Moving from dream to Dream by force sent ripples along the Skein. Ripples that shook regular dreams into unnerving nightmares.

So, naturally, Rhodes was doing it deliberately.

It was one of the more subtle ways of generating Fear, so it was no surprised the Fairest preferred it. Elegant, in it's own way. Emotions were tied to the subconscious - they came forth in dreams just as easily as those one felt in the waking hours. But here.... he was free to do so. No human eyes to finger him as the cause, so easily dismissed as a nightmare - even if the human awoke rattled, they would not be driven to explore or seek revenge against the source of that fear. And he could lap up their terror, a range of canapes of the mind. A dab here, a snifter there.... generating terror was so hard to do discretely in the waking world, but here, it was all too easy.

And yet, and yet, this was only a beneficial derivative of his true motives.

Everyone had to sleep. Everyone. Even exiled wizened Dread Ladies.

He had been searching for weeks, to no avail. After all, she was just as likely moving as he was. It was like searching for a single piece of sand in a dust storm. He didn't know what she looked like, or what her minions of today appeared to be. So why do it? Well, harvesting was just as much use. He wasn't getting nothing out of these excursions. But ultimately, it was a higher form of Fear he sought. Ann knew they were coming for her. She had to. Meg was dead She was even baiting them with dead hollows and - most arrogant of all - lured them to the very motel with the intent of capturing them. He could see it now. The sob story of the missing husband was all a lie - one designed to lure them out of their safe havens.

It was almost a shame to have to destroy her. Having someone generate Fear right on his doorstep was good for the Freehold. It stopped complacency, kept people alert. The knowledge of abductions kept concern in the back of people's minds - his preferred way of keeping Fear in the locals. Wave it in their faces and they rally against you, fear of fear itself. But leave it in the shadows, the unknown... let them create their own fears...

Yessss.....

A pleasant chill ran down his spine.

But, then she decided to steal people. Somewhere, he knew of the rumour that she had delved into the crafting of Fetches. That was always going to move the Freehold to action. And it was evil, undeniably.

Of course.

To him, though, there was a deeper concern. Rhodes knew that the other factors were what drove others, but it was equally undeniable that these drove him less than the sheer audacity of Queen Ann.

Queen Ann.

Queen.

It drove a snarl to his face, here where no-one would ever know.

She was not Queen. She hadn't been a Queen in years. HE was the Dread Lord here. This was his City. He had woven his way to the Ashen Throne, to the Directorship, and no-one, NO-ONE, was going to take them from him.

He callously tore through another dream, snarling angrily, shadows of darkness enveloping the child behind him in a piecing scream. He barely heard it over his own fury. And deep down, Rhodes knew he had to cling to that fury, that indignance, that pride. He knew these were all there, but if he did not cling to them, he may very well succumb to the Fear.

He knew he was afraid of her, what she represented. He wasn't Dread Lord for nothing - he knew his fears as intimately as he sought to instill them in others. Ann had been Dread Lady for years, decades even. Fear did not care for politics of scheming. If was primal, visceral, from a place far beyond rational thought. Whatever Ann was, she was a Mistress of Fear. Her minions were slaves to it. Those that forced her out were driven by it. Her plans were steeped in generating it. Though she held no position in any Freehold, it was inconceivable to Rhodes that the Mantle of the Leaden Mirror had forsaken her. She had been free for years, growing in power, harnessing, learning. For all his charm and eloquence, pride would never permit Rhodes to admit that it was likely she was his better in many ways - save here, in his own mind. How long was he out of the hedge, coming up on five years? She had years, perhaps dozens of years of study on him. She realised fear on wide levels. He know there were those more steeped in Autumn Lore than he, and he was sure she was one of them. His ego had meant he had sought out a place to be a big fish in a small pond, and had erected a palace around himself in Sacramento that was just that.

And she, she, cut through all pretence, all his grand delusions.

He must beat her.

He must. Or die in the attempt.

Then all would know I, not Ann, am the true Lord of Fear.

And so.... he was hear - searching, scouring, spreading the seeds of his own fear.

But before any of that, any of it, he had to prepare. He needed more weapons, if he truly intended to fight her.

And beyond that, he had to find her.

Perhaps San Francisco might be a better source. There was still an Autumn Court there, after all.

Perhaps a road trip was in order.