by P. S. Newman
"How could you possibly know that?" Cecelia said.
"I knew because in my dream the bear was only supposed to scare him, not kill him."
"What do you mean 'supposed to'?"
Bella paled. "I mean that was its purpose. In the dream. The bear... it... it promised to scare Louis for me a little. Nothing else, I swear." Tears began to leak down her cheeks.
“I guess that explains this.” Cecelia held out the red strip of leather. It had a buckle at one end and holes punched into the other. A belt. Or rather, a collar. If that had fit around the bear’s neck, it had to have been huge.
Bella took the collar and unraveled it slowly, reading the black words singed into the red leather. Scare him ‘til he screams, but don’t lay a paw on him. Make him understand.
“I don’t remember this,” Bella whispered, running a hand over the words. “I don’t remember dreaming this. But if I thought it would hurt him, I would have told you. It promised me it wouldn’t.”
"You know that doesn't mean it won't," Cecelia said. "You know how volatile and dangerous shades can be. You, of all people, know what it's like to wake up with a monster standing over your bed. But I'm guessing that's exactly what you wanted him to feel. You wanted revenge and you were willing to risk his life for it. He could have been killed, Bella. Do you understand that?"
When Bella didn't reply, Cecelia pressed her fingertips to her forehead and took a deep breath. "Here's what's going to happen. You’re going to apologize to Louis in the presence of his parents."
Bella nodded. "Okay."
"And you will start sleep therapy with a dream keeper again."
That brought Bella's head up. "No! I'm not doing that anymore. I hate being monitored like that! We agreed I didn't have to do that with Eden around."
Her vehemence took Cecelia back for a moment but in the end only steeled her resolve. "Obviously that isn't working as well as we hoped. You're getting a new dream keeper. End of story."
"No!" Bella yelled. "You can't make me. I'm seventeen!"
"I'm your legal guardian until you're twenty-one. Unless you want to go to court for legal autonomy, you're getting a new dream keeper."
"I'll make Eden--"
"Don't finish that sentence," Cecelia cut her off. "Not even in your head. This was not the deal when we agreed that Eden would stay. She's your protector, not your weapon."
I finally joined the conversation. I had to, for my sake as well as for theirs. "I won't let you make me into one, Bella. I'll leave if I have to."
The shock and betrayal on Bella's face was absolute. And short-lived. A blank expression, like a younger version of Cecelia's cop face, smoothed out her features.
"I hate you," she said, eerily calm. "I hate you both." She turned and left the bathroom with barely a limp.
"So long as you put on your dress," Cecelia called after her. "We're leaving for the gala in fifteen minutes."
Bella's bedroom door slammed shut in answer.
Cecelia and I looked at each other. Cecelia crumbled into the chair and put her face in her hands.
"Fuck," she said.
My Dream-Study Journal
Case Report # 13 - Addendum
Fudg Fuck!
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The SHAID fundraiser gala was being held at the Getty Villa, a museum for ancient Greek, Roman and Etrurian art. The building sat on a bluff in Pacific Palisades, an upper-class residential area between Santa Monica and Malibu. It was a beautiful venue and one of the few famous sites in the greater Los Angeles area that to this day hadn't been damaged by a shade. SHAID had rented the entire complex for the evening, including the large rectangular courtyard at the back of the building. The guests drove up and got out of their vehicles here, handing them over to the valets.
Entry was allowed by invite-only, but as the Baptiste brothers' entourage, Cecelia, Bella and I didn't have to show our invitations. Not that we would have gotten the chance. A gaggle of reporters stood at the entrance to the courtyard, held off by a security team. Camera lights flashed as we climbed out of the limo. For once, none of the reporters asked questions about us three women accompanying David and Sean. We'd been seen in public with the brothers often enough that the paparazzi knew our status as 'good friends of the family'. Thankfully, the Baptistes weren't movie stars, which would have made the three of us eligible for a thorough stalking and background check. As it was, people knew our names and what we did for a living, but that was where the interest stopped. The attention would resurge as soon as Cecelia appeared with a big fat diamond ring on her finger. But not tonight. Tonight they were focused on Sean’s doppelgänger and the fact that I was heavily armed. I should have commissioned someone to stash my weapons inside before the event.
