fuck you *crafts your love*

The voice inside him didn't respond, but Lazarus felt his eyes, ever patient, watching through his own.

"We've hit a dead end," Lazarus continued. "The police won't let anyone onto that island in the lake now that their boys have gone missing. Lester's trail has gone cold and he's killed at least one other person. Right?"

'Right,' the voice replied, a bit sullen. But not at Lazarus. At their situation.

"The answers we're looking for aren't on Earth, not anymore." Lazarus looked around the room. At the small table beneath the window, the chair with his trenchcoat and hat draped over it, the nightstand with his pistol. His nails dug into his knee. "So maybe they're in the Dreamlands."

'I suppose I can't think of any other options,' the voice said. 'I wonder, which are you, Lazarus. Are you brave for wanting to go back there? Or are you foolish to the point of getting us killed?'

Lazarus grinned without happiness. "'fraid it's not death we're in for if the King catches us."

'Don't you worry about that,' the voice said, something almost protective swelling in it. 'I have my ways, Lazarus Core, much as you do. The King will never hurt you, so long as I breathe through you.'

Lazarus paused, his smile softening into something smaller, realer. Whether his friend intended to kill them both if they were captured or had another plan in mind, it still was one of the kindest things he'd been told in a while.

'Are you ready?'

Lazarus stretched his arms over his head, and laid down on the bed. He folded his arms on his stomach. His eyes closed.

"Let's do this."

The wind, warm, carried over the desert sands. Arthur had gotten used to the grit in his mouth and brushing over his skin, trying to fight its way into his boots with every crunching step. He didn't need his sight to know they were far from the small house they'd taken shelter in hours before. But he asked anyway, to end the silence.

"See anything interesting?"

"No," John said, "Just the sand, and the sky. The clouds are scattered overhead, without anything flying around then. It's utterly empty."

"Good news for us, considering the other occupants we've run into here," Arthur said.

"There's a constant mirage in the distance, a wavering image of water over the sand. I could almost say it was designed to cause false hope, if I thought it was designed at all."

"Not a common trap of the King, then?"

"No," John said. "His traps are more… personalized, let's say."

Arthur resisted a shudder. "Let's not worry about him right now."

"Agreed," John said.

The sand crushed beneath their feet, John's foot keeping pace with Arthur.

"I wonder," John said, "Is this the part of the Dreamlands the caravans go through?"

"Caravans?" Arthur asked. "You mean with people?"

"Yes, many people," John said. "I remember the King demanding tribute from these travelers when they passed near Carcosa, once. It did what he wanted. None ever approached his land again."

"I can't believe it." Arthur shook his head. "People, real people, human people, actually live here?"

"There's far more to the Dreamlands than a mere desert, whichever this one is," John said. "I distinctly remember a few names, of kingdoms and territories, and their rulers-"

John stopped, both in words and movement. Arthur hesitated.

"John? What's wrong?"

"Arthur," John whispered. "There's someone up ahead."

Arthur froze. "You're joking."

"No," John said. "I thought he was a mirage at first but- he's real. He's coming closer."

"What do you see?" Arthur said, his eyes squinting instinctively. "What does he look like? Is he from the Dreamlands?"

It took a breath for John to reply, his voice lowering when he did.

"No," John said. "No, he looks… he's dressed like you, Arthur, but shorter. His trenchcoat is at his ankles, his hat pulled down over his face, like he's trying to block out the sun…"

Arthur moved forward, dragging John's leg. "Do you think it's him? Frank Underhill?"

"I… I don't know," John said. "Arthur, something about this, it's…"

Arthur raised his hand to his mouth.

"Hello!" He called, waving his hand. "Hello, can you hear me?"

"He's stopped!" John said. "He's looking at us!"

"Can you see his face now?"

"Yes, I… I…"

Something twisted inside Arthur at John's darkening tone. "John?"

"Arthur, I know this person."

"What?" Arthur pulled back. "You mean he works for the King?"

"No!" John hesitated, as if surprised himself by his force. "No, I… I don't know, I-"

"He's not said anything, has he?" Arthur asked. "Is he just… looking at us?"

