The cats drop us off in the golden land of Ooth-Nargai, beyond the Tanarian Hills. As they leave, I think, That was different.

Caramel stays with us as we walk under flower trees with purple bark and yellow leaves that have these little red, three-eyed singing birds. Moggy climbs one of the trees to eat one of the spiderwebs swaying from a branch. The grass under us is a bright lilac.

I keep blinking, trying to ease away the phantoms of outer space, all the stars and comets and planets. Dizzy, tired. Stepping with one foot after the other is hard.

"Wait," a soft voice says, and I look over at Moongirl, who has knelt by a mossy rock. She rips a strip off the hem of her stola, stands, and wraps it around my bleeding hand. Close to her, my visions gets less blurry. I'm more stable. Connected to the earth, if this can be called earth.

I chew on my bottom lip. Don't know what to say without making myself look stupid. "Oh, you don't need to do that." An obligation. Don't want to get so annoying that no one wants to be around me. Like some of my old foster parents.

Around her, I feel like a girl. My age. A kid. We're only kids chilling out in this scary, unpredictable world. With one of us dressing the other's wound.

Before I say more, my eyes fall on the ghoul, Mx. Wolf, in our party. Roger, the ghoul. I get a better look of their thick, brown fur. The thick, green clumps of mold along their narrow spine. They can stand on two feet, but now they're on all fours, sniffing the grass. Their tail is straight up, whatever that means.

"We're close to Celephaïs," Roger says. He makes a low growling in his throat. I focus hard. When I take a deep breath, I inhale the scent of the grass and pollen. But faintly, there's something else. Sharp. The now-familiar salt of the sea. Caramel also sniffs the air, and Moggy's face-tendrils twitch.

We find a road of cobblestones that reminds me of Ulthar. And as we go along, we find white fences with sheep. Not rabbit-sheep. Not koala-sheep. Just fluffy, ordinary sheep grazing on strange grass. The sky above us is a sherbet orange, like the ice cream in the freezer near my old elementary school lunch room exit. In the distance is the outline of a city.

Roger barrels toward it, and we pick up the pace, tripping over the stones and shouting for Roger to wait with yells and meows. A nearby sheep glowers at us.

As we come closer, they slow down.

The first words that comes to mind when I see the curves of the beautiful Celephaïs buildings is "swoopy." Bronze statues of cats, people, and things I can't recognize. Golden minarets with roses twirling around them rise around all of us as we enter the city. Ebony velvet hangs between the towers.

I gawk, and Moongirl similarly freezes and stares.

"This . . ." she starts. "This is much bigger than any village I've ever seen."

"Yeah." I swallow thickly. "We're definitely not in Ulthar or on the moon anymore."

Others roam around us, people in orange and violet, wreaths of orchids around many of their heads. Around us, the soft peals of bells linger in the air, and so does the thick smell of roses from the towers. Market stalls are all around us, and many of the shops are open in the front with no doors, only thick, patterned veils of fabric over their entrances. All the walls are made of polished marble. Stacked close together, I can't help but feel like this street is a mouth of glistening teeth.

We cross a stone bridge, and all around us are cottages with latticed windows and gardens of white flowers.

"Asphodels," Moongirl tells me. "From the Underworld." Caramel meows in agreement.

"Have you ever seen the Underworld?" I ask her.

She's quiet for some time. "No." It's hard to hear her over the easy conversations around us.

I pull out the map and look. The Underworld is marked, but since it's quite literally under the regular world, it's only a gray splotch with no details on its landmarks.

I hum. "I wish I knew someone who could guide us." I notice Roger has stopped and is sniffing the air.

"Uh. You okay?" About as eloquent as I can get in a crowded place when my werewold friend is antsy. Even with all the people around, my nervousness has nothing on my excitement.

And then he bolts to the left. My heart plummets.

"What are you doing?" Moggy asks.

"Mrah," Caramel says, weary.

"We should probably follow them," Moongirl says.

With a huff, I go first. And eventually, all the high marble and golden towers give way to the turquoise ocean. Roger hangs another left, and we find ourselves at the seaside market. Wharves, galleys painted red and gold, the smells of fish and salt and sweet incense.

Cats cover the docks, some with their eyes darting along the water. And others nap, their tails casually swinging back and forth. Shimmering blue fish jump around of the water in wide arcs and tease the cats as they evade them.

Roger heads inside one of the shops, and we run past the pink, embroidered velvet. What I first see are rectangles, a lot of them. Paintings, okay. Rows of oil paintings on the marble wall or on easels. Some foggy graveyards. Others have ghouls dancing by old docks and running, their shadows cast high by firelight.