"We have an Order security detail here tonight," David explained to the clamoring masses as we made our smiling way over the red carpet. "Just in case Sean's doppelgänger makes an appearance."
As if on cue, Vaughn Taylor detached himself from one of the pillars forming the entrance to the courtyard. My brain did a double-take at the sight of him. For once, he wasn't wearing full-body dura-tex armor but a dark gray suit over a black dress shirt. The battle-ax and shotgun crossing his back as well as the grenades on his hips ruined the sleek 007-appearance, but they sure fit the scowl on his face. It also made me feel less self-conscious about being similarly decked out.
David greeted Taylor with a handshake. "Thank you for joining us, Sergeant Taylor. I know it's not easy for you to be here."
Taylor nodded, looking surprised at David's words or maybe his formality. The scowl slipped, just a little. "Just here to do my duty, Sir," he answered, equally formal.
He sidled up next to me as we entered the courtyard. "We should have added more guards to the roofs. This place is a bodyguard's worst nightmare with all the pillars and statues and shadowy nooks."
"Relax," I said. "Johnson's team can cover the entire area." Two days ago, Taylor and I had met with the Baptiste brothers’ head of security, whose company had also been hired to protect the gala. We'd gone over the setup, making sure both Taylor and I knew where each guard would be stationed. Johnson had added a few men here and there at our suggestions. Taylor was just being paranoid. "A sniper will have a hard time hiding away to take a shot at David," I added.
"I'm not worried about a sniper," Taylor said. "I'm worried about something big and fiery crashing the party. Three guns on the roof won't even slow down another mutated hound-shade." To my surprise, there wasn't a hint of accusation in his voice.
"That'll be our job.” I followed his lead in not mentioning that the hellhounds were mine. I pointed at the courtyard in front of us. "If one shows up, we can dunk it in there.” A long, shallow fountain sprawled across the courtyard, lit up by lights and decorated with flowers around the edges. A large statue of a naked Greek god reclined on a white marble pedestal in the middle of the fountain.
"And have our pal Dionysus offer it poisoned wine," Taylor said, pointing at the statue.
"You know your Greek pantheon," I said, surprised. I hadn't thought him capable of retaining anything but hate, hate, hate for shades.
"I used to come here a lot," he murmured, so low I almost didn't understand him. He moved on before I could come up with a response. Not that I would’ve had one. I could only assume he used to come here with his family and there was nothing I could offer that would lighten the pain of their tragic passing.
People milled about the courtyard and the surrounding loggias, as the museum called them. They reminded me of a church cloister; marble hallways with pillars facing the gardens and fountain. Caterers wove in and out of these loggias and the courtyard with their trays of finger food and champagne. The guests snacked, drank, and conversed. David, Sean, and Cecelia mingled like the pros they were, wandering from group to group, talking, complimenting, laughing.
Bella disappeared inside the museum when she thought nobody was watching, her limp very pronounced. She usuall
y tried to hide it among company. Maybe she was just so mad that she forgot all about it. I asked Cecelia with a raised brow if I should go after her little sister. Cecelia’s forehead creased in worry, but she shook her head. Bella needed to cool off. She hadn't spoken a single word to any of us on the ride over, despite having looked forward to this gala for months. Hopefully, she'd find something or someone inside to take her mind off her anger.
Taylor and I kept to the outskirts of the gatherings, one on each side of the courtyard. It was easier to keep an eye on things from outside rather than from within the fray. Johnson's men did a great job of hiding in plain sight - far better than both Taylor and I. The guards who stood at the edge of the crowd carried no visible weapons and the ones on the roof kept theirs out of immediate sight. The guard stationed on the balcony overlooking the courtyard could have pulled the barrel of his rifle back between the white stone railing just a little, but, other than that, the only weapons on display were Taylor's and mine. We were getting a lot of strange looks. Members who knew me came to talk to me, but others, especially the potential members, gave me a wide berth. Nobody even dared approach Ice Face.