"Yes. He looks… he looks afraid, Arthur."

"What?" Afraid of what, him?

"He's reaching into the inside of his coat for something…"

John tensed.

"Arthur, he's got a gun, move!"

Arthur lunged to the left. A gunshot screamed out, the bullet rushing through the air where he once stood.

"Keep moving!" John shouted. Arthur didn't need to be told twice.

Another bullet sped by his arm, too close, too close.

"Try and get closer!" John roared.

"Are you crazy?!" Arthur shouted. Was it aimed at John, or the man with the gun? He couldn't tell. Maybe both.

"He's stopped shooting!" John cried. "He's reaching into his coat again, I think he's trying to reload! Now's our chance!"

"God damn it," Arthur hissed. He charged.

A woman's voice rang out. "Stay back!"

Arthur's body slammed into something soft, softer than any man he'd grappled. Fabric yielded under his arms as they wrapped around the stranger. John said the man was short but he'd not expected the man to be so lean, more than him somehow. His stubbled face brushed against skin, and though the scent of old cologne rushed into his nose, it was a woman he thought of, all the women that ever looked up from beneath him in the quiet places they'd slipped away to.

They hit the sand. A woman grunted. Arthur's head spun. The small body beneath him squirmed, a hand gripping his hair in a manner he almost remembered before something ripped it away.

"I've got his wrists!" John said. "Talk to him!"

"Him?" Arthur repeated under his breath. Beneath him, the person writhed.

"Arthur!"

"Who the hell are you?" Arthur snapped. His hand reached for the body beneath him, feeling for something, anything. The gun? A grip to make sure they didn't attack him again? Confirmation of his suspicions?

"Get off!" The voice, the same one, said.

"Who are you?!" Arthur repeated. "Why were you trying to kill me?!"

"Oh, Arthur," John whispered.

Arthur paused. He couldn't remember John ever sounding like that before. "John?"

"His hat fell off, I can see his whole face now. He's still beautiful."

Arthur blinked. "Still?"

"Wait," John said. "Watch out!"

Pain slammed through his gut, deep into his side. A fist punched his cheek, a hand gripped his ear and twisted. Arthur howled. He'd been in street fights before but the blows felt different, pointed, experienced.

He rolled off the body but the blows continued, fists hammering his face and neck. Dizziness swept over him, tears or blood in his unseeing eyes. Arthur gasped for air.

He could barely hear John shouting.

"Arthur! Arthur! Jesus Christ! Arthur!"

"Where-" It took a moment for the throbbing pain to fade enough for him to speak. "Fuck. What happened? Where did he go?"

"He's gone. Arthur, what did he do to you? I didn't know humans could be trained like that!"

Arthur didn't answer that. He needed to catch his breath, let his head stop spinning.

"Wh-what do you mean, he's gone? Shouldn't we chase after him? I can't hear his footsteps…"

"He's gone, Arthur. He… he disappeared."

Arthur paused, hand raised to wipe blood and grit off his nose. "You're joking."

"I'm not. When you stopped fighting back, he stood up and vanished. Melted away before my eyes. That wasn't a normal person, Arthur."

"No shit!" He tried to sit up, but only managed with John's help. "Christ. Who the hell was that? Some new nightmare running around the Dreamlands for us to deal with?"

"That man wasn't from the Dreamlands," John said.

"What? You mean he was from Earth?"

"Arthur, listen. People from Earth can access the Dreamlands through other ways than being pulled here like we were. The most common way to get here is through your dreams. That's one reason why it's called the Dreamlands."

"Wait, really?"

"Yes," John said. "Arthur, I think that man was a dreamer. And I think he was looking for us."

"Well, he certainly found us," Arthur said with a frown. It took effort to stand, but he forced himself up with John's help. "Why was he trying to kill us? What did we do to him?"

"I don't know. But I suspect once we get back to Earth, we'll find out who he was, and what he wanted."

"Right…"

Arthur could not see the sand around them, and could not hide from the memories now swirling through his thoughts.

"But wait," he said. "You said you knew him."

