The Dream Thief, Kari Kilgore [reading well TXT] 📗

up the outer space. A thick, colorful rug covered with flowers lay underneath. Klia Gilmore would have been proud to have that one in her own house.

Beautifully framed paintings hung on the walls, and fresh flowers in heavy glass vases sat on the marble mantelpiece. Only a small desk, just as expensively made and decorated, gave any indication that this was an office rather than a Director's private residence.

"What do they do in here, Georgie?"

"This, my dear Karl, is where the Director and his staff convince other Directors out in the rest of Alterra, and the rare and regretful family members who manage to get out here to ask, that everything will someday be all right. They probably believe it at first. Or at least they finally decide to stop asking."

Karl breathed in the soft scent of flowers and a recent wood fire, such a contrast to the sharps smells of cleaner and cloying stench of madness that his nose and the rest of his head felt confused. He wasn't quite able to put this room together with Joffrey Columns.

George walked across that gorgeous rug to a dark wooden door that again seemed out of place, with carvings and brass fittings rather than a plain slab of wood. What Karl most wanted to do was take his shoes off and sink his toes into the mass of color on the floor. He hadn't done that since he was a kid in his parents' house.

"So sorry to disturb you, Karl, but wake up. We'll be perfectly safe in here for a while, but we don't have all night." Karl shook his head and joined George. "A supply closet is right across the hall if we need lanterns. We probably should be out of here before they turn all the lamps down. I doubt you'll need that long with that big brain of yours."

"Big brain?" Karl said, following George. "What are you talking..."

Part of Karl was amused to feel his own jaw dropping. The rest of him was frozen halfway through the doorway, too busy staring in awe.

"I'm talking about that massive lump you carry around between your ears," George said. "You don't look like you have a thing up there right now. Even when we were back in school, I never saw you write a word down, Karl, but you never forget anything either. I'd be willing to bet this will be more than enough of a push for you to crack this whole mess wide open."

Karl blinked, looked at George, then walked closer to the wall in front of him. He heard the door close, and he was distantly grateful for the brighter light as his friend switched on electrics, but he was focused on the map. Not just any map, but by far the largest and most detailed one he'd ever seen.

The wealthy residential areas of Waldron's Gate covered the wall from floor to ceiling, with every single street, house, and landmark illustrated in full color. The streets weren't just names; they were surrounded by the flowers the name had come from. Karl wouldn't have been surprised to smell roses, hyacinths, or lilacs as clearly as his eyes could see them.

"Where did this come from?" he said.

"An artist came in here and painted the whole thing," George said. "Right onto the wall. All we did was put the frame around it. The painting took more than a month."

"There's our house."

Karl had his nose almost against the map, but the illusion was still perfect. He could tell that house was taller than the others, and he could even see his turret bedroom standing out against the roof.

"Yep, and mine just a few blocks over," George said. "Now show me where your patient today came from."

Karl opened his mouth to ask what patient before his brain lurched back into motion. That's why they were here, sneaking around after hours in violation of every single rule and regulation he'd ever heard of.

They were here to try to figure out the bunches of new patients from the neighborhood he was almost inhaling. Much as he might want to, he wasn't here to examine every square inch of this incredible painting.

"She was from one block over," he said, moving his finger along the street without touching the wall. "Right here."

George walked up beside him.

"Okay, good. I don't have any addresses in my list, only dates. Did all the dates match what you found this morning?"

"They did, every one," Karl said. "The records I saw started about ten years ago. Same thing you found?"

Karl finally turned away from the map to look at George.

"Exactly the same," George said. "The dates get closer together, and the damage worse, up until about two years ago when it got really bad. Then everything quieted down again until a few nights ago. Whatever it is might be starting again."

Karl turned back to the map, his mind pulling up the addresses he'd seen as clearly as the papers in George's files.

"Well, from just the last month, we have one here." He pointed to another house, several blocks away from his parents. "Here. And here."

Karl kept going, unconsciously sorting the addresses by the date the patient was admitted. Before he was finished, chills ran from his scalp down to his thighs.

"Do you see that, Karl?" George whispered.

"I see it. A bunch of spirals, looping around neighborhoods where Builders live. If we could use pins and yarn, it would be close to perfect. A few are on either side of the loops, but with so many matches that's probably just normal depth syndrome."

"When did..." George stopped and swallowed. "Your patient today, when did she come in?"

"She was right in the middle, before this one. And this one." Karl's finger crossed almost over his own home's roof, just one house away. He would have sworn his legs no longer reached the ground. "It's the next loop that's going to be the real problem, Georgie. Whatever this is seems to