When the last of the guests had arrived, everybody was asked to come inside; dinner was about to be served. We headed into a large hall with a marble floor, Roman statues, busts on pedestals, and a large skylight in the roof, through which one could see a couple of stars - a rarity in the light-infested city. Tables had been set up and decorated like works of art. A band played classical music at one end of the hall. The dance floor in front of them was empty. I suspected it would stay that way; nobody danced to Beethoven, not even when it was played with an electric guitar.
Mr. Kellerman opened the evening with a speech in honor of SHAID, thanking and crediting the members for the organization’s continued success, and welcoming the potential members interested in joining. Then a new member, a young woman with a prosthetic arm, stepped onto the podium and recounted with a shaking voice how a shade had saved her life five months ago. It was a tragic, moving story, and I kept glancing at Taylor for his reaction. He took it as expected, with arms crossed in front of his chest and a scowl on his face that slowly turned to disgust. I couldn't tell if it was because he didn't believe her story or because he thought she was putting on a show. She had moved half her listeners to tears by the end of her story, at which point Kellerman opened the buffet.
Sean noticed Bella's mood over salad. "Is she alright?" he whispered to me with a nod in her direction. He was the only one who noticed that Bella was picking at her salad with as much appetite as if it were a plate of dung. She sat on the opposite side of the round table, between Cecelia and the Kellermans’ eldest daughter. The girl had tried to engage Bella in conversation but gave up with a shrug after the fifth one-syllabic answer and turned to her sister beside her. Both of them threw frequent, awed glances across the table, where David was telling jokes to the Kellermans. Taylor, seated between Cecelia and Mr. Kellerman, somehow managed to keep the scowl on his face through it all. I had ended up between Mrs. Kellerman, who also had eyes only for David, and Sean.
"She's mad at Cecelia and me," I told him.
"Mad at you? That's got to be a first."
I shook my head. "It's happened before, believe it or not. Whenever I take Cecelia's side in an argument."
"Which you did?"
"I kind of had to."
"Really?" The sharp tone in his voice surprised me, almost as much as the angry frown bunching his brows. "You had to?"
What just happened?
He must have seen my confusion. "Sorry.” He rubbed his palms across his brows as if to smooth them down. "I just used to hate it when David and my dad ganged up on me. I know how she feels."
“David ganged up on you?” I couldn’t imagine it.
Sean shook his head, waved it off. “Never mind. I just know how Bella feels. I can keep her company tonight," he said, surprising me for the second time that night. "I prefer talking to her over all the reporters, anyway." He winked as if to lighten some of the weight in those words, but I could see he meant it. Sean had never been a socialite at heart. That was all David.
"Thanks," I bumped him with my shoulder. "I appreciate that."
He shoulder-bumped me back with a smile. "No problem."
He lured Bella away before dessert, with a promise of knowing a way into all the cool exhibits the museum had closed off from the gathering. The fact that she would rather miss dessert than sit at the same table as Cecelia and I was an indicator of how angry she was.
After dinner, the band picked up, both in volume and danceable numbers. It wasn't long before the dinner tables broke up and the first couples twirled over the dance floor. David asked Cecelia to dance as soon as the beats announced a cha-cha.
"Okay, but hands off or everyone will know," she said.
He grinned, taking her hand. "Same to you."
Taylor and I followed them to the edge of the dance floor. I watched them twirl about between the other couples and was suddenly overcome with a sense of loss and longing. If Greyson were here, maybe we could be sharing close space like that.
I'd managed to keep my mind off Greyson all night, but that single thought started my stomach churning with nerves. Not long now. The strategy was to let everybody become sufficiently merry with good food and better drinks before showing the video that was sure to kill the mood. Everybody else in the know was doing a great job of enjoying the party, while I suddenly had trouble breathing. Whatever happened here tonight could be the key to my future with Greyson.
