CHAPTER THREE
I’m back in the hospital room, with Dr. Xipil and the burly security guys watching me intently, ready to subdue me in case I became a psychotic killer.
I paste a smile on my lips, even though I’m freaking out. The last thing I need is for Dr. Xipil to stab me with that syringe he’s holding.
“What happened?” he asks with a worried expression.
“It didn’t work,” I say and place my hand back on Mom’s forehead. It’s strangely clammy. “I’m going to try again.”
“Wait—”
Tuning out the gnome doctor’s objections, I will myself to return into Mom’s dreams.
Nothing happens.
Huh.
I touch my furry wristband—Pom—trying to get into the dream world that way.
Nothing. There’s no scent of ozone, no sensation of falling that comes along with the transition into a dreamwalking trance. I
