“Are you full of sand?” Nate asked. “Like the roustabouts?”

  “Aren’t we all created from the dust of the Earth, kid?” Growler asked, placing a hand over his heart. “I once heard what little boys are made from—snakes and snails and puppy dog tails. Little girls? Sugar, spice, and everything nice. But clowns? What are we full of? Comedy, maybe? Tears? Cream pies and seltzer bottles? I haven’t broken open the old piñata to find out! Think you’re man enough to try?”

  Nate put the Cannon Blast in his mouth.

  “There we go!” Growler exulted. “His favorite trick, folks! Heroism by blunt force trauma!” He produced a catcher’s mitt, squatted, and held it up as if ready for a pitch. He pounded a fist into the glove. “Come on, buddy boy. What are you waiting for? Some folks say you’re washed up. They call you a bum. Let’s show them your best stuff. Bring the heat!”

  Aiming at Growler’s chest, Nate bit down and rocketed forward. The instant before he struck the clown, Nate heard Growler’s voice.

  “Good night.”

  Nate blasted through the clown and slammed into the wall riddled with keyholes, rebounding sharply but feeling no pain. The massive impact did no visible damage to the wall, but Growler had burst apart. No flesh and blood were evident. No sand either. Just his crumpled suit and a catcher’s mitt.

  And purple gas.

  The mist plumed out across the room, flowing over the kids even as Nate felt his senses downgrading from the heightened state induced by the Cannon Blast.

  Summer was coughing. Trevor too. The gas smelled good. Like grape bubble gum. Nate began to cough.

  “What is this stuff?” Pigeon asked. “It smells like cough syrup.” He plugged his nose and mouth, then after a moment, released his hold with a gasp. “I tried to stop breathing, but I guess even as a statue I need oxygen.”

  “I feel drowsy,” Summer said, staggering.

  Nate felt the effects of the candy fading away. His eyes got heavy, and he slapped himself to stay alert.

  “Growler said good night!” Nate yelled, standing up. “This was the plan all along! To knock us out! Put us to sleep!”

  “Good plan,” Trevor said around a yawn.

  “Turn to water,” Nate urged his friend, groping for the skeleton key. “We can’t fall asleep here!” He coughed.

  “I, um, I can’t . . . um . . . feel how,” Trevor said, speech slurred, eyelids drooping.

  Nate had the key out. Gritting his teeth, he stomped toward the keyhole Growler had indicated, jabbed the key inside, and turned it. Something in the wall clicked, and a previously indiscernible door swung inward.

  “This way,” Nate said, a hand over his mouth to filter the gas. “Let’s get to better air.”

  Pigeon was already unconscious on the ground, his body flesh again, the fragment of marble beside his left hand. Summer stumbled toward Nate. Trevor came as well, feet dragging.

  “Stay awake,” Nate hollered, blundering forward. He bumped against something. It looked like a glass coffin out of a fairy tale. There was a person sleeping inside. He looked up. The enormous room was filled with rank upon rank of glass coffins. Dozens of sleepers. Hundreds.

  His vision became blurry. Nate pinched himself and slapped his cheek. He took a deep breath of the cleaner air. The edges of his vision were black, and the floor seemed to tilt underfoot.

  Summer made it through the doorway but crashed to the ground. She was no longer a clown. Her red candy lips lay a couple feet from her head.

  “Wait,” Trevor said, walking up to one of the coffins and tapping on the glass. “I know her. Isn’t that . . . what’s her name?”

  The question helped Nate cling to consciousness. He approached his friend. The lady inside the coffin was older, and her long straight hair was violet at the tips.

  “Camilla,” Trevor said. “What’s she, um, doing . . .” He slumped down to all fours, trying to raise his head, then collapsed.

  Nate attempted to scream. He couldn’t even muster a whimper. He dropped to his knees, barely noticing when his cheek slapped against the floor.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Asleep

  Welcome, my boy!” the Swindler said grandly, spreading his arms wide, his immaculate straw hat at a jaunty angle. “Congratulations are in order. You made it to the grand prize!”

