The Masterdreamer cut loose with a blast of mental energy stronger than Wayne had expected. The attack was wordless, a silent rage that caught Wayne unprepared. He was suddenly drowning in a seething sea of Rondel’s hatred.
“Vin! Vinnie!” A sharp female voice, vaguely familiar, cut through the air. The waves of anger stopped as abruptly as they’d begun, to be replaced by equal amounts of confusion. Rondel and Wayne both looked around to see where the voice had come from.
Above their heads, suspended in space, was a four-poster bed with scraps of lace as a canopy. On the bed was the gross form of Mrs. Rondel, with her white hair and her fat, painted face. She looked down over the side, directly at Rondel, and shook a thick finger accusingly.
“You’ve done bad, Vinnie. Don’t you remember m