"I do," John said. "Or rather, the King did. But I don't think he works for the King. He's someone I've been looking for, for a long, long time…"

The silenced stretched, wide as the desert itself.

"Him," Arthur said.

"Yes," John said, almost pointedly. "Him."

"Rather small, for a man," Arthur said.

John sighed. "Yes. But he's just as dangerous as any other."

"Apparently so." Arthur raised his head, allowing John to look around. "I feel well enough to walk. We need to get moving."

"Agreed."

But even as they left the incident behind them, the memories lingered in Arthur's mind, of all the women he thought he loved, and the body squirming beneath his own.

Lazarus woke laughing. He rolled over, clutching his stomach, laughing before he knew he was awake.

'It's not funny!' the voice inside him said.

Lazarus kept laughing. He couldn't stop.

'Lazarus! Enough!'

"Oh my god!" Lazarus said, rubbing his eyes. "You kicked his ass!"

'Must you be so crass?' the voice said, but Lazarus could hear the smile he tried to hide.

Rolling onto his back again, Lazarus stared at the ceiling, a smile of his own on his face.

"Sometimes I forget how much older than me you are," he said. "That was incredible. He didn't stand a chance."

'I am skilled in things other than the occult,' the voice said with not a small amount of smugness. 'But,' he said, serious now, 'I doubt it will be so easy if we encounter him again.'

Lazarus sighed, the smile dropping from his face.

"We got our answers," he said.

'So it seems,' the voice said. 'Arthur Lester roams the Dreamlands, and not as a dreamer like we. Something has gone terribly wrong for him. Or perhaps, terribly right.'

He frowned, glancing towards the closed curtains on the window.

"Did you sense anything… weird about him? I didn't get a good look at him."

'You panicked and tried to shoot him, so that's unsurprising,' the voice said dryly. 'I sensed nothing unusual, but I'm not that kind of being. He talked to himself, I noticed, and his eyes…'

At the silence, Lazarus sat up. "His eyes?"

'What color do you remember them being on the wanted posters?'

"Uh…" Lazarus scratched his cheek. "I don't remember. Brown, maybe?"

'They weren't brown now,' the voice said. 'They were yellow, Lazarus. Golden yellow.'

Lazarus shuddered. He crossed his legs and hunched forward. "That confirms that."

'Quite so,' the voice said. 'And what are we going to do about this now? If he's a vessel for the King, he's sure to return to Earth to do his bidding. And no doubt, he will be looking for you.'

"He's more dangerous than a normal human," Lazarus said. "And he won't stay in the Dreamlands forever." He sighed, tugged at his thin shirt. "We need a plan."

'A plan?' the voice said. 'No. First we need information. And resources.'

"And where do you suggest we get those?"

'I have connections,' the voice said.

Lazarus raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

'Yes!' the voice said. 'You're not the only one who has contacts in New York City.'

Lazarus straightened. "Like who?"

'Many people,' the voice said. 'Experts in the occult and supernatural, seers and scholars and madmen. We cannot return to Arkham without our prey…' the voice sighed, 'and I wouldn't want my old friends seeing me like this anyway, but…'

"… But we can learn more, and prepare, for when the predator comes for us," Lazarus said.

'Yes!' the voice said.

Lazarus stood up from the bed and peeked through the curtains. The sky just barely blushed with the rising sun. In the reflection on the glass, he saw his eyes, mismatched as they had been since he met his dearest partner.

He closed the curtains.

'I don't think he recognized you,' the voice said.

Lazarus smiled without joy. "Am I that obvious?"

'I would hope I know what you're thinking by now, after these past few years,' the voice said. 'But no. He stared at your face for too long, before and after I took over, but I saw no recognition in them. I almost thought he recognized me, but I'm sure he would've said something if he had.'

"He knows you?" Lazarus said, turning away from the window.

'Kings recognize kings, even ones such as I,' the voice said, and Lazarus felt the spirit shrug. 'Now, we should best prepare for the next stage of our travels. It's a long way from here to New York, and we best be ready for what must be done when we arrive.'

Lazarus smiled. "Whatever you say, Carter."