CASE WAS DREAMING. Or, at least, she thought she was.
She stood on a city street lined with gleaming office towers. Some leaned at crazy angles. Some rose so tall they vanished into clouds sliding across a too blue sky. Instead of streetlights, statues of cats with flaming eyes lined sidewalks of green crystal. Beside them, Egyptian vases (correction, “canopic jars”) took the place of garbage cans.
Between the crystal sidewalks ran an ebony road. No—not a road. She blinked. Red-sailed boats and gray swans now floated down a sluggish black river.
Part of her knew she lay asleep in the hidden grove at Cherry Beach, so this must be a dream. And yet, every sight shone clear and bright. Each smell wafted thick and rich. Every noise rang sharp and crisp. This dream felt more real than any she