A man gets off a stool, blinking in surprise. Young, long-faced in a tan tweed suit and a scarlet ascot, blond hair looking wind-swept. His eyes widen when they fall on Roger, and he surges forward. It's my turn to be caught off-guard when they hug. Not a bad off-guard. I can only imagine where Roger would be if Moongirl didn't know he was in one of the cells.

The man mutters with a light Boston accent, "Oh, Roger, thank goodness."

"They were in the moon prison," I tell the man.

He blinks again, seeing me for the first time. I notice the pale tufts of hair along the shell of his ear. "You saved them?"

"Yes."

"Ah, thank you. May I ask your name?"

"Eileen." I ask him, "What's yours?"

"Pickman, Richard Pickman." The name sounds vaguely familiar. Why is my brain so off and on nowadays? I think he was the leader of the ghouls in the Carter stories. I don't know what's true and what's made up. With how the Dreamlands change, I feel like even reality itself is never constant.

Whether he's a ghoul doesn't matter. What matters is getting to Kadath, and then the sunset city.

Pickman continues, "I want to thank you for saving one of our own. Is there anything you need?"

I rub the back of my neck. "I'm trying to get to the sunset city, to find a path to it in Kadath."

His voice grows nostalgic. "Ah, I remember my adventures with Carter."

Lightbulb. "Didn't you guide him in the Underworld?" Just what we need.

"Yes. The ghouls often live in the high mountains of Mount Ngranek, the extinct volcano."

"I'll take your word for it," I reply. "The snowy place, yeah?"

"Yes. But we also occupy the lower depths."

"Yeah, I think to get there, first we need to . . . I think we're supposed to go to Celephaïs."

"You're here," he says.

Yeah, duh. "Right. We need to get into the palace. To see Randolph Carter, to see if he can help us get to Kadath. You know."

"Kadath, the sunset city. He failed, but his failure was good because it meant he could come home. Why, dear, the path is very . . ."

Impatiently, I reply. "Dangerous, yeah. I know."

"Especially for someone so young. And you already look so put out."

"Getting stuck in a prison where moon-beasts want to eat you does that," I reply.

"I imagine," Pickman replies, oozing with well-meant sympathy. "Perhaps you should go home."

Don't bristle. Act normal for the werewolf, friend of another werewolf. Ghouls are more like half-werewolf, half-changeling, which is even darker. I'm pretty sure some changelings eat people. "It's dangerous for everyone. So, we need to talk to Carter. Any chances you can give us some tickets or something?" I don't even mention hoping he'll guide us through the Underworld. Dang. Maybe I need to be more wide-eyed and pouty. "Please, sir. It's very important.

He sighs, brushing his hands on Roger's furry shoulder; Roger nuzzles his fingers. "All right. I suppose it's really been far too long since I've visited my old friend. I'm closing shop for the day anyway." The pink of dusk already creeps under the curtain.

Moongirl gives a rapid clap. "Oh, thank you, sir." She makes her voice light as air. "We truly appreciate it. We're in your debt." Okay, she's good. I definitely wouldn't go that far."

Pickman ushers us out of his art shop. "Onwards to the Palace of Seventy Delights."

He leads us a few blocks away, past sea-taverns in what feels like a strange twilight slice of the world. The cats on the docks and roofs eye us curiously, eyes glowing in the swift darkness that falls with night.

When we approach the gold and marble palace, Moongirl gasps. I got to admit, it's impressive.

Incense bowls hang from the red-gold trees and curling pillars. Instead of being like most of the city, made entirely of marble, the entire place is made of rose-crystals that have round blooms that reflect all of us back to ourselves.

I catch myself in one of the glittering pink petals, and I look away as we head inside to meet the most famous dreamwalker.

***

Author's Note: Good news! The story draft has reached the 20K minimum. However, this chapter is about 14K in and close to the halfway point; the next chapter is the midpoint. The second half of Act Two and Act Three still need some development, but I'm happy with the story's progress. Thank you to everyone who's reading this odd little novella!

EDIT: Woohoo! Made it to Round Three!

***

One More Cup of Coffee by _coffeewithhoney

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Swift as a Coursing River by Birthe

A recently out divorcee must explore his identity and how to not be the straight-acting man he's been his whole life. Just when he has found his footing, a flamboyant trans man jumbles up his ideas about what it means to be gay, to be masculine, to be a man.