Dreamthief

by Tamara Grantham

Twenty-seven

  I made two more phone calls after I dialed Brent—one to Dr. Hill, and another to the foster home. Neither one answered. Strange, especially for Dr. Hill. Unless he was deathly ill or abducted by aliens, I couldn’t imagine any reason he wouldn’t pick up. He was like a machine. The guy never slept. Then again, maybe he was with a patient. Albert Einstein reminded me to always think of the simplest solutions first.

  Still, I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t called me about Jeremiah. After this Sissy drama was over, assuming Kull could find her, I knew where to go next.

  I made my way to the main lobby on the first floor. Afternoon sunlight spilled through the giant glass walls, painting shades of amber across the granite tiles. People came and went, their footsteps echoing through the domed room.

  I closed my eyes. Sunlight warmed my face. Weary and bone tired, I tried to pull it together. So much needed to be done. So much still didn’t make sense. I wished the universe would drop a giant compass in my lap that pointed to Find Jeremiah’s Dreamsoul Here. Or perhaps a yellow-brick road would appear. At this point, I’d take any clue I could get.

  Yells broke up my thoughts as several security guards rushed through the lobby. Behind the large marble pillars, there was a commotion. I had trouble seeing it, but from the high-pitched screeches, I had a pretty good idea what was happening.

  I made my way around the pillars to find Sissy held in a bear hug by an unusually calm-looking Wult warrior. She thrashed her head back and knocked him square in the chest. Kull didn’t flinch. Sissy, however, let out a scream loud enough to rattle glass.

  “Let her go!” one of the security guards yelled. He pulled out a baton.

  Kull raised an eyebrow at the weapon. “I believe you are looking for her,” Kull answered. He lifted her head so they could see her face.

  The guards stopped. Sissy’s yells turned to curses as one of the guards pulled out a walkie-talkie and spoke quietly into it. I couldn’t hear the conversation, but after a moment, he clicked it back into his belt and walked to Kull.

  “Sorry about the mix-up. We’ll take her,” the guard said.

  “You will not!” Sissy dug her heel into Kull’s foot. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “It looks as if an AMBER Alert has been issued for someone with your description,” the guard said. “You don’t mind if we ask you a few questions, do you?”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Sissy ground out.

  The guard motioned to the other officers. They fanned out, slowly surrounding her. “Sissy Benson, right?” the guard asked. “This will be easier if you don’t fight us.”

  She spouted indecencies that no fourteen-year-old should have used or known. I had trouble picturing all the anatomical impossibilities she shouted. A few more steps, and the guards closed in.

  “Sir, you can let her go,” the officer said to Kull.

  “Are you certain about that?” he asked as Sissy flailed.

  “Of course.”

  Kull shrugged, then handed her over. Sissy sank her teeth into the guard’s hand. He squealed, and then the gaggle of officers surrounded her. Sissy fought like a cornered feral cat. In the commotion, I heard a loud pop, a scream, and then Sissy hit the floor.

  One of the officers stood over her with a Taser gun.

  Tears leaked onto Sissy’s cheeks as her gaze met mine. She shot me a look of pure malice. All that work in earning her trust was lost.

  Oh, Sissy. Why can’t you ever do it the easy way?

  She let out a scream so gut wrenching, so hate filled, I had to look away. I’d lost my chance with her. Anything else she knew, she’d never tell me.

  The guards hauled her to her feet and half-dragged, half-carried her out of the building. My hands shook as I watched her leave. My heart pounded. The same feeling, I supposed, a parent would have at seeing their own child being hauled away. A tight knot formed in my stomach. It shouldn’t have ended like this.

  Kull made his way toward me. “A Wult child would have been locked in the dungeons for two weeks for acting as she has.”

  “She’ll go to juvie for a while. I’m not sure the dungeons are much different.”

  “She deserves what she gets.”

  “I guess so.”

  Since when had I become so softhearted? I thought of Jeremiah, alone in that hospital room, and realized Sissy may be the only person besides me who really cared about him. Mrs. Dickinson was MIA. I knew she cared for him, but where was she? Shouldn’t she be with him? Maybe Jeremiah had gotten lost in the cracks. Maybe Sissy had, too.

  I pulled out my phone and looked up the directions for the foster home. The office was in one of those huge cathedrals downtown. I headed for the door, and Kull followed. I knew I should have thanked him for finding Sissy, but in reality, it bothered me that she’d been hauled off.

