Stolen Dreams

by Christine Amsden

I RAN OUT THE DOOR AS SOON as my father’s car left the driveway. I’m not sure how he intended to keep me prisoner for the next couple of months–and I did believe the threat–but he left before he could put any shackles in place. I didn’t question my reprieve; I only took advantage of it, driving out to Abigail’s house in hopes that I would arrive before he did.

  I didn’t pass him on the road, which made me nervous, but neither did I see his car when I pulled into her driveway. Praying that was a good sign, I dashed from my car to the front porch, all the while trying to figure out what I could say to Abigail, and how I could stop the future from playing out any of the ways she had seen it.

  In some part of my mind it occurred to me that she had probably looked at all the various outcomes and reached the only conclusion she thought she could, but it wasn’t in my nature to accept someone else’s word when it came to fate. Maybe that’s why I had never fully trusted seers, not even Abigail, though I had come to respect her.

  “Abigail!” I called as I threw open the door. I stormed inside, making no effort at silence. I wanted her to know I felt angry, and that she would have to deal with it. She owed me an explanation, if nothing else.

  “Abigail!” I rounded the corner into the living room, expecting to see her in her chair, looking out the window.

  She wasn’t there. It took me half a second to realize this, and another half a second to notice that someone else was. That half-second was all it took for Evan to have me flat on my back, pinned to the ground by some invisible force constricting my lungs.

  “What are you doing here?” He stood over me, menace written in his posture and his face. If he had softened toward me at all when last I’d seen him, he didn’t show it now.

  I tried to take in a deep breath, but failed. “Ease up.”

  It took him a few seconds to respond, but I did feel a slight lessening of the pressure on my chest. Something was very wrong with this picture. I wouldn’t go so far as to say he was hurting me, but he was edging closer to that line than I ever would have expected.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked again.

  “Looking for Abigail.” My face flushed before I added. “She sent my father a, er, wedding invitation.”

  “I got one, too.”

  “You did?” That was odd. I thought I understood why she had sent one to my father, but why would she have sent one to Evan?

  “Yes, but that doesn’t really answer my question. What are you doing here?”

  I stared at him, blankly. What could I tell him? That I was trying to stop my father from murdering his grandmother, whether by accident or design? There was no way that conversation could end well.

  “How did you even get in?” Evan asked.

  “The door was unlocked.”

  “But the threshold was warded.”

  That made sense, although she’d never mentioned it. “I’ve never had a problem getting in.”

  “How often have you been here?”

  I looked him squarely in the eyes, challenging him in the only way I could. “Nearly every day for the past two months. I’m her apprentice.”

  He sucked in a breath, and the force holding me to the ground eased away. “Why?”

  “Why did she offer or why did I accept?”

  “Both.”

  I sat up, rolling my shoulders and generally trying to work some feeling back into my muscles. “I asked her for help stopping this feud.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me?”

  It was the same thing Abigail had suggested for weeks, but just now, hearing it from him, the idea made me angry. “Go to you? Oh, that would be brilliant. You’re the one who started it all, and you’re the one who could end it.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  I held up my hands. “Stop. Just stop. You pushed me away when I needed you the most, lied by omission, left me to figure out the truth for myself, and then–when I do the right thing by keeping you out of the hands of greedy men who might have been after justice, or might have drained you dry–you decide I must still have feelings for you.”

  “I didn’t think you were reading my e-mails,” Evan said.

  “I read them. I just ignored them. And it’s a good thing too, because look what happened the first time you and I were in the same room.”

  “I apologized for the kiss.”

  I shook my head. “You don’t get it, do you? It’s not about the kiss. It’s about you thinking you can control me. You weren’t getting your way, so you kissed me.”

  “That’s not what happened.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “You’re just upset because you liked it so much.”

  “Oh! Don’t even go there.” I stood, glaring at him. “That’s what the stupid kiss does, remember?”

  “I remember a lot of things. For instance, I remember that my cousin was kidnapped the same day you returned to Eagle Rock. Coincidence?”

  “You think I had something to do with that?” I laughed; it was just too much. “There’s irony for you.”

  “Why is it ironic?”

  “It doesn’t matter. You’ve already made up your mind what happened. Never mind that it was less than a week after you blew up Robert’s car and nearly killed him and his daughter. No, the coincidence is that I had just returned to town.”

  “Why is it ironic?” Evan asked again.

  I shook my head by way of a reply.

  “Cassie, talk to me.” He closed the distance between us, putting his hands on my shoulders and shaking me slightly. “Why is it ironic?”

  “Why is it so important to you, anyway?”

  “Because I want to hear the truth. I wanted to talk to you a week ago, remember? I want to get through all the lies and find the truth, but you’re too cowardly to so much as talk to me.”

  “Now I’m a coward?” That riled me. I had been willing to talk to him up until the moment he had kissed me.

  “You’re something, and you still haven’t told me why you were shouting my grandmother’s name tonight, when I can’t find her.”

  I sobered, instantly, remembering my reason for being there. Our fighting was getting us nowhere, and it was delaying a more fruitful search. If we worked together, maybe we could find her before it was too late. I didn’t have to tell him my suspicions about my father.

