago, and it now was fogging up. Proto waited for him to go on, but he instead just sipped the drink. “Ah, that perfect savory note that seeps out of the bitterness as it cools. You can learn so much about life from a drink like—”

  Proto shook his head in frustration. “Could you please just tell me clearly what I’m misunderstanding?” he broke in.

  “You’re going to be a visitor. You’re going to visit people’s dreams,” the woman in the cosmonaut jumpsuit said flatly. “At least, you’re going to try. Hopefully you figure that out faster than you’re figuring all this out. Or else your visit here won’t last long.”

  “Now, now,” chided Somnus. “Let’s remember that Proto just arrived here from a very different place. Let’s reserve judgment for the time being.”

  “Let’s get to it then,” replied the woman. “The fastest way to learn to swim is alone in the deep end.”

  “Well said,” affirmed the robed man. “Except Proto will not be alone. Since you’ll be escorting him, Astrid, and making sure things don’t go too wildly awry. As we discussed.”

  The silvery-blue haired woman—Astrid, apparently—scowled and pointed at him. “This counts as a visit for me. If I’m going to waste my day and my patience on this, it’s going to count as a visit. With a Breath Token.”

  Somnus tsked. “The way you all talk to the Lord of Dreams! The Nightly Hunter! The Darkling Stalker! Try pointing at my brother Velnias like that. He’d haul you over the coals—literally! Try talking to him about Breath Tokens and true love and all that!” He sighed as she regarded him levelly, looking utterly unconcerned. “Yes, it will count, and you’ll get your Token. As I told you, Astrid.”

  “Good. My Saturn Return is coming up, you know.” She turned to Proto. “My name’s Astrid. In case you hadn’t picked up on that yet either.”

  “I’m Proto.” Despite his bewilderment and concern, a warm tingling in his breast swelled into words. “Are you going to be my partner?” He smiled amiably.

  She made a face like she was about to spit—then, thought better of it at Somnus’ sharply inclined brow. “Here’s how it works, Partner. I say, you do. When I say fetch, you fetch. When I say sit, you sit. Do that and you’ll be my best friend; like a dog is man’s best friend. Sound good?”

  “Well. Arf arf, I guess,” said Proto. Yes, this was clearly a dream. He probably could shake himself awake, but he was curious where this story was going. One thing he’d always liked about dreams was that he could act on his instincts, rather than repressing them the way real life required. He’d savor it while it lasted and see where things went.

  “Arf arf? First’s name . . . !” cursed Astrid. She turned to Somnus, who was sipping at his drink and smiling. “Do I really have to—?”

  “Yes!” Somnus regarded her pleasantly. “Cheers.” He clinked his cup against the glass that was being polished by Lilac—who frowned slightly—and watched the two new partners, waiting.

  Astrid made a disgusted noise and turned around. “Come on.”

  Lilac was repolishing the glass that Somnus had clinked. “Ta-ta,” she called flatly.

  “Best of luck, Provisional Visitor!” called the Lord of Dreams.

  Proto gave them one last look, then turned and followed Astrid through the doorway beneath the painting of the old man with the book.

  Her grey jumpsuit was not quite skintight, so it shifted slightly over her form’s curves with each step. Her silvery-blue hair swished back and forth. He followed her down misty blue hallways for several minutes, turning at a few corners. He would’ve sped up to catch her, but her pace suggested she didn’t want him at her side.

  “We’re here,” she declared abruptly, pointing at a blank door. Her other hand was on her hip, and her stare was both baleful and bored.

  “Do you come here often?” asked Proto, offering her a winning smile. He raised his glass, which was still in his hand.

  She mouthed his words as though parsing them. Then, she scoffed and turned around, tapping the door. It slid open. “We can make small talk if you survive day one, Dodo.”

  “An affectionate nickname?” he called at her back. “Already? Partner?”

  Astrid said nothing, and all he saw was the shaking of her head as she vanished into blue mists beyond the threshold.

  Proto’s real life had been all too heavy lately. He’d felt so weighed down, he’d barely been going through the motions of life. But a dream was different. A dream had no consequences. Here, he felt light enough to live out the lively motions that emotions led toward. This was all fake, of course. But who could fault him for taking a break from reality? Especially when it felt so real?

  He smiled and followed her beyond the threshold.