  “You’re quiet,” Kull said as we crossed the parking lot.

  “Yeah, there’s not much to talk about.”

  “You lost your client’s foster child, and there’s nothing to talk about?”

  I exhaled a frustrated sigh. “I know you’re trying to help, but I’d like to sort this out by myself for awhile.”

  “Fair enough.”

  The car ride was silent, uncomfortably so. I turned on the radio just for noise. I didn’t suppose a Wult warrior would understand why he’d upset me. Turmoil racked my brain. If I didn’t find another clue to Jeremiah’s location soon, I felt like I’d start screaming.

  I had to find Mrs. Dickinson. She may not know much, but she had been the closest person to Jeremiah when he’d gone into the coma. Plus, Sissy hated her. I wanted to know why.

  Dusk approached as I parked in front of the cathedral, the kind that looked more at home on the road to Canterbury than in the midst of the sprawling Houston metropolis. The sun sank behind the tall spires, casting chilly, dark shadows across the street. I glanced at the clock on the console. 6:08. Would anyone be around to answer my questions? Was Mrs. Dickinson still here?

  We exited the car. Kull stared at the towering cathedral. A haunted look crossed his face, and he didn’t move as I walked up the narrow cobbled path.

  “Are you coming?” I asked.

  A flock of pigeons flew from the towers, their beating wings reminding me of the sound of bats. I’d never been inside the place, just gawked at it from the highway. I wasn’t sure when the cathedral had been built, but it looked like a construction from the early 1900’s. Houston was an oil town back then—a rough place to live, with segregation in high swing. I’m sure this church had seen its fair share of scandals.

  I wish I’d known more about the foster home, but as I entered through the carved wooden doors, I realized I wasn’t I even sure who to ask for.

  The smell of old wood and floor polish greeted us as we crossed through the foyer and into the main chapel. A wrought-iron staircase wound to a balcony overlooking the first floor with rows of doors lining the back wall. This place looked even bigger on the inside. I wondered how I would find the foster home office. Floorboards creaked underfoot until we made it to the altar at the front. A sister entered through a door on the left and greeted us with a warm smile.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m looking for the foster home director. Is he here?”

  She pointed to a door on the balcony. “The director isn’t usually here this late, but you’re welcome to check.”

  “Thank you,” I said and headed for the staircase. Kull stalked behind me, his footsteps echoing through the chamber.

  Evening light spilled through the stained-glass windows, painting rainbow shades across the oaken pews and red-carpeted floor. I had always felt at peace inside churches, though I’d never attended a service. My mom had never gone. We usually went to the mall on Sundays, spending hours in one of those overpriced boutiques.

  We found the stairs and climbed to the top, our footsteps loud in the silent chapel. Doors lined the hallway to our left, and I found t
he one marked St. John’s Children’s Rescue. I knocked lightly on the door and waited.

  Kull shifted behind me, and I noticed the way he stared around the place, his eyes wide and intense with wonder, like a child’s. The myriad evening light did interesting things to his golden hair and strong jaw line, almost as if I stared at someone more than human. I could easily picture him with a crown and sword. Seeing him like that made me remember who he was, but more importantly, who I was.

  He was a crowned prince, the future leader of two nations. I was no one, a simple spellcaster who had been rejected by my own parents.

  The door opened, and I pushed my pity party aside. A young redheaded woman greeted us with a smile and ushered us inside the office. The room was small, decorated with a few framed diplomas. The walls were white, the floor gray, creating a sterile, lifeless feeling. A desk occupied the center of the space.

  “I’m Melanie,” said the girl as she took a seat behind the desk. She wore a scarlet sweater and plaid skirt. With her hair done up on her head and her black-frame glasses accentuating her high cheekbones, she reminded me of a nerdy, semi-attractive librarian. She motioned to two chairs opposite the desk.

  “Are you interested in becoming foster parents?” she asked us. She passed a business card across the table. “We have excellent resources for parents. Our foster children come from all walks of life. The option to adopt is always a possibility for those who qualify. Our agency doesn’t discriminate on basis of race, religion, or national creed.” She lifted an eyebrow at Kull. “The application process is simple if you’re interested.”

  “Thank you,” I told her and took the card. What the heck, maybe I’d be lonely enough one of these days and adopt someone to share in my misery. “But we’re looking for one of your foster parents—Mrs. Dickinson. We were told she would be here.”

  “Oh.” Melanie’s face fell. I realized they probably didn’t get a lot of applicants. “She left some while ago. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. Do you know where she went?”