  “It’s ironic because I’m the one who helped Amanda escape,” I said finally. “Slipped her a potion to restore her powers, and let her handle the rest.”

  “I knew that escape was too easy.” He released my shoulders and took a step back. “I suppose I should have known. It really wasn’t like you. Although since I had just learned about you and Alexander–”

  “There is no engagement.” I held up my hand, ringless, and without so much as an indentation where a ring had once been.

  “Madison said you were, and she was under an onus of truth.”

  “She probably told the truth as she knew it. The announcement was in the newsletter, and Alexander personally called my father to ask for my hand. I might have corrected everyone’s impressions sooner, but there was a small matter of a hostage to deal with first.”

  “Why would Alexander put an announcement in the newsletter if you hadn’t accepted him?”

  “I did accept at first. I was afraid if I refused that he wouldn’t let me leave.” I shrugged. “I lied. When I got home, I told my family I had escaped, but they didn’t believe me.”

  “I believe you.”

  Again, I shrugged.

  “You should have come to me for help.” His mask had broken slightly, and behind it I could see a familiar tenderness in his eyes that frightened me far more than his earlier menace.

  “No, Evan, I shouldn’t have.” I backed away, avoiding his gaze. “Besides, I’m free. I’m fine.”

  “It wasn’t just him, was it?” Evan asked.

  I shook my head and shrugged at the same time, a motion that made me feel a bit like a jerky marionette.

  “I�
�m sorry,” he said.

  “We don’t have time for this. We need to find Abigail.”

  “Why?” He narrowed his eyes, all tenderness gone as if he had suddenly remembered we were supposed to be enemies. “What do you know about that invitation?”

  “I–” My cell phone rang, saving me the challenge of coming up with a plausible lie. I answered without checking the caller ID. “Hello?”

  “Cassie, dear, how are you and my grandson getting along?” It was Abigail. I had the volume turned up loud enough that Evan could hear. His eyes widened, and he stepped closer. Too close, but I pretended the proximity didn’t affect me in the slightest.

  “Abigail, where are you? What are you doing?”

  “You know the answer to that question, Cassie. And as much as I’d love to give you and Evan a chance to work through more of your issues, I find I have a selfish last request.”

  My heart squeezed. “What?”

  “I don’t want to die alone.” The words were a bare whisper, but both Evan and I heard.

  “Where are you?”

  “At the overlook around back. Hurry.” The call ended.

  “What did she mean?” Evan asked. “What do you know?”

  I was already on my way out the front door, Evan right on my heels. To simplify matters, and to get to her as soon as possible, I decided to give him as much of the truth as I could. “She says someone has to die, and if it’s not her, then it’s going to be your parents.”

  “What? When did she say that?”

  “In snatches for a week, but most of it earlier tonight, right before I came over.” I was out the door now, heading around back up the paved path wide enough for Abigail’s wheelchair to navigate.

  To my immense relief, Evan didn’t question me further. He followed me for a few paces, then rushed ahead, moving too quickly for me to keep up even when I broke into a run.

  She had her chair parked at the top of the hill, overlooking the lake below and a spectacular sunset above. Either I had never seen colors so vibrant before, or I had never paid proper attention. It was as if the heavens were saying farewell.

  My father was nowhere in sight. I had half expected to see him there, and managed a sigh of relief when I didn’t. It was short lived, though.

  Evan knelt in front of his grandmother, holding her right hand in his. When I arrived, I sank to the paved earth at her other side, taking her left hand in mine. The skin was papery thin and so frail I feared it would flake away.

  “Thank you.” She didn’t look at either one of us, and her voice was whisper-thin.

  “You don’t have to die,” Evan said. “There has to be another way out. How are you going to die?”

  “I-I don’t know. I can’t see past my own death. It’s made things… difficult these past few months.”

  “Then how do you know you’re doing the right thing?” I asked. Demanded might be a better word. “How do you know your death will prevent anything?”

  “I didn’t have long to live anyway. My heart is weak, and…. I don’t want to talk about it. Please. I don’t have long. Talk to me about something nice.” There was a hitch in her voice that told me no matter how she had prepared for this moment, she wasn’t ready to die. That realization, more than anything else, brought the first tears to my eyes.

  “Don’t cry for me. I’ll be all right. My husband’s been gone these many years now, and I’ve been alone.”

  I felt Evan’s free hand take mine, and I didn’t even think about yanking it away. For once, his touch didn’t feel anything except comforting. He needed it. I needed it. And so it was.

  “Did you like my invitations?” Abigail asked.

  “Why did you send them?” Evan asked.

  “I don’t suppose you two would consider it a dying woman’s last request?” she asked.

  “Nice try,” I said.

  Evan didn’t say anything, although I became more aware of his hand holding mine.

  “Seriously,” Abigail said, “will you at least talk to one another? Really talk?”

  I closed my eyes, swallowed hard, and nodded. The request was at least as manipulative as the first because she knew I couldn’t deny this one. It was too reasonable.

  “Good.” She squeezed my hand.

  That’s when her house exploded.