  Frowning, Nate took in his surroundings. He was outside, under a blue sky, at the foot of an ascending golden staircase. Long flights led upward from one landing to the next. The Swindler stood above him on the first landing. The gilded steps continued beyond the con man until they reached a pearly gate.

  “Is this supposed to be heaven?” Nate asked, glancing behind him at a field of brilliant wildflowers in full bloom.

  The Swindler chuckled through a grin. “We may be toying with that imagery a little, but no, son, this is where the carnival quest ends. Only winners reach this place, and you made it! This is the entrance to Dreamland. Now the real adventure begins.”

  Nate scrunched his face. How did he get here? The staircase seemed disconnected from the world he knew. Was he dreaming? A memory stirred. “I was fighting a clown.”

  “You defeated him,” the Swindler said. “Very few have. That’s how you earned your way here. You survived Screamland. Welcome to Dreamland!”

  “My friends were with me,” Nate said. “What happened to them?”

  “The same thing that happened to you,” the Swindler said. “They fell asleep.”

  “What is this place?” Nate asked.

  The Swindler blinked. “Do you really not know? It’s where everyone wants to be! This is the place where your dreams come true. Anything you can imagine will materialize in this realm. Would you like to alter reality so candy is healthy for you and makes you stronger? Want to add six inches to your height? How would you like to become the greatest basketball player who ever lived, able to make any shot you can imagine? Anything you can envision comes to life inside of Dreamland. Literally.”

  Nate narrowed his eyes. “What if I want to wake up?”

  “Have you ever felt more awake?” the Swindler asked, bouncing his cane off the landing. “You won’t have to sleep ever again. Not here. Not unless you want to.”

  “Can I wake up?” Nate asked.

  The Swindler shrugged. “I can’t help you there, kiddo. I’m not here in that capacity. I help successful dreamers get out of limbo and into Dreamland. Beyond those gates are the building blocks to anything you want. Would you like to be a king? A treasure hunter? A space explorer? Want to create your own theme park? Design your perfect mansion? It all comes true inside of Dreamland.”

  “It sounds too good to be true,” Nate said. “What’s the catch?”

  The Swindler showed a shocked expression. “No catch. Just a few formalities, and you’re on your way.”

  “You sound like a used car salesman,” Nate said. “If I go into Dreamland, can I leave?”

  “Who would want to leave Dreamland?” the Swindler asked. “What would you do? Try to follow your dreams in the waking world? Good luck.”

  “I like dessert, but I wouldn’t want to eat it all the time,” Nate said. “I’d get sick.”

  “You can have anything you want in Dreamland,” the Swindler said. “Fruits and vegetables alongside hot fudge sundaes. Or hot fudge sundaes more nutritious than broccoli. The Dreams and Screams International Carnival is a doorway. The Screamland before the Dreamland. We’re talking about having everything you can envision and amending those wants as you go.”

  Nate walked up the few steps to the landing where the Swindler waited. The higher position afforded a better view of the expansive wildflower field, with trees at the outskirts. Above him, pearlescent walls and gates kept Dreamland unseen.

  “You want to make an agreement,” Nate said.

  “Just a formality,” the Swindler said, producing a contract written in golden ink on creamy white paper. “Standard agreement for admittance to Dreamland. In short, you will spend the rest of your life living out your dreams. In return, you offer to share your dreams and the power to create them with others.”

  “Sharing dreams sounds like more than a formality,” Nate said.

  “Think about the advantages,” the Swindler said. “Somebody builds a ten-story skatepark you would never have imagined. In Dreamland, you can picture a skateboard and sufficient skills and then enjoy skating in a park someone else dreamed up. Dreamland already has amazing cities, caves, islands, landscapes, even entire planets for you to explore. And if you add something of value, you can share it as well.”

  “I see what you mean,” Nate said.