  “No, sorry.”

  Stuck again. Tracking this lady down was harder than I’d realized. I stuffed the card in my pocket and stepped toward the door.

  “Give Mrs. Dickinson my regards when you see her,” Melanie called after us.

  I turned. “Regards for her foster son?” I clarified.

  “Yes. It’s such a shame what’s happening to everyone.”

  “To everyone?” Kull asked before I could.

  The foster children,” Melanie explained.

  “Is something wrong with them?”

  “You haven’t heard? It’s been all over the news.”

  “I’ve been out of the country.”

  “The children are falling into comas. No one knows why, not even the doctors. It’s a real shame.”

  “And all of them have the same symptoms?”

  She nodded. An image popped into my head of all those children huddled on that lifeless plain where Jeremiah had been, haunted by the Dreamthief. The office seemed to spin around me as the truth sank in. It wasn’t just Jeremiah anymore. It wasn’t just the children from Geth’s camp. If I didn’t stop the Dreamthief, he would take more and more children. How many? I didn’t want to know the answer.

  Children. How could someone become so depraved as to hurt children? Whoever I was dealing with didn’t have a soul.

  I felt a steady hand on my shoulder. The spinning room slowed a little.

  “Can you tell us any more about the children?” Kull asked. “Where they come from? What they have in common?”

  She shook her head. “There doesn’t seem to be any connection.”

  “Except that they’re all children from this foster home.” His voice had that warrior tone. Melanie shrank behind the desk.

  “Yes, there is that.”

  “Do you know of anyone here who would want to harm children?” he asked.

  “No,” she said curtly.

  “No one? Don’t you think it’s strange that all the children have this foster home in common?” I asked.

  “We’re a reputable home. We screen all our families thoroughly.”

  “And what about the employees?” Kull asked.

  Her cheeks reddened. “Are you implying something?”

  Was he? He was being overly bold, in my opinion. And rude. What was he getting at? Melanie didn’t deserve his Skullsplitter demeanor.

  She rose and gave him a hard stare. “As I said earlier, we’re a reputable home. People from all over the world—”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re lying. The documents on the walls are false, and your left eye twitches when you lie. So tell me, Melanie.” He leaned forward. “Who are you really?”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “This is harassment.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She turned to me. “I’m sorry, but you should leave.”

  I looked from Kull to Melanie, fairly certain that my Wult sidekick had lost it. How on earth could he know the diplomas were fake? Had he even heard of a diploma? And if Melanie’s left eye twitched, I had no idea. I couldn’t see her eyes that well from this distance. How could he? He must be bluffing, trying to get her to admit to something. If so, I’d play along.

  “He’s right,” I told Melanie. “The only connection between those kids is this foster home. So what’s really going on?”

  She flexed her jaw. On such a sweet face, the movement looked almost animalistic.

  “I’ll ask you one more time to get out,” she said with forced calmness.

  “And if we don’t?” I asked.

  “Then I call the cops.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Kull answered. “The authorities are the last people you want snooping around.” He placed his hands on the desk and leaned close enough to whisper. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

  Her face paled. She swallowed as she stared at the warrior. And then, something happened that I didn’t expect. Her peaches-and-cream voice turned to a hiss. “Wult scum.”

  She lunged so fast I only saw a blur. Talons wrapped around Kull’s throat as Melanie transformed. Her skin grayed, morphed from plump, human flesh to the sinewy, leather hide of a goblin. The creature still wore Melanie’s red sweater and plaid skirt, which I found disturbing on the goblin’s body.

  Kull batted her away as if she were a gnat, then stood over her. Welts rose from a gash in his neck, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Who are you?” he demanded.

  “I’ll never tell you.” She lunged at him, her talons aimed for his face. I heard a ripping sound as the creature gouged his neck again. He knocked her backward, but she didn’t seem to notice as she hurled herself at him for another attack.

  He darted to the side, but the goblin followed. She leapt so fast I barely followed the movement. Kull knocked her backward again, but not before she lashed another mark across his cheek. The goblin regained its footing, pounced, and knotted her grimy fingers around Kull’s throat.

  As if by instinct, magic swelled inside me. I needed to concentrate my attack so I wouldn’t harm Kull. I racked my brain, searching for a word that would accomplish what I needed.

  Flame.

  A thin line of blue fire erupted from my fingertips and hit the goblin. The creature fell back with a howl of pain.

