Lu knew it was ridiculous. She had no claim on him. They had no history, except the one she’d made up in her own mind. The knowledge didn’t make her feel any better, because in the deepest, darkest corner of her heart, she felt as if he were already hers. As if he’d always been, and always would be.
Ridiculous.
She sighed and closed her eyes, resigned to a long, sleepless night of tossing the sheets.
And then.
She was standing in an enormous field of waist-high grain, the breeze rippling waves over its golden surface. The sun shone bright overhead. A lone hawk soared high, high up in the clear cerulean sky. The scene was beautiful, peaceful, and utterly silent.
Little dragon.
Lu turned. There behind her stood a handsome young man. His long, dark hair was braided in two plaits that hung halfway down his chest, his brown eyes shone with welcome. He was tall and his bearing was proud, and she recognized him at once.
Grandfather!
Edward Fastwater, he corrected with a grin. Otherwise known as Running Bear.
But you’re so . . . young!
He laughed, without noise, his head thrown back, white teeth glinting in the sunlight. The soul doesn’t age the way the body does, little dragon.
Lu looked around, marveling at the endless, restless field of grain. Black hills jutted into the horizon. In the far distance, a lazy column of smoke twined up from the chimney of a lone house. Where are we?
He moved closer, his palms open, skimming the heads of the grain. Near where I grew up. I visit here often.
She turned her face to the sun, watching the hawk soar on an updraft of wind. It’s beautiful.
For a moment, his face darkened. His warm eyes grew serious. The world was a very beautiful place, once. It can be again, but only with great sacrifice.
Lu looked at him sharply, arrested by the word. Sacrifice?
He regarded her, still with that somberness, the wind stirring his braids around his shoulders. All of nature is checks and balances, little dragon. When the scale swings too far one way, it’s inevitable that it will turn and swing the other. For every day, there’s a night. For every winter, a spring. For every gift . . . a price.
A rush of cold wind tossed Lu’s hair into her eyes. She felt a change in the air, a sense of pressure, a gathering and a girding up, as if the sky and field and the earth itself tensed in expectation. Then in the sky above the black hills appeared two spots of brilliant, glinting white, moving fast as falling stars.
What is that?
Young Grandfather turned, scanning the horizon. His face cleared. Ah. Your sister is on a Dreamwalk, too.
I don’t understand. What’s happening? How is this possible?
Her confusion was met with a gentle smile. All you seek can be found in this way. Focus your mind. Open your spirit. And look. Remember, there’s nothing that can elude you here. You knew this as a child. You must relearn it as a grown woman.
Lu watched the spots of white grow closer, and closer still. But they weren’t spots at all; they had wings and tails and long, elegant necks . . .
They were dragons.
She recognized Honor, lithe and swift. But the dragon beside her was, if possible, even more beautiful. Large and magnificent, its wingspan was enormous, its power undeniable. They soared nearer, gloriously pearlescent in the sunlight, then passed overhead with monstrous grace, the drafts of their wing beats flattening the grain. They didn’t look down or seem to notice her, and Lu watched with an ache in her heart as they flew away, growing smaller until they disappeared altogether.
Is that . . .
Yes, answered young Grandfather. You’re touching the edges of Honor’s Dream. Tonight she visits your mother.
Why did she never visit me? All the years we were separated, I only Dreamt of . . .
Young Grandfather smiled at her again. Dreamwalkers go where their souls are called, to the places—and people—most dear to them. Your sister tried to visit you many times, but you wouldn’t allow her in.
Lu was swamped with regret. How many years she’d thrown away, hiding, when all she had to do was open herself and she would’ve found the sister she’d never known. The sister who’d tried, over and over, to come in.
I’ve wasted so much time.
Time doesn’t exist here, little dragon.
A thought made Lu frown. I never knew Magnus, before he rescued me in New Vienna. Why would I Dream of him, and not someone else? Why would I visit him, of all the people in the world?
She turned and looked at young Grandfather, so tall and straight, his smile so gentle. The soul seeks its mate. Its journey isn’t complete until it finds its missing half that will make it whole.
Soul mates? No—that’s not possible. Soul mates don’t exist.
He laughed his silent laugh again, his eyes laughing along with him. Everything with a name exists.
I don’t believe it!
Unlike Tinkerbell, true love doesn’t need you to believe in it in order to exist. His eyes twinkled mischievously. Neither do dragons.
Lu stood unmoving in the silent field of dream wheat, gazing at the dream man, feeling all her dream emotions exactly as if she were awake. Her logical mind fought his words, but they affected her, for all her effort to remain untouched. There was only one, tiny problem.
He doesn’t want me, Grandfather. We can’t be two halves of a whole if one of the halves doesn’t like the other one.
He reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. It was warm, so strangely concrete and real. Are men so different where you’re from?
Her dream blush was real, too. She looked into the distance, watching the wheat ripple and flow. I don’t have much experience in that department.
Young Grandfather patted her shoulder consolingly. A piece of advice, then: Listen to a man most carefully when he’s silent. Words can lie, but silence always speaks from the heart.
The hand on her shoulder that had felt so real suddenly lightened, its grip less firm. Lu looked over at young Grandfather, and for a moment he shimmered and went translucent, then solidified again.
