A tangle of yarn is perhaps the most irresistible for a cat, and likewise a problem attracting the attention of multiple dragons was irresistible for Chess. With a quick rub against Lux's human form, Chess darts off into the dark. The next few nights began the hunt.
With soft paws on pavement, he scampers away to the subway, mostly empty of mortals this time of night. It was almost time. The clock would soon strike thirteen, and the train was never late. Downtown Crossing station had been in existence for over a century, a crossroads now dug deep in the land. Merging north and south, east and west, pointing out to land, water, and air, it was a place of power and travel. They say the MBTA is never on time, and that's because it is unconsciously delayed by other transports. Ghostly trains, veiled in glamour, make stops at various times and locations, but at the thirteenth hour it is always here, and it travels out of mortal lands.
At the appointed hour, the train pulls up and the doors open, unnoticed by the few mortal night workers and homeless hanging around the station. Cheshire walks onto the subway car, its only occupant, looking more like the trolleys of a hundred years ago though the inside was deceivingly much more spacious. He hops up into the driver's lap, who rings the bell as the car closes its doors and begins to move. Exposing his belly for scratches, Chess regards the driver, a vaguely human looking shadow in an old uniform. "Hello Jeremy," Chess purrs.
Jeremy had died a century before, his fascination and obsession with the new subways letting himself work himself to death. And his spirit drove on. Over a century old, the ghost didn't even have a face anymore, just a purpose, and one he performed with aplomb. He was never late, and ferried those who stepped on board from the lands of mortal to the Nevernever of Boston. His “face” looks down at Chess and seemed to smile. Ghostly hands pet the cat as they drove into the tunnels and out of realms mortal.
Chess hops down and into the spaciousness of the car before they crossed the border. As they did, the small gray cat was no longer there, but instead an enormous beast of tooth and claw. Frumious and terrible, its eyes held no hint of guile, only pure force and madness. They drove on, and the Bandersnatch extended its fine hunters senses, searching for a hint of Stephen O’Hara. Mortals with power sometimes had enough power to extend their dreams to the Nevernever, if there was enough intensity, bringing a pocket realm of their own making into existence. Despite his trauma and nightmares, Stephen wouldn’t have the power for that, but Chess was far more savvy and powerful when it came to dreams. While mortal dreams could cross over into the Nevernever and assert their power there, so could Chess cross the other way. All mortal dreams run tangent to the Nevernever, and for a hunter with millennia of experience, it took little to find and enter those dreams.
Chess exited at the end of the line, at the edge of where the Boston of Faerie ended and the wilds of the Nevernever began. It is here, at the edges, where one can find mortal dreams nudging up against the barriers. With the scent of O’Hara in his head, the Bandersnatch slid between the edges and into a different Boston. One not wholly in Faerie, and not wholly in the mortal. This was where dreams could be found. Hints of figures darted all around and through each other, a maddening pell-mell of smoky figures, each rushing about in their own dreams, formless and unidentifiable. And one stood out for Chess, the target of his hunt. Not formless as the others were, Chess could see O’Hara as he saw himself in his dream. Hunched and nervous, he hurried to his basement apartment looking over his shoulder. As Chess focused on Stephen, the rest of the dreamers faded from his awareness, and the dream became just the figments of O'Hara's mind.
Now out of Faerie proper, the Bandersnatch changed form, coalescing through smoke into the much more approachable cat form that Chess preferred. He followed O’Hara down the steps to his door and mewled at him as he fumbled for his keys.
“Not now kitty,” his voice shook, and he dropped his keys. The air of the dream became heavier and O’Hara felt it, scrambling for the keys and fitting it into the lock. Chess mewled again and scratched at the door as it opened. O’Hara hesitated for a moment, perhaps feeling a sense of deja vu. He made a decision, “Fine, get in! I wouldn’t want you out here with her anyway.” And he opened the door to let them both in.
Inside was even more depressing than in the mortal realm. His apartment was a complete mess, and had many more doors than normal. The TV was on, static that occasionally cut through to scenes of happier times; a beach party for four, an attractive young man smiling as he held hands with Stephen, movies, and dinners, all flashed momentarily on the screen before cutting back to static. The air again grew heavier, and there was a slow knock at the door.
Stephen turned to look at the door, his face a mix of horror and desire. He was covered in sweat and held a shaking hand out to the door, which creaked open of its own accord. Standing silhouetted against the streetlights outside was a feminine form and it spoke to him, “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
O’Hara swallowed hard and his voice was shaky, “n...” and looked down with a defeated expression. He swallowed his initial refusal, and in a whisper said, “Yes…” The feminine form was on him in an instant, and Chess watched as Stephen’s fear became real to him and took him. The vampire pinned him to the couch, and slashed his arm, licking at the wound, but there was no surcease of his sorrow. In the dream the vampire’s attentions weren’t padded in the comfort of their narcotic saliva. The wounds felt real and horrifying. The man screamed, and Chess watched, grin never leaving his face, as he memorized the face of O’Hara’s attacker.
So this was the source of his madness towing the line between fear of what this creature could do, and the desire O’Hara felt for the narcotic. Curiouser and curiouser… We’ll see how this plays out tomorrow night as well. And Chess did nothing, watching as the creature ripped more tears into Stephen, and stayed there watching until his fear woke him, and the dream dissolved around Cheshire in Smoke.