Chapter 9: The Dream Anchor's Guardian
The clearing opened like a wound in the forest's heart.
Trees bent away from it, their trunks curving outward as if recoiling from something corrupt at the center. The singing flowers fell silent. The bioluminescent vines that had pulsed with emerald light now flickered weakly, their glow dimming to a sickly, jaundiced yellow.
At the center of the clearing, floating above a stone altar carved with symbols that hurt to look at, hung the anchor.
It was a crystal the size of a man's torso, suspended in midair, rotating slowly. Its surface was not smooth—it was faceted, each face reflecting something different. In one facet, Mandy saw her own face. In another, a screaming child. In a third, a woman being fucked by something that had too many arms and not enough mouths.
The crystal pulsed. Each pulse sent a wave of wrongness through the clearing, a vibration that settled into the bones and stayed there.
LeFaye stood beneath it.
His dark linen suit was immaculate. His sharp shoulders cut a silhouette against the sickly glow. He was smiling—that cold, knowing smile that had haunted Katrina's dream, that had promised pleasure and delivered only violation.
"Took you long enough," he said.
Kim's sword was already drawn. The green glow of her blade cast strange shadows across her face, turning her into something older, something touched by the Green Moon's ancient power. She didn't respond. She just watched.
"Cat got your tongue?" LeFaye spread his arms. "I expected more banter. More threats. Isn't that what heroes do?"
"We're not heroes." Maryam's voice was flat and hard. She'd shifted her grip on the Louisville Slugger, holding it like a batter about to swing for the fences. "We're just people who don't like it when someone fucks with our family."
LeFaye's smile widened. "Family. Yes. That's the word, isn't it? Such a powerful thing. Such a beautiful weakness."
He snapped his fingers.
The constructs emerged from the trees.
They were beautiful. Every single one of them. Naked, gleaming, their bodies sculpted like gods and goddesses—every flaw erased, every imperfection smoothed away. They moved with a fluid grace that was almost hypnotic, their hips swaying, their cocks and cunts glistening with something that might have been arousal or might have been nightmare-sweat.
Mandy recognized them all.
Elf-Ben came first, his muscles rippling, his cock thick and hard and curving toward his stomach. He was looking at her with an expression of desperate hunger, and his lips formed her name even though no sound came out.
Beside him, elf-Jess moved with that same predatory grace, her dark hair loose, her breasts swaying heavily. She reached for Mandy with hands that seemed too long, too thin, fingers curling like spider legs.
Elf-Felicity. Elf-Bruce. Elf-Rick. Elf-Stacy.
Elf-Marty, his red hair blazing in the dim light, his expression sweet and confused and so painfully young.
Elf-Beth and elf-Calista moved together, their bodies intertwining, mouths finding mouths, hands finding cunts and cocks. They moaned in unison, a sound that was half-ecstasy and half-something darker.
And at the back, watching with those pale, knowing eyes, stood elf-Aemelia.
Her silver hair cascaded down her back like moonlight. Her golden eyes gleamed. And she was smiling—that same smile LeFaye wore, as if they shared a joke that no one else could understand.
"Go through them," LeFaye said. "That's what you have to do. Destroy the anchor, you said. Break the dream. But the anchor is guarded by everyone you love. Every person you would die for. Every person you would kill for."
He stepped aside, gesturing toward the mass of writhing bodies.
"So go ahead. Prove how much you love them. Cut them down. Burn them. Beat them into pulp. They're just dream-constructs, after all. Just figments of my imagination. They don't really feel pain."
Kim's jaw tightened.
"That's what you want," she said. "You want us to kill them. Even knowing they're not real, you want us to carry that. To remember it."
LeFaye inclined his head. "You're smarter than you look."
"I'm smart enough to know that killing fake versions of my family won't break me." Kim raised her sword. "But it might slow me down. And that's all you need, isn't it? Time."
The constructs surged forward.
Mandy didn't have a weapon. She had a princess dress and a corset that made it hard to breathe and a rapidly growing sense of fury. She watched elf-Ben charge toward her, his cock bobbing obscenely, his mouth open like he was going to kiss her, and she felt something snap inside her chest.
"Fuck this," she said.
She kicked elf-Ben in the balls.