It’s time for me to go, little dragon.
Go? Go where?
He looked past her, into the field, and Lu followed his gaze. There in the distance stood a woman. Dark-haired and lovely, dressed in an old-fashioned gown, she held the hand of a young child. They were smiling at him. Waiting.
When Lu turned back, he was shimmering again. This time it took longer for him to coalesce. His face, beaming, was full and clear, but his body wavered in and out of focus. The field of wheat shone and undulated behind him like an endless rolling sea.
I’ve waited as long as I could to meet you, and I’m so glad I did. Remember all I’ve told you. And remember what your father told you, as well.
Lu stood there, dumbstruck.
For one final time, young Grandfather spoke. Do the thing you’re most afraid of.
Then he was gone.
TWENTY-THREE
Lu awoke in quiet darkness, her neck damp with sweat, sheets rucked in tangled disarray around her legs. Her body ached as if she’d been running for a long time, but her mind was clear and still. She stared up at the ceiling for a moment, awed yet strangely calm. It seemed her capacity for accepting the impossible or insane had grown in accordance with all the insanities life tossed her way, and for that she was grateful.
Otherwise she’d definitely be crazy by now.
She stretched beneath the sheets, stomach growling, then scrubbed her hands over her face. Ready to face whatever new drama the day would unfold, she sat up, but froze as she realized she wasn’t in the room alone.
There on the floor beside the bed slept Magnus.
On his back, legs crossed at the ankle, hands folded at his waist, fully dressed, not even a pillow to cushion his he
ad. She examined his expression and found it, even in sleep, tense. What could make someone look so wary while sleeping? What did he dream of?
Or whom?
Lu’s breath hitched, but she pushed her jealousy ruthlessly aside. It was time for her to focus on getting into New Vienna safely, and getting her parents out of that prison. Worrying about Magnus’s possible feelings for their elegant host—older than he by a good ten, fifteen years, but who knew what his preferences were?—served only to aggravate her.
Carefully, trying to be as slow and silent as possible, Lu eased her legs over the edge of the bed, and set her feet on the floor. She stood, holding her breath, tiptoeing away—
A big hand shot out and grabbed her ankle.
Magnus jerked upright. Lu lost her balance and flopped awkwardly onto the mattress. Then they were staring at one another with identical expressions of surprise, confusion, and worry.
“What’s wrong?”
Lu gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. They really had to stop saying the exact same thing at the exact same time; it was getting weird.
She opened her eyes and tried again. “Hi. How are you?”
He stared back at her as if he wasn’t entirely convinced he was awake. His dark brows pulled together. His gaze darted around the room, scanning for danger.
“Well, hello to you, too, Lumina! I’m great, and how are you?” she said, more than a little sarcastically. Sarcasm was practically a given when you were mocking someone else’s silence while he had a kung fu death grip on your leg. Magnus’s only response was to tighten his grip on her ankle.
“So . . . has my leg offended you in some way? Or is this some kind of Ikati wake-up greeting I’m not familiar with?”
Magnus frowned at her. Then his gaze slid to her bare ankle, wrapped in his warm, rough hand, and he snatched his hand away as if her skin burned him. “Sorry. Reflex.”
Lu arched her brows. “That’s some reflex. I’d hate to see what you do when someone sneezes. Reflexively punch him in the face?”
He didn’t answer, concentrating instead on getting to his feet, turning his back, and gathering his figurative armor. She felt his withdrawal like the tide going out, a swift, inexorable retraction. Suddenly weary in spite of just awakening, she sighed. Loudly, apparently, because Magnus turned and looked at her, his dark eyes cool and guarded.
“I wonder what time it is,” she said, avoiding his eyes to look around the room. There was no clock, and it was still dark outside, so she had no idea how long she’d been asleep. Magnus, however, answered with confidence as if he’d just looked at his wristwatch. The one he wasn’t wearing.
“Just before dawn. We’ll have to wait out the day before we get on the road again . . .” His gaze dropped to her legs, and his expression transformed from cold to something else. Something that looked suspiciously like anger. He growled, “What are you wearing?”
Lu looked down at herself. Realizing the T-shirt wasn’t exactly doing a stellar job of covering her bare thighs, she tugged at the hem. Heat rose in her cheeks. “I dunno. Night stuff.”
“Night stuff,” he repeated stiffly, his eyes unblinking. He swallowed.
“You told me to pack light,” she said defensively. “I found this in one of the drawers.”
“That’s a man’s shirt.”
Lu looked down at the shirt. It was a perfectly innocuous white short-sleeved T-shirt, utterly ordinary. It probably belonged to James. “So?”
His face grew more and more ruddy, his lips thinned to a pale line. Against his tanned skin, both his scars and the thin line of his lips stood out, and Lu thought she’d never seen him look quite so on edge. “So . . . nothing. It’s just . . . short. Just . . . get dressed, all right?” He turned away again, and Lu had the startling thought that it might be in order to hide.
From her.
Because she wasn’t fully dressed.
