“And what,” said Wraith, the Sandman of the Division, “is this supposed to mean? Do you mean to tell me that you skipped three people last night?”

“Sorry, Sandman,” Aislin replied wearily. They had had this conversation before. “Their futures were too awful. One’s going to die next year, of cancer, unless—I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t you send a falling dream instead?”

“How many times must we go over this! You are a precognitive dream, Aislin. If I send you somewhere, you go. I’m docking your pay this time. Maybe it’ll teach you a lesson.”

“Yes, Mr. Sandman, sir,” she answered. “Can I go to my desk now?”

Wraith, knowing he had not gotten his message across yet again, sighed heavily. “You might as well. It’s Competition tonight, so you’d better do as you’re told for once.”

“Yes, sir. I disembowel myself in shame.”

“None of that.”

Aislin took her seat, and Wraith walked up to the only desk with actual clouds—budget cutbacks had been murder. He looked out upon the shimmery, almost translucent beings and called for order.

He began, authoritatively, “All right, all of you. It’s All Hallows Eve—competition night. I intend to beat those bastards at Reverie, Incorporated tonight. Who’s with me?”

There were a few halfhearted claps. Chimer, one of the most frequent nightmares, then voiced what those who had not clapped were thinking. “Um, sir. Reverie, Inc. has beaten us every year for the past decade. It’s a trend. Accept it and move on.”

Wraith looked at him. “You’re a nightmare, right? Number three-oh-six-oh-four. Tonight’s busy for you.” He cleared his throat.

“Ask yourself why we’re all here today.”

Chimer shrugged. “It’s a job.”

“Exactly,” he answered. “We don’t need the humans, but they need us or they die, or go completely nuts. Why not get paid to something you’d already do anyway? And why not try to win this competition? It’ll help with the budget, that’s for sure.”

Almost involuntarily, the dreams in the look looked at the broken-down office. There were leaks in the ceiling where clouds should have been. “The budget can’t get much worse,” Aislin commented sardonically.

“Quiet, you,” Wraith pointed. “You’re already in trouble.”

“Yes, sir. But according to you, I’d be ‘doing this anyway’.”

“Quiet. Now, all man your stations. I want you ready when the Eastern Seaboarders drift off. Aislin, you’re in the Midwest. Easy.

Little girl. She probably’ll forget whatever you tell her, so don’t get fancy. Chimer, you’re in Europe today. Morgana, you’re in Messina—some fisherman. . .”

Aislin sat down and buried her head in her hands. A little girl to start with was easy. It would get harder, she knew, eventually. It got progressively more difficult as the night went on.

Specter poker her at half-past eight. “You’re up in—call it ten minutes.”

“Thanks. Good luck tonight.”

“You too. Though we’ll never win.”

She made a face. “Of course not.” She made ready above the house she was to go in. When the kid went to sleep, she would be sucked downward to Earth—not a pleasant sensation—find the girl, give her the dream, then go on to whoever was next.

Competition night was busy for everyone, even her.

Trance was counting down for her on his fingers now. She gave him the thumbs up, and was released, grunting hoarsely at being dragged downward several thousand feet in mere seconds, and landed softly on the lawn in front of the girl’s house. Now all that remained was to find the girl’s room.

Aislin sifted through the wall; it was very well insulated, she realized. She moved through the house, silently; it was the antithesis of a dream to wake people up. The girl’s room was at the end of the hall; she slipped under her door—

And immediately shielded her eyes. Dreams are used to working in relative darkness, and every light in this room was on. The girl slept fitfully, tossing and muttering strange sleep words. After her eyes adjusted, Aislin reached out an opaline hand and touched the girl’s forehead to quiet her down.

Her name was Danielle. She had a math test tomorrow, for which she had studied (she thought fruitlessly). But she would receive an A- on the test. Aislin remembered Wraith telling her, ‘don’t get fancy’; she could hardly think of a simpler dream than the girl receiving an A- on her test.

Aislin prepared to jump into her brain to set up the dream, and stopped. She was confused; then she looked again. A glimmering radiance rested over the girl’s frame. That wasn’t normal. She tried to poke at the filmy substance; it stretched under her ghostly fingers but would not break.

Only then did she realize that she was wasting time, and Wraith would get angry; perhaps dock her pay again. She decided to give up on this; report it maybe, since it definitely wasn’t normal.

Surprisingly, the rest of the night passed without further incident; the people she gave dreams to all seemed to have bright futures.

Needless to say, when she arrived the next night, Dream Company had not beaten Reverie, Incorporated in their annual showdown.

They were short one dream.

Wraith was not happy. He was actually more like apoplectic with fury than unhappy. “Aislin, why do you do these things to me?

You skipped another person last night? Competition night? Are you mad? And it was just a kid, not like she’s got such a terrible immediate future, now, does she? And it would have tied us.”