It wasn't elegant. It wasn't magical. It was just a boot to the testicles, hard and fast and mean, and elf-Ben went down like a sack of potatoes. He curled into a fetal position, his hands clutching his groin, and even though he was a dream-construct, even though he probably didn't have real testicles, he whimpered.
Mandy stepped over him.
"I'm not a damsel," she said. "I'm a fucking engineer."
Kim was already moving—her sword cutting arcs through the air, her body flowing like water. The constructs came at her from all sides, and she danced through them, never still, never predictable. Her blade found throats, chests, bellies. Green fire followed in her wake.
Maryam swung her bat like she was batting cleanup in the World Series. The first construct—a dream-version of some guy Mandy didn't recognize—took the Louisville Slugger to the face and dissolved into mist. The second went down with a wet crunch. The third tried to grab her from behind, and Maryam drove her elbow into its ribs so hard she heard something crack.
"Two down!" she shouted.
"Focus!" Kim parried a construct's grasping hands, then drove her sword through its chest. "Anchor's the priority!"
Calista was a pillar of fire.
She stood at the edge of the clearing, her hands raised, flames pouring from her palms in torrents of orange and red and white-hot blue. The constructs couldn't get near her—they melted before they could touch her, their beautiful bodies reducing to ash and smoke.
But they kept coming.
The dream-version of Felicity emerged from the flames, her skin blistering, her smile serene. Bruce followed, his steampunk wrench melting in his hand. They didn't seem to feel pain. They just kept walking, kept reaching, their burning hands grasping for Calista's arms.
She screamed and poured more fire.
Mandy ran.
She ran toward the crystal, toward the anchor that pulsed above the altar, toward the thing that LeFaye was protecting. She didn't have a weapon. She didn't have magic. But she had physics.
The corset was too tight. The dress was too long. She grabbed handfuls of silk and yanked, tearing the ridiculous skirt up to her thighs so she could move faster. The bodice groaned but held.
The altar was stone—old and weathered and covered in symbols that made her eyes hurt. The crystal floated above it, just out of reach.
Mandy climbed onto the altar.
She reached for the crystal.
A hand closed around her ankle.
She looked down.
Elf-Jess was there, pulling herself up the altar, her dark hair tangled with blood and sweat and something else. Her smile was wrong—too wide, too sharp—and her fingers were digging into Mandy's calf with a grip that felt like iron.
"Little Bug," elf-Jess said, using the nickname only Ben and her parents ever used. "Where do you think you're going?"
Mandy kicked her in the face.
Not the balls this time. The face. Her heel connected with elf-Jess's nose, and she felt something crunch, and the construct let go, falling backward into the chaos below.
Mandy turned back to the crystal.
She grabbed it with both hands.
It was cold. Colder than anything she'd ever touched, so cold it burned, so cold it felt like her fingers were going to snap off. The symbols on its surface pulsed faster, brighter.
She looked at LeFaye.
He was still smiling.
"You can't destroy it," he said. "That's not how dreams work. The anchor isn't a physical object—it's a concept. You can't break a concept, little engineer. You can't hit it with physics."
"Maybe not," Mandy said.
She looked past LeFaye, toward the edge of the clearing.
Toward the trees.
Toward the place where the fantasy world bled into something else—something darker, something older, something that was already cracking at the edges.
"The dream is yours," she said. "But it's also hers."
She turned and threw the crystal.
It sailed through the air, tumbling end over end, spinning toward the trees—toward Calista.
Calista, who was still pouring fire, whose hands were still raised, whose eyes went wide as she saw the crystal coming.
She caught it.
The moment her fingers touched the crystal, the entire dream shattered.
The forest exploded into shards of light and color. The constructs screamed—a horrible, rending sound—and dissolved into smoke. LeFaye's smile vanished, replaced by something that might have been shock, might have been fear.
"You idiot!" he shouted. "You don't know what you've done—"
But Calista was already burning.
Not with fire. With something else. With the dream itself, which had been LeFaye's creation, which was now hers.
She held the crystal to her chest, and the elf-silver of her hair blazed with light, and her golden eyes went white.
"You tried to use my mother's face," she said. Her voice echoed, as if it was coming from everywhere at once. "You tried to make her hurt me. You thought I would break."