And there was that hope again, pushing up its stupid, green, cheerful leaves in the dark soil of her heart. Aggravating! Not helpful! But what to do about it? Ignore it, that’s what, Lu told herself, determined.
Inconveniently, her determination was sidelined by two things. “Do the thing you’re most afraid of,” and “Silence always speaks from the heart.”
Crap. Fine, then. Here goes nothing.
Ignoring the fact that she probably had hideous morning breath and her hair was sticking up around her head in spiky, unattractive clumps, Lu rose slowly from the bed, and went to stand directly in front of Magnus. He looked at her, startled, eyes widening, his cool composure cracking as fast as two hands clapping. He waited, watching her watching him, vibrating tension, until finally he couldn’t stand it anymore and snapped, “What?”
Lu almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“I’d like to ask you a question.”
His nostrils flared. He nervously licked his lips. “No.”
“You don’t even know what it is yet! Just hear me out. If the answer is still no, then fine. I’ll never ask again.”
Her logic seemed to stump him, because there was no pithy comeback, no reply at all. Just that full-body tension and those dark, dark eyes, wary and undeniably heated.
“Okay, so here it is.” She tilted her head and looked up at him, watching carefully for any telling change her words might evoke. “Have I ever visited you in your dreams?”
Watching the cascade of emotion that poured over Magnus’s face while he struggled for words, Lu thought, Whoever said silence is golden was a freaking genius.
First, shock. Then a flash of something that was either embarrassment or chagrin that turned his face white, as if he’d been caught doing something bad. The color swept back in high spots over his cheekbones with the arrival of what looked like indignation. Then followed, in quick succession, longing, desire, and acute despair.
Then his face emptied, as if wiped clean by an invisible hand. He said, “What a strange question.”
Not a no, not a yes, just a simple deflection. Which didn’t matter because he’d told her everything she needed to know in his fraught silence, and everything that had happened between them in all her years of dreaming came back to her in a huge, burning rush, like a wave of lava crashing over her. Her lips parted on the only word that came to mind.
“Magnus.”
It was a whisper. It was a plea, soft and ardent, a plea for him to admit aloud what he’d just admitted in his silence. She wanted to hear him say it, to speak the words, Yes, I’ve made love to you a hundred times, yes, I loved every glorious minute of it, yes, I want to do it again right now, yes, you’re the only one and will always be, yes, yes, yes, yes, YES!
He said none of those things. He said nothing at all. Everything was there between them, bright as danger, electric and pulsing and true, but he held his tongue and Lu held hers, and they only stared into each other’s eyes, a new question burning the pit of her stomach like a swallowed sun.
What is this feeling? This violent, gut-wrenching ache?
She might’ve said it aloud, but a noise shattered their connection. It was a high, keening wail from somewhere nearby.
Magnus reacted instantly. He turned and bolted from the room, shouting over his shoulder, “Put some clothes on!”
Lu dressed faster than she’d ever dressed in her life. In mere seconds she followed in the direction he’d gone, her heart pounding, hands shaking with adrenaline. She found him standing down the hallway, outside another bedroom, its door open to reveal the scene inside.
Nola was kneeling on the floor beside the bed, crying and holding the hand of Grandfather, who lay peacefully in spite of all the noise she was making. James stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder, watching Grandfather with a look of grim resignation.
Magnus murmured, “He’s gone?”
James glanced at them and nodded.
It�
�s time for me to go, little dragon.
All the tiny hairs on Lu’s body stood on end. She raised a shaking hand to her mouth, stepping back with a cry.
Nola lifted her head and looked right at Lu. Her face was streaked with tears. She said, “I had this awful dream where he came to tell me good-bye, and I woke up so scared I had to come check on him. And when I did, he . . . he just wouldn’t wake up. He was lying here, like he is now, his hands folded over his chest, holding this.”
She held up a trembling fistful of wheat. “Where would he have gotten this?”
Everyone looked at Lu, as if they knew she already knew the answer. Which she did.
Lu lowered her hand from her mouth, took a deep breath, and whispered, “In the field near where he grew up. I was there with him, last night.”
All the air went out of the room. No one moved. No one spoke. Only Grandfather looked peaceful, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.
“He . . . he asked me to find him, to Dreamwalk with him, and I did. My sister and mother were there, and we talked, and then there was another woman . . . she was waiting for him . . . and he said he had to go . . .”
She stopped speaking because she realized she was babbling, and also because Nola’s face had bleached to the color of bone. She released Grandfather’s hand and slowly stood, her eyes as wide open as they would go.
“What woman?” she whispered.
“I-I don’t know. She had dark hair. She was young, pretty, wearing a long flowered dress and a lot of silver bangles on one wrist. And she had a child with her . . .”
From Nola’s throat came a strangled sound. Her expression was tortured. “A child?”
Lu whispered, “A boy. About seven, eight years old.”
Nola’s throat worked, but no sound came out, and Lu felt the compulsion to keep speaking, to try and explain the unexplainable. To do something to ease that terrible look on Nola’s face.
“They were waiting for him. They were happy, smiling. And he was happy to go . . . to go be with them . . . he’d only been waiting for me, and now that we’d met he could . . . he could . . .”
Into Darkness (A Night Prowler Novel) Page 22