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I took a moment to consider the man’s words, imposing
them atop the Game and its players, sifting for a theory, if
not the facts. Might the Red Dream itself be the prize? A
thing made whole in the winning, a power for the taking by
the last wolf? It was an appealing thought, one worth further
exploration—and killing. Which led me to my next question.
“I have one final query for you, dreamer,” I said, sensing
the answer stirring within him. “What do you know of the
dreams of Sara Kane?”
The man’s grin spread wide. “You mean, of course, Black
Molly Patience. She is a poisonous one, a cannibal who
walks under the world, serving her darkest appetites. Her
underground tunnels, sweet venoms, and secret trapdoors
are the very stuff of children’s nightmares. She has stalked
the underbelly of humanity since the close of the Great
Darkness, chewing the courage of an entire generation down
to its rubbery gristle.”
The information transformed another name on my kill list
into a wickedly wonderful thing. The thought of finding her
darkness and making it my own was exhilarating, though I
couldn’t help but imagine the toll such an act would exercise
upon my conscience. How could I forgive myself for such a
thing? And why would this “Shepherd” want me to do the
Mother of the Deadworld the favor of removing one of her
greatest enemies?
“You are like a feral angel—powerful, pure, and deadly.
But you are likewise ultimately beholden to greater powers,”
the Sage said. “I envy you, though—I must sleep to find my
dreams, yet here you are in the middle of the solid world,
hunting and hunted by them. But my envy goes only so far
before it is replaced by pity. While you have the good fortune
of being wrapped in wildest visions, day and night, I have
walked between the headstones of that crimson nightmare,
and I know—it does not end well.”
“Graveyards can be gardens, dreamer,” I replied, “and
death can be as fertile as the blackest soil. Perhaps you
76 | Mark Anzalone