She crushed the crystal in her hands.
The dream collapsed.
Mandy was falling.
Not into the forest. Not into the warehouse. Into something else—a void, a nothing, a place that was not a place. Around her, she could hear the others: Kim's sharp cry, Maryam's curse, Calista's steady breathing.
And LeFaye's laugh.
"You think this is over?" His voice came from everywhere, from nowhere. "You think you've won?"
The void pulsed.
"I was hired by someone who knows your family. Someone who knows all your weaknesses. And I'm just the first test. There will be more."
Mandy tried to speak, tried to scream, tried to do anything. But the void was swallowing her, pulling her down, down, down—
Light.
She was on her back.
On the floor of the warehouse.
The ceiling was rusted corrugated metal. The air smelled of salt and dust and oil. Her head was throbbing, and her corset—the corset was gone, replaced by her normal clothes, her jeans and t-shirt and the jacket she'd thrown on that morning.
Beside her, Kim was sitting up, her face pale, her sword still in her hand.
Maryam was on her knees, shaking her head.
Calista was standing. Her hands were empty. Her tears were wet on her cheeks.
"He's gone," Kim said. "LeFaye. He escaped."
"But we broke the dream."
"We broke a dream." Kim stood, offering Maryam a hand. "He'll make more. That's what dreamwalkers do."
Mandy sat up. Her body ached. Her head ached. But she was alive. They were alive.
"I need to call Ben," she said.
She pulled out her phone. Her hands were shaking.
Her hands were shaking.
The phone felt impossibly heavy, a brick of glass and metal and dead weight. She typed Ben's name with thumbs that trembled, deleted it, typed it again. The screen blurred. She blinked hard, forced herself to focus.
Ben. We're okay. LeFaye got away but we broke his anchor. Coming home.
She hit send.
The message whooshed away into the digital void, and Mandy let her arm drop to her side. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her heart still hammering against her ribs like it wanted out. The warehouse pressed in around her—rust and salt and the distant echo of waves—and she suddenly felt very small.
"Fuck," she whispered.
"Yeah," Maryam agreed. She was still on her knees, her Louisville Slugger clutched in both hands like a lifeline. "That was... that was a lot."
Kim was already moving. She checked on Calista first—a hand on the half-elf's shoulder, a murmured question that Mandy couldn't quite hear. Calista nodded, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and managed something that might have been a smile.
Then Kim turned toward the far corner of the warehouse.
" Mai? "
A pause.
Then, from behind a stack of rotting crates, a voice—muffled and distinctly annoyed.
"I was almost finished with those dream-elves!"
Mai sat up. She was naked. Completely, utterly, gloriously naked, her tattooed scales catching the dim light, her dark hair a wild tangle around her shoulders. She looked like a woman who had been thoroughly fucked and was deeply irritated about being interrupted.
"Three of them," she said, holding up three fingers. "I had three of them going at once. Do you know how hard it is to coordinate three dream-elves? The logistics alone—"
Mandy burst out laughing.
The sound was raw and sharp, edged with hysteria, but it was real. It was release. It was everything she'd been holding in since the dream shattered and the void swallowed them whole.
Maryam joined her. Then Calista—a wet, shaking laugh that turned into something closer to a sob. Even Kim cracked a smile, small and brief but unmistakably genuine.
Mai stared at them, naked and mildly perturbed.
"You're all terrible people," she announced. "I had a dragon. I tamed a dragon. And then I was going to have an orgy with a dozen beautiful dream-elves. Do you understand what you interrupted?"
"The end of the world?" Maryam offered.
"Worth it." Mai stood, brushing dust off her bare thighs. "Absolutely worth it. But still. Terrible. All of you."
She began hunting for her underwear, which had somehow ended up draped over a rusted pipe near the ceiling. She pointed at it, and Maryam—still laughing—grabbed a nearby length of broken rebar and knocked it down.
Mai caught the underwear, examined it, and sighed.
"These are ruined."
"You can buy new ones."
"I liked these. They were lucky."
Kim stepped toward the center of the warehouse. Her eyes were closed, her breathing slow and deliberate. The faint green glow that had surrounded her during the fight was fading now, but traces of it still lingered at her fingertips.