"Did you see something?" Taylor asked from beside me, startling me out of my thoughts. "You look worried."
I shook my head. Get a grip, Eden.
"I didn't see anything.” But he kept giving me a quizzical look, not satisfied with that answer. So I gave him one he might understand. "I guess I’m worried. The doppelgänger somehow turned those hellhounds, my shades, into his minions. And not the cute, yellow kind. I feel responsible for... weaponizing him."
Taylor nodded, eyes on the throng. “It’s not your fault.”
I stared at him in mute surprise. His gaze continued to roam the hall, taking care never to lock with mine as if he were embarrassed about his lenient sentiment towards me, the Manifester of Hellhounds and Warrior Shades. His eyes did narrow every time they met with the SHAID logo hanging on banners along the walls, though, as if it physically hurt him to look at them. I wanted to reciprocate his kindness, to let him know I understood how much it was costing him to be here, but I couldn't find the right words. We weren't friends. It would have felt like an imposition. Or maybe there simply weren't any right words.
I decided to do something else. "Care to dance?"
He blinked at me as if I'd grown a second head.
"Don't look at me like that. It's only a suggestion. Might get both our minds off... things. And we can still keep an eye on everyone from the dance floor. Give us a central vantage point."
He was still looking at me like I’d gone insane. Time for the big guns. "I take it you either can't dance or are too chicken."
"Can you dance?" he shot back.
"I know the basic steps to the standard ballroom dances." Most of them, anyway. "A good partner might be able to tickle more out of me." There, gauntlet thrown.
A tiny smile pulled at his lips, chasing the scowl from his face and allowing me a glimpse of the man he’d once been. He held out his hand. "Shall we?"
I laid my right in his hand. It was warm and dry. Strong. Mine disappeared inside it. He guided me onto the floor, into the middle of the other dancers. We stopped, facing each other, a foot apart. Too far apart for dancing but closer than we'd ever stood facing each other before, except when he’d almost flattened me with the door at our very first meeting. I was suddenly nervous for other reasons. This might not have been such a good idea.
"This could prove to be a little tricky in the spins," he said with a glance at the hilt of my sword sticking o
ut over my right shoulder. "We'll have to improvise." He gave my hand a little tug, pulling me closer. His right hand came to rest on my hip, his left held out at his side. Beckoning for me to lay my right into it. I hesitated. The shade dancing with the shade hunter. Oh yeah, best idea I'd ever had.
"Who's chicken now?" he asked.
He won't figure it out just because of one dance. It'll only look more suspicious if you back out now. I grabbed his outstretched hand and laid the other on his hip - or tried to. Instead of soft fabric, my fingers met the cold metal of grenades. "Tricky, huh?" I adjusted my hold to his waist. When I looked up into his face, I caught him grinning.
"Guess we'll have to stick to the basic steps," he said. "No fancy lifts and turns today."
"Aww shucks, the parts I was most looking forward to.”
He smiled and began to move his feet to the rhythm of the rumba the band was playing. I let him guide me, my feet following my balance point wherever he led. He controlled our moves by inertia and soft pressure on my hip or hand. He didn't push or pull. He didn't step on my feet. This wasn't a beginner’s clumsy attempt at leading.
"You really can dance.”
He only smiled and moved us along, guiding me through the crowd without ever bumping into another couple. I felt myself relaxing into his hold. I was enjoying myself, dancing with Mr. Mad. Who'd have thought?
I would have to do this with Greyson one of these days.
The thought of him brought back the nerves in a rush. Soon. Very soon, his fate - and in extension mine - would be decided.
“What did you see?” Taylor asked, his hand tightening on my hip as he spun me around to face where I'd just been looking. He must have felt me tense up.
"Nothing," I told him quickly. "No threat, relax."
He looked at me, started us moving again. "We'll find them," he said. "We eliminated one, so we can take out the rest." He assumed I'd been thinking of the hellhounds.