  “Who wants to live like a hermit?” the Swindler asked. “In a community, you can find leisure time. Focus on what interests you most. Enjoy your life. In Dreamland, we share the load of creating and sustaining our magical kingdom. No one person does all the heavy lifting.” He slapped the contract. “This is your promise to share the load while you benefit from the efforts of other contributors.”

  “And if I don’t sign it?” Nate asked.

  The Swindler shrugged. “Everybody has to participate or the system falls apart. If you refuse to sign, you would be left to make your way alone in limbo.”

  “Where is limbo?” Nate asked.

  The Swindler pointed with his cane. “See where the field fades into nothing? That’s where limbo begins.”

  “Is it bad?” Nate asked.

  The Swindler huffed. “It’s bewildering. There’s no infrastructure. Zero resources. You never quite know where you’re going or where you’ve been. You’re on your own in limbo. ”

  Nate gazed beyond the tree line. It was strangely barren. Not dark, not bright. Just kind of beige.

  Nate looked back at the Swindler. “Do you remember me?”

  “Sure, you’re the kid who had me guessing numbers. Nate. You came in with Summer.”

  “We lost to you.”

  “I took a few tickets off your hands. All in good fun.”

  “I don’t want to get conned again.”

  “This is no con,” the Swindler protested earnestly. “My persona is a carnival act. It’s entertainment. Dreamland is my life’s work. Many people seek this place their whole lives and never find it.”

  “All I do is sign the paper?” Nate asked.

  “And lose the bracelet,” the Swindler said.

  Nate looked down at his wrist, surprised to see Sandra’s friendship bracelet had appeared—another confirmation he was dreaming. “Why do I have to give up the bracelet?”

  “Standard policy,” the Swindler said. “Kind of like no outside food or drink. House rules. No foreign merchandise.”

  “That makes it easy,” Nate said. “No deal.”

  The Swindler spread his hands apologetically. “If that’s the way you want to play your hand.”

  “You couldn’t give me the first thing I asked for,” Nate said. “To actually wake up.”

  “You won’t wake up, regardless of what you choose here,” the Swindler said. “You already decided to sleep.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Nate protested.

  The Swindler smiled. Nate thought it almost looked pleasant, until he paid attention to the Swindler’s eyes.

  “Welcome to my turf. You’re inside a dream inspired by the carnival. You chose to sleep when you destroyed the clown. He didn’t spray you or spike your drink. You demolished Growler and put yourself to sleep. End of story. No sequels. Remember the signs at the entrance?”

  “By the ticket booths?” Nate asked.

  “When you came into the park after reading the posted signs, you forfeited any dreams inspired by the carnival.”

  “I’m inside the dreams you own,” Nate said numbly. He felt empty. And foolish. And deeply frustrated. “What can I do?”

  “You already paid the price of admission by sleeping inside the carnival,” the Swindler said. “You might as well claim the reward. Dreamland is the ultimate prize, son. It’s a place for winners. A nonstop victory lap. You did well getting here. Seems like a shame to pay the price and miss the prize. Spending the rest of your days in limbo wouldn’t be my choice.”

  “It’s not my first choice either,” Nate said. “But it beats losing my bracelet and signing away more of my rights and maybe leaving my friends behind. Plus, I don’t trust you. And I don’t deal with people I don’t trust.”

  “So be it,” the Swindler said, glancing up at the pearly gate then back to Nate. He held up his thumb and forefinger, the tips almost touching. “You came this close to having it all. Reminds me of a guy I heard about who lost his winning lottery ticket. You two should go bowling. You’d have a lot to talk about.”

  “If I’m stuck in dreams for the rest of my life, I’ve already lost it all,” Nate said.

  “I hope that brings great consolation through the long, lonely years ahead,” the Swindler said. “Good luck, my boy. You’re going to need it.”

  The Swindler snapped his fingers.

  And Nate was someplace else.