She opened her eyes.
"Nothing," she said. "LeFaye's gone. Completely. I can't sense him anywhere."
"And the anchor?" Mandy asked.
"Destroyed. Calista crushed it—that broke the dream and forced him out." Kim's expression was grim. "He'll be back. Dreamwalkers always come back. But not tonight. Not tomorrow. He's wounded."
Mandy thought of the way LeFaye had looked when Calista grabbed the crystal. The shock. The fear. The way his voice had cracked when he'd called her an idiot.
"Good," she said. "Let him hurt."
Kim nodded. Then her gaze shifted, softening. "The wards around Judy's house are still intact. With the anchor destroyed and LeFaye gone, it'll be difficult for him to get back into Katrina's dreams. She can probably even go out."
"Can probably?"
"I'm not going to promise anything. But yes. She should be safe."
Mandy pulled out her phone. Ben's response had already arrived—a single word, relieved and emphatic: Thank fuck.
She typed back: Tell Katrina. We're coming home.
Then she looked at the others.
"We need to get back to the house."
The Powers sisters nodded. Kim and Maryam headed toward their motorcycles, parked outside the warehouse in the grey morning light. Calista followed, her silver hair catching the sun, her expression tired but determined.
Mai, still mostly naked, was pulling on her leather pants.
"You coming?" Mandy asked.
"In a minute. I need to find my bra."
"It's on the forklift."
Mai looked. It was.
She grabbed it, shrugged it on, and fell into step beside Mandy. The two of them walked out of the warehouse together, leaving the rust and the dust and the lingering memory of the dream behind.
At Judy's house, Ben was standing on the porch when the van pulled into the driveway.
The sun had climbed higher now, burning off the last of the morning haze, and the ocean glittered in the distance like a field of crushed diamonds. Ben looked exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, his shirt still damp with sweat—but he was smiling.
Mandy killed the engine. The Powers sisters pulled up behind her, their bikes rumbling to silence.
She climbed out of the van.
Ben met her halfway.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
"You okay?"
"I'm fine." She took his hand, laced her fingers through his. "We're all fine."
"Good." He pulled her close, pressed his lips to her forehead. "Because I was about to lose my mind."
"Jeeves kept you company?"
"Jeeves kept trying to analyze my stress levels and offer breathing exercises." Ben's mouth twitched. "It was weird."
From the porch, a small voice: "I was attempting to be helpful, Master Ben."
Jeeves floated into view, his spherical body gleaming in the sunlight, his mechanical arms folded neatly against his sides. He bobbed slightly, a gesture that might have been a bow.
"Mistress Mandy. Mistresses Kim and Maryam. Mistress Calista. Mistress Mai. I am pleased to see you all returned in one piece."
"Thanks, Jeeves." Mandy patted the little automaton's surface. "We're glad too."
Inside, the house smelled of coffee and something sweet—honey, maybe, or cinnamon. Katrina was curled up on the couch, her long dark hair loose around her shoulders, her storm-grey eyes bright with relief.
She stood when Mandy entered.
"You're okay," she said. "You're all okay."
"We're okay." Mandy crossed the room, pulled the older woman into a hug. "LeFaye's gone. The anchor's destroyed. Kim says he won't be able to get into your dreams anymore."
Katrina's shoulders shook. She didn't cry—not quite—but her grip on Mandy was fierce, desperate, the grip of someone who had spent years without touch and was only now learning how to hold on.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Don't thank me yet. We still don't know who hired him." Mandy pulled back, met Katrina's eyes. "But we'll find out. And when we do, we'll make them pay."
Katrina nodded. Then she glanced toward the stairs.
"Beth went up to check on Felicity and Bruce," she said. "She hasn't come back down."
Ben, who had followed Mandy inside, smirked. It was a knowing smirk, the kind that said he had a pretty good idea of what was happening upstairs and was deeply amused by it.
"I think she found them," he said.
"Found them?"
"Found them found them." Ben's smirk widened. "Felicity dragged Bruce upstairs the second we got here. Beth went up to 'check on them' about twenty minutes ago."
Katrina blinked. Then her cheeks flushed.