  Kull’s face looked absolutely primal, more beast than human, as he crushed his heel into the goblin’s leg. I heard a pop—not a loud sound, but the definite sound of bones breaking—and wondered how goblins handled broken bones.

  She squealed with pain and grabbed her leg.

  “Why are you in Earth Kingdom? Who are you?” he yelled.

  The howling continued. She writhed on the floor until her screams turned to moans.

  Finally, the creature looked up and locked its black, orb-like eyes on the warrior. “Theht will return. You shall die. You all shall die.” Its gaze loc
ked on me.

  Kull knelt and grabbed her neck in a chokehold. He used her turtleneck sweater to guard his hands. “How did you get here?”

  The goblin writhed but didn’t answer.

  “Who sent you here?”

  “You shall… die.”

  His knuckles turned white as his grip tightened.

  “You… think you know… everything. You’re wrong!”

  “Where are those children? What are you doing with them?”

  “I’ll die… first,” the creature gagged.

  “No. But you will wish you were dead.”

  “No.” The goblin’s writhing turned frantic as it clawed at Kull’s wrists. Goblin-Melanie flicked its snakelike tongue and lashed at Kull’s hands. He jabbed his knee into her sternum. She writhed beneath him.

  “How did you get here?” he demanded. “Who sent you?”

  The creature gagged. A deep gurgling rose from the back of its throat as it gasped for air. Its eyes bulged. Its writhing lasted only a few seconds, though to me it felt like hours.

  “Stop,” it whispered. “Stop… please!”

  “Tell me what I want to know.”

  “I… won’t.”

  “Tell me.”

  I shuddered at the sound of his voice. It wasn’t the sound of violence or anger, but the calm voice of authority, of the surety that he meant what he said. “Who sent you here?” he repeated.

  The creature spasmed, its entire body racked from the violent motion. Its eyes turned glassy, transforming from black to silvery-gray. “Dream…” it whispered.

  I knelt beside Kull. I couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this. This goblin had crossed from its own realm into Earth, posed as a human, and helped take part in the abduction of little children, all for purposes of bringing an evil being back to our planet. Goblins are shy and reclusive. To be this bold, it must’ve had a good reason.

  “Did the Dreamthief send you here?”

  It looked at me, its eyes glazed, and nodded.

  “Is the Dreamthief a mortal person in disguise?”

  Another nod.

  “What is her true identity?”

  It shook its head.

  “Who?” Kull asked.

  It squirmed but didn’t attempt to break free. “Deathbringer. You will fail. Your world… will crumble. Ruin to you… to your children.”

  I ignored its threats. “Do you know where Mog’s Keep is?”

  Her eyes bugged out. Her mouth parted, but no words came. Kull relaxed his grip.

  “Speak, goblin,” Kull said.

  It gasped, choking on yellow goop that clung to its cracked lips. I wrinkled my nose as the smell of bile filled the room.

  “Mog’s Keep,” it whispered in a hoarse, raspy voice. “I know where it is.”

  Maybe the creature had finally come to its senses, realizing that the Wult would kill it soon; perhaps it had decided to save its own life by answering our questions. I couldn’t blame the creature. Kull could be a persuasive motivator.

  “In the goblin lands?” I asked.

  It nodded. “The northern peninsula. None go there. It is protected. You will never enter.”

  The northern peninsula—that was more info than I’d gotten so far. Time to keep pushing. “Is my godson there?”

  It nodded.

  “Is he alive?”

  Another nod.

  “Where are the other children?”

  “With him. Stolen… by the Regaymor. They will die soon.”

  My stomach churned. After everything I’d been through, I didn’t need to hear that. “When?”

  “Soon,” it answered.

  I wanted to kill the creature. I wanted to tear it to pieces, to make it suffer. But that would accomplish nothing.

  “How do I get to him?”

  “None go there. You will never find him.” The goblin’s shoulders slouched. The muscles in her face relaxed. It was such a hideous creature, as if it had evolved for the specific purpose of being abhorrent to humans. Everything that made a person who they were, it lacked—the face of a snake, the skin of a corpse—I had trouble looking at it without feeling the urge to flee.

  “Find… the magic.”

  “What magic?” I asked.

  The goblin made a sound. At first I thought the thing was crying, but then I realized it was a laugh, a horrible, pain-inducing sound that made my skin crawl. The creature died making that sound. When the light finally burned out of its eyes, its face stayed frozen in a mocking expression.