Chapter 1

The market was dusty; the heat, stifling. I shouldn’t have been able to feel the temperature, shouldn’t have been victim to things like weather or injury, but the mind is a stubborn ruler. Expectation delivers reality. Mine filled in the information for me, even here in the astral realm.

Despite the fact that I was out of my physical body and had no skin, not really, I could feel beads of sweat gathering on my forehead, the hair against my nape damp and cloying. I blew a strand of hair out of my face, the action silly, really, because here I had no breath, but it made me feel better. Like I was doing something constructive. Shouts echoed against the stone walls of the bazaar and I leaned against the table behind me, watching a young man run by, pursued by a heavy-set woman and two small yapping dogs.

It wasn’t the first time. He’d run by three times since I arrived. The woman tackled him about thirty feet past me, smashing his head against the ground, knocking him out. In about five seconds she’d shout triumphantly, holding two figs high in the air. She’d dust herself off, walk back to her stall. And the man would lay there, slowly bleeding out. Dying quietly, fading away unnoticed for the moment, until eventually the scene would reset itself and he’d run by again.

I can’t travel through time, if that’s what you’re thinking. I wasn’t even here, not really.

My body was at home, in bed, sleeping. Probably turning numb under the hot and heavy weight of my Husky-Samoyed mutt, Keeta.

I know what you’re thinking, but I wasn’t dreaming, either. Not that night, anyway. I was traveling, doing some astral night work, rescuing poor lost souls from the dreamtime. The astral realm isn’t just a place new age flunkies like visiting when they meditate – it’s the stuff purgatory is made of, the dimension all souls pass through on their way into the light, sometimes getting lost.

That’s where I come in. I’m a dream tracker, a soul finder, and like my grandfather before me, I lead the lost into the light.

It’s not bad work, not usually. Maybe not as fun as my regular job playing drums in a rock band, but at least I feel like I’m finally putting my college degree in social work to good use.

Of course, I don’t usually get stuck in a time loop in a scorching hot Middle Eastern bazaar watching some wanna-be Aladdin die over and over again. The shouts had started up again, and I pushed away from the table. I’d had enough of this.

Aladdin was getting close, grinning as he ran. Obviously, this wasn’t new territory for him. I stepped into his path, ready to stop him with a smile, when I felt a hand on my arm.

This time, it didn’t feel the way you would expect. Familiar energy tingled through my not-skin, r