"Oh."
"Go take a look." Ben gestured toward the stairs. "I'll keep standing guard down here."
Katrina hesitated. Then, curiosity winning out over embarrassment, she headed upstairs.
The staircase creaked under her weight. The sounds grew clearer with each step—soft moans, the rustle of sheets, the wet slap of skin against skin. The door to Felicity's room was slightly ajar, and Katrina pushed it open.
The scene inside was... thorough.
Felicity was on her back, her legs spread wide, her fingers tangled in Bruce's hair. Bruce was between her thighs, his mouth working against her cunt with an intensity that bordered on devotion. His tongue traced circles around her clit, then dipped lower, then returned, a rhythm that made Felicity's hips buck and her breath come in ragged gasps.
And behind Bruce, kneeling on the bed, her bare breasts pressed against his back, was Beth.
She was kissing his neck, his shoulders, her hands sliding over his chest. Her fingers found his nipples and twisted, and Bruce groaned against Felicity's cunt, the vibration making Felicity cry out.
"Don't stop," Felicity gasped. "Don't you fucking stop."
Bruce didn't stop.
Beth looked up. Her eyes met Katrina's.
She smiled—that wild, knowing smile that was so much like her mother's—and gestured toward the bed.
"Join us," she said.
Katrina's breath caught.
She should say no. She should turn around, go back downstairs, let them finish. She had spent thirty years without touch, without intimacy, without the warmth of another body against hers. She was still learning how to be human again.
But the sight of them—the heat, the pleasure, the sheer abandon of it—made something ache inside her.
She stepped into the room.
Bruce looked up from between Felicity's legs. His face was slick with her arousal, his expression dazed but happy. He watched Katrina approach without judgment, without surprise.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
Beth reached out, caught Katrina's hand, pulled her onto the bed. "He's good with his mouth," she said. "Felicity's been screaming for the past ten minutes."
"I have not been screaming."
"You absolutely have."
Felicity laughed, breathless and flushed. "Okay, maybe a little."
Katrina let herself be pulled. She let Beth guide her down onto the mattress, let the other woman's hands find the hem of her shirt. Beth's touch was confident but gentle, giving her space to change her mind.
She didn't.
Clothes came off. Skin met skin. Beth's mouth found her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. Katrina arched into the touch, a moan escaping her lips before she could stop it.
Bruce had moved up Felicity's body, positioning himself between her thighs. His cock—thick and heavy and already slick with her arousal—pressed against her entrance. Felicity wrapped her legs around his waist, pulled him in.
He entered her with a single, slow thrust.
Felicity's back arched. Her mouth opened in a silent scream. Bruce began to move—deep, steady strokes that made the bed creak and the headboard bang against the wall.
Beth's fingers found Katrina's cunt.
She was already wet. Already aching. Beth's touch was expert, two fingers sliding inside while her thumb worked circles around her clit. Katrina gasped, her hips jerking, her hands fisting in the sheets.
"Good?" Beth asked.
"Yes. Fuck. Yes."
Beth laughed. "Vocabulary's coming back. That's a good sign."
Bruce's rhythm quickened. His balls slapped against Felicity's ass with each thrust, the sound obscene and perfect. Felicity's hands clawed at his back, leaving red marks on his skin.
"I'm close," she gasped. "I'm so close—"
Beth withdrew her fingers from Katrina. Before Katrina could protest, Beth repositioned herself, settling between Katrina's legs, her mouth replacing her hand.
The first lick sent lightning up Katrina's spine.
The second made her sob.
Beth ate her out like she'd been doing it for years—no hesitation, no uncertainty, just pure, focused pleasure. Her tongue explored every fold, every ridge, every sensitive spot. She sucked Katrina's clit between her lips and flicked it with her tongue, and Katrina screamed.
Beside her, Bruce was pounding into Felicity with abandon. The bed shook. The headboard cracked against the wall. Felicity's moans had dissolved into incoherent babbling, a stream of yes and please and don't stop that filled the room.
"I'm gonna come," Bruce growled. "Fuck, Felicity, I'm gonna—"
"Inside," she gasped. "Come inside me."
He did.
