Dreamforger

“What do dwarves have to do with my dreams?”

“Some dwarves forge dreams,” I told her. “We make them out of moonlight and darkness, wind and cold, memory and emotion. It’s alchemy and magic and forgecraft.”

“And you think a dwarf made my dream?”

“If you’ve dreamed the same dream every night for a year, then it was dwarf-forged. No one else could make a dream that long-lasting.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Someone paid him. Could be a rival, or an ex-lover, anyone.” I knew a thing or two about ex-lovers and what they could do to one’s dreams.

Madison shook her head. “I can’t think of anyone. Who would even know how?”

The silence stretched between us, and I returned to adjusting my collector. Finally, Madison asked, “Is that what you do? Make bad dreams for whoever pays you?”

“No. I don’t make dreams anymore.” Not since the curse.

“Then what do you make?”

“Countermagic for bad dreams.” I waited for her to accuse me of teasing her, or maybe trying to con her. That’s what I would do in her position.

“Can you make something for me?”

I turned to face Madison. If she had any doubts, they didn’t show. She was earnest, desperate. I felt like I was taking advantage of her, but business was business, and I was helping her.

It is, I think, one of my better stories.