CHAPTER ELEVEN
I find Pom in the lobby of my dream palace, shooting a laser gun at targets that remind me of inter-Otherland gates, only with a shimmering bull’s eye in the middle.
A pang of guilt bites at me. Before all my problems started, I’d regularly play competitive games with Pom, everything from tennis to fencing. They’d brought my little friend incalculable joy, and were fun for me also. Now I’ve ignored him for so long, he’s been forced to play with himself.
But not in a dirty way.
Probably.
Hopefully.
“Bailey!” Pom makes his game accoutrements disappear and flies around my head with the enthusiasm of an overcaffeinated puppy. “What’s going on?”
I take a slow route to the tower of sleepers so I can bring him up to speed.
“And that’s her? The dryad?” He looks at the green