  He was sitting in a desert of beige under a beige sky. The only interruptions to the bland emptiness around him were silvery blobs on the ground, like smooth clumps of mercury, some of them quite large.

  There was nothing unpleasant. If anything, the surroundings were rather peaceful in their simplicity. But it was a place of absences—little variety in color, a neutral smell, no particular sounds.

  “Good job resisting the Swindler,” a voice spoke from behind him.

  The words didn’t scare him. In fact, hearing them was a relief. Nate turned to find Sandra standing there. He felt sure she had not been present a moment ago.

  “Where did you come from?” Nate asked.

  “I’ve been watching you,” Sandra said. “I had to wait to reveal myself until you left the Swindler. I’m not strong enough to confront him directly. Not here on his home field. You did well in retaining the bracelet. Had you lost it, you would have passed beyond the range of my help.”

  “He offered to make all of my dreams come true,” Nate said.

  Sandra laughed darkly. “Of course he did. I’m sure he wanted the bracelet gone. Though I doubt he fully realizes what a problem it will cause.”

  “What can we do now?” Nate asked.

  “So many things,” Sandra promised. “You realize the Swindler left out a lot of the fine print, right?”

  “You followed the whole conversation?” Nate asked.

  “Yes, thanks to the bracelet,” Sandra said. “Nate, he offered to let you enter Dreamland and make your dreams come true, as if it was his gift to bestow. But you already have that power. He was offering something that was already yours.”

  “Can my dreams come true in limbo?” Nate asked.

  “Limbo is the Swindler’s term for uncreated dreamspace,” Sandra said. “There is much more here than he led you to believe. You see those pockets of silver?”

  “How could I miss them?” Nate replied.

  “That’s dream batter,” Sandra said. “There is an infinite supply. And you can turn it into anything.”

  “Really? How?”

  “It responds to your intentions. Imagine the batter becoming whatever you want,” Sandra suggested. “For beginners, it sometimes helps to touch it.”

  Nate walked over to the nearest metallic blob of batter. He imagined a sword inside of it, then he reached into the material until he felt a hilt. Pulling out his hand, he withdrew a sword exactly like he had imagined it, with a fancy cross guard and a sharp, straight blade. No, it was better than he had envisioned, as if an expert swordsmith had filled in the details he had incompletely pictured.

  “That’s amazing,” Nate said.

  “And limitless,” Sandra replied. “This uncreated dreamspace has much more potential than the Swindler led you to believe. By contrast, his Dreamland behind those gates has a lot of ready-made features. Handy tools for beginners. Sort of like training wheels on a bike. But once you learn how to ride, who wants training wheels?”

  “Great point,” Nate said, swishing his blade through the air.

  “Now that I’m inside this dreamspace, I can find your friends and offer them friendship bracelets as well. I know Summer and Pigeon also denied the Swindler. They sensed not to trust his offer. Trevor remains in conversation with him. The Swindler is unaccustomed to losing so many prospects in a row. Wait here for me.”

  The air rippled, and Sandra stepped into the shimmer, disappearing.

  “I need to learn to travel like that,” Nate muttered.

  He walked over to a large blob of dream batter, touched it, and focused his intention. The batter reformed into a perfect replica of the couch in the family room that he used when watching TV. It was his favorite couch—a little worn, but incredibly comfortable.

  Nate sat down, his thoughts spinning as he waited.

  Would he have ever tried to turn the silvery blobs into anything without instruction? Probably not. Most likely he would have avoided them in case they were hostile or poisonous.

  What else could he make? A robotic friend? A fortress? What if Sandra returned to find him racing around in a Ferrari?

  Nate set to work.

  Chapter Thirty

  Surprise Visitors

  Trevor stared at the plain and beige landscape around him, empty except for some reflective silvery globs. Maybe he should have taken the deal from the Swindler. Having his dreams come true seemed a lot better than hanging out here forever. This dreary landscape was nearly as bleak as the mirror dimension.