  I felt it before I heard it, the tremor loud enough to make me stumble backward. I would have gone rolling down the hill if Evan hadn’t caught me in his arms, holding me firmly against his chest. By then I could feel the heat of the explosion and see debris raining down from the sky.

  “Abigail!” I tore myself away from Evan to check on his grandmother, but of course it was too late. Her eyes were wide and staring, her last expression one of shock. Since she was a seer, it might have been the first time she’d ever felt the emotion–the one time in her life she had ever not been quite sure what was going on.

  Gently, I reached forward and slid her eyelids shut.

  “Go,” Evan said from behind me. “My family will be here in about five minutes, and if you don’t go now, you won’t be going at all.” The words were a threat, and yet I knew he said them for my own good.

  “Evan, this isn’t going to end well.”

  “That’s why you need to go. Your father is going to pay for this. That doesn’t mean you have to pay too.”

  My greatest fear had come to life–not that something would happen to me, but that something would happen to my family.

  “It was an accident,” I said. “He knew she wasn’t in the house.”

  “Are you sure?” Evan asked.

  “Yes.” I had to be. The alternative was too horrifying to contemplate. “Please. It was a heart attack. You can say she was dead already. They won’t have to know. And it would save lives.”

  He shook his head, but I thought I saw a hint of regret in his eyes. “It won’t matter either way. And Cassie–I won’t let this go.”

  We faced off, his resolve against mine, his loyalty to his family against my loyalty for mine.

  “Go!”

  This time, I listened.

  8

  I TRIED TO CALL MY FATHER THAT night, but he wouldn’t talk to me. Mom answered, sounding more rattled than I’d ever heard her before, but she wouldn’t let me talk to Dad.

  “Why?” I asked her, wondering if she could help me make sense of what had happened.

  “He loves you. He did it to protect you.”

  “She’s dead, Mom.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line for a minute. “I know. The place was empty. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone, just send a message.”

  “I think they got it loud and clear.”

  “Don’t harass him about this, Cassandra. He’s already beating himself up over it.”

  “Good.”

  “Cassandra–”

  “Yeah. Okay. Bye.” I hung up and tried for some sleep, but it eluded me.

  My fury at my father had no bounds that night. I didn’t understand him. I knew he had a temper, and I knew this wasn’t the first house he’d blown up–or threatened to blow up–but I didn’t get it. Abigail hadn’t hurt him; she’d just provoked him.

  Yet she’d known the result, and so had I, partly because I believed in her visions and partly because I knew my father. Knew him, but didn’t understand him.

  It was only a piece of paper. Tasteless and cruel, perhaps, but ultimately just paper.

  When I got out of bed the next morning–I won’t say I woke up, although I might have dozed off, briefly–I still hadn’t let go of the hatred. I hated him while he died. I wasn’t there, but that’s what I was doing at the moment of his death. Hating him.

  * * *

  At about seven thirty that morning, while I was brewing my morning tea, Victor Blackwood and my father, Edward Scot, ran into one another at Kaitlin’s Diner. No one believed they met by chance, least of all Kaitlin’s mom who, for many heart-stopping moments, was sure her diner would explode. Her fears we
re well-founded, especially when Victor and my father began to argue.

  By all accounts, the diner cleared out within a few minutes. The area didn’t attract many tourists in February, and none of the locals would have wanted anything to do with the argument taking place between the men rumored to be the most powerful sorcerers in town. They weren’t, but most thought they were, including themselves.

  After about ten minutes, Mrs. Meyer got up the nerve to ask the two men to take their argument outside. They ended up taking it into the middle of Main Street, right in front of the diner, where dozens of spectators watched the show.

  Fire and wind are powerful enemies, and can wreak havoc on innocent bystanders, be they people or property. The first casualty, thanks to a burst of energy from Victor that my father dodged entirely, was a row of four cars parked alongside the street. Then one of them (no one was sure which one) took out most of the front of McClellan’s Antique Shop, dealer in black objects. That, at least, wasn’t much of a loss.

  One of my father’s counterattacks burned the heck out of three bystanders, who might have been wiser not to stay and watch the fight. They all survived, with the help of some anonymous healing from my sister, Juliana; but when they were rushed to the hospital that morning, their fates weren’t certain.

  The three burn victims had only just let out their first agonized screams of pain when Victor tried for an indirect attack. Using his impressive gift of telekinesis, which Evan inherited, he threw one of the smashed cars at my father.

  Witnesses said they were all waiting for my father to counter with some cool bit of magic. He should have put up a shield to ward off physical attacks. It was combat magic 101, and thanks to the decades-old feud, he was an expert.

  There was no shield, though. He lashed out with his pyrokinetic gift, but setting the car on fire didn’t exactly help him when two tons of superheated metal plowed into him at full force.

  He died in an instant. Some claimed that was a mercy. I wasn’t one of them.

  * * *

  Kaitlin delivered the news in person, almost half an hour later. Madison had gone to work, leaving me alone with my potions and my anger. News travels fast in a small town. So fast, Kaitlin was sure I would have heard. She had only stopped by to offer her condolences, and ask if she could do anything for me.