Poison Sleep by T. A. Pratt

and create a little cone of extra volume by straining the fabric.”
    “And what happens if you poke too hard?” Marla said.
    “What you would expect,” Langford said. “You poke a hole in the fabric.”
    “That’s what I figured.”
    “I wonder how many other people have been pulled into her world since she escaped?” Langford said.
    Marla sat down on a bench. “Shit. I didn’t even
think
about that. But why should it just be me? Gods, are people just popping into her world at random?”
    “It may not be totally random. There could be some sort of vector. A particular place that gives entrance to her world, or a touch—did you have any contact with her before you found yourself in her world?”
    “No, I never—” Marla paused. That same hazy image, like a picture from a dream, came to her. There was a woman, laying in the snow, and Marla had draped her coat over her. But now, thinking back, the woman was
familiar,
she was—”Hell,” Marla said. “Yes. I saw her in the snow. I bet I even touched her. Why didn’t I
recognize
her?”
    “You probably did. You probably just don’t
remember
that you did. Dreams are hard to remember, Marla—they go into short-term memory, and unless you make a special effort to remember them, they disappear from your mind. I’ve always suspected her power is linked to dreams. The place Genevieve took you sounds like a dream world, something beyond her control, something she experiences as reality. But it’s a dream she can pull other people into. If she’s a reweaver, as Dr. Husch believes, it may be a dream she can bring into
this
world.”
    “It was a
nightmare,
Langford. At least the last part was.”
    Langford nodded. “I am, actually, reassured to hear that she touched you. That could be the vector of contagion.”
    “So you think if she touches people, they get sucked into her dream world?”
    Langford shrugged. “It’s just a hypothesis, but it’s possible. You haven’t received widespread reports of people popping into her world, which means you may be an isolated case, and since you had direct contact with Genevieve, it seems reasonable to assume, for now, that direct contact is a prerequisite. Of course, the question then is whether it’s black plague or bird flu.”
    “Beg your pardon?”
    “Contagion models,” Langford said. “People initially catch black plague from rat fleas, but once they’ve caught the plague, it can pass from human to human. With bird flu—at least, the unmutated strain—you can only catch the disease directly from a bird. A human with bird flu can’t pass the disease on to other humans. The question is, can you catch this dreamsickness from Genevieve alone, or can it be caught from another person who is already infected?”
    “Like…me,” Marla said. “Shit.”
    “Who have you touched since this happened?”
    Marla thought. She’d touched Hamil’s shoulder. She’d shaken Joshua Kindler’s hand. She
hadn’t
touched Rondeau. She
had
touched Ted. She hadn’t touched Langford. “A few people.”
    Langford nodded. “Observe them. If they have…experiences…you can assume you are contagious. Until then, limit your contact with new people. As for people you’ve already touched…well, it’s probably too late for them. And if she’s a reweaver, and her world starts intruding into
our
reality, any random passerby in the vicinity could be swept up into her world, too, I suppose.”
    “Great. Do you think my trip to dreamland was a onetime thing, or will I get sucked back in again?”
    “I have no idea,” Langford said. “I assume you’d like me to help you find our patient zero?”
    Marla pushed the shoebox of Genevieve’s things toward him. “Here are a few of her belongings. Can you use them to get a fix on her?”
    “Certainly,” Langford said. “I’ll call you. But it could take a couple of days, if she’s popping in and out of our reality.”
    Marla scowled. “Can’t you just, like, dangle a