His hips jerked, his back arched, and he emptied himself into her with a guttural groan. Felicity's legs tightened around him, her body convulsing as her own orgasm ripped through her.
Katrina watched them through half-lidded eyes, her own pleasure building. Beth's tongue was relentless, her fingers curling inside, and she could feel it—the pressure, the heat, the inevitable crest.
"Beth," she gasped. "Beth, I'm—"
She came.
Her body locked up, her vision went white, and pleasure crashed through her like a wave. She cried out, her hands gripping the sheets, her hips grinding against Beth's face.
Beth rode her through it, her tongue gentling, her fingers slowing.
When Katrina finally collapsed, boneless and gasping, Beth pulled away with a satisfied smile.
"Good?" she asked.
"Fantastic."
Bruce was still buried inside Felicity, his chest heaving, his face buried in her neck. Felicity ran her fingers through his hair, her expression soft and sated.
"You didn't finish," Felicity said to Beth.
"I'm fine."
"That's not what I asked."
Beth shrugged. "I'll manage."
Katrina—still trembling, still catching her breath—reached out. Her hand found Beth's thigh.
"Let me," she said.
Beth looked at her. Something flickered in her eyes—surprise, maybe, or gratitude.
"Okay," she said.
She shifted, positioning herself over Katrina's face, and Katrina—who had spent thirty years without touch, who was still learning how to be human—learned something new.
The taste of another woman. The slide of her tongue. The way Beth's hips moved, grinding against her mouth. The sounds she made—soft, breathy, falling apart.
It took less than a minute before Beth shuddered and came.
Afterward, they lay tangled on the bed—four bodies, four people, breath slowly evening out. The sun had climbed higher, filling the room with warmth.
"We should go downstairs," Felicity murmured.
"In a minute," Bruce said.
They took more than a minute.
When they finally emerged—disheveled, flushed, smelling of sex—they found the living room full.
Mandy was sprawled on the couch, her head in Ben's lap. Mai was cross-legged on the floor, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and her underwear. Calista was in the corner, talking quietly with Kim.
Maryam was at the kitchen counter, demolishing a sandwich Jeeves had apparently prepared. And Jess—Agent Kay, Jessica Hernandez—was there too, standing near the window, her dark hair pulled back, her expression carefully neutral.
She looked up when Katrina entered.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey."
There was a moment—awkward, charged—and then Jess smiled.
"Glad you're okay."
Katrina nodded. "Thanks."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out Mark's business card. The edges were bent from being shoved in there, the number still legible, the name still clear.
Mandy noticed. "What's that?"
Katrina looked at the card. Then at the room—the people she had come to think of as family, the people who had fought for her, bled for her, nearly died for her.
"The neighbor across the street," she said. "He gave me his number. Wanted to explore the city with me."
Mandy arched an eyebrow. "And?"
"And I'm thinking about it."
Beth appeared at the top of the stairs, pulling on a fresh shirt. "She means she's definitely thinking about it. The guy was handsome. Charming. Knew exactly what to say."
Felicity, following behind her, added: "He walked past the wards without setting anything off. No ill intent."
Beth was just a little wary of the guy given Katrina's personal experience with trusting others. She wanted to know a bit more."
Mandy stood, shaking off Ben's hand. "Then we need to meet him."
"We?"
"All of us." Mandy gestured around the room. "A group date. You invite Mark, we all go out together. Then we can see if he's legitimate or if he's another LeFaye."
Katrina's lips twitched. "You want to vet my date."
"Absolutely. We're your family now. That's what family does."
The room murmured agreement. Kim nodded. Maryam gave a thumbs-up. Mai grinned—"I'll bring my knife"—and Calista was already pulling out her phone to check her schedule.
Katrina looked at the card.
Then she pulled out her phone.
The number was answered on the second ring.
"Hello?"
"Mark? This is Katrina. We met this morning."
"Katrina." His voice warmed. "I was hoping you'd call."
"I was wondering—my friends and I were making plans. And there's this dance club we wanted to check out. Would you like to come with us?"
A pause. Then—"I'd love to."
"Great. Tonight. I'll text you the address."
"I'll be there."
She hung up.
The room was watching her.
"Well?" Mandy asked.
Katrina took a deep breath. Then she smiled.
"He's in."