Stolen Dreams

by Christine Amsden

  Understanding dawned. Not empathy, but understanding. Uncle John could go to the devil for all I cared.

  “Dad and Victor used to be friends.” I had worked that much out, but had always wanted more. My parents had never said much about Victor or the source of the feud, but I had gleaned a few details. Maybe now I would hear more.

  “Best friends,” Uncle John agreed. “They studied under Henry Wolf together. Afterward, they went off and toured Europe together. They came back with the secrets of the universe in hand.”

  I wouldn’t have put it like that. The most coveted secrets of the universe perhaps, but they had missed a few important lessons.

  “But it doesn’t matter now,” Uncle John said. “What matters now is that if you want your family to see a penny from me, you’re going to do what I tell you.”

  I hesitated, trying to figure out how to play the situation; because in the wake of his revelations, something very important had occurred to me: Uncle John had a motive for murdering my father.

  It wasn’t something I wanted to consider, but my uncle was showing himself to be a petty, vengeful man. What else was he capable of? And should I let him know that he did not have the upper hand, as he seemed to believe?

  “Nicolas won’t have the money to finish his apprenticeship,” Uncle John continued. “Your mom will have to get a job. Maybe Nicolas, too, with so many mouths to feed. Juliana just turned sixteen, so she can pitch in. You could help, of course, but I’m not sure what kind of work you’re suited to. Would Sheriff Adams take you back?”

  He would, as a consultant. We had decided as much when I took a leave of absence to go to Pennsylvania. No consulting jobs had manifested since my return, but I knew why without asking: The feud. I was up to my neck in it, which made me far less useful to him than I normally would be.

  “Alexander’s not such a bad match,” Uncle John continued, softening his voice. “I wouldn’t marry you off to just anyone.”

  “No, only someone who would be of use to you.”

  “To the family, Cassandra.”

  “Don’t call me that,” I said, bitterly. “Only my parents get to call me that. You are not my parents.”

  His face darkened. “Cassie, then, if you insist on being petty. Alexander has an army, and is quickly taking control of the entire country. I want to be a part of that, and you’re a fool if you don’t want to be a part of it.”

  I thought about Matthew Blair, and wondered how long Alexander’s power would go uncontested. Despite my history with Matthew, I found myself hoping he would present a challenge, if for no other reason than because power should always be challenged. I might even consider supporting him, but after spending time with Alexander I knew my support would never be directly political–such as in the role of the politician’s wife.

  “Why don’t I give you time to think about it?” Uncle John said, as if he were giving me a gift. “We’ll talk more in a few days.”

  “Great. I can’t wait.”

  “Sarcasm is unattractive on you.” He stood and chucked me under the chin. I had to force myself not to pull the trigger on the water gun.

  “Color me ugly, then.” I backed away, looking meaningfully at the door. This time he left without a word or a backward glance.

  “Idiot,” I muttered when I heard his car engine roar to life. He was one of those sorcerers with a flashy active gift–the ability to shift places for short distances–who disdained or overlooked other “lesser” gifts. Never overlook a gift just because it doesn’t flash or bang. Personally, I’d take my mother’s eidetic memory any day. If she had read the alchemy books–and I suspected she had–then we didn’t need the originals. She retained a perfect copy inside her head.

  17

  I CALLED NICOLAS BEFORE UNCLE JOHN’S CAR had completely pulled out of the driveway. “Do you know what Uncle John did?”

  “Cassie? Whoa! Slow down. What’s going on?”

  “Check the library. We may have a few books missing.”

  “The library? Hang on, I’m upstairs.” I heard the sound of a door opening and closing, then the shuffling of feet. “Can you tell me what I’m looking for?”

  “Uncle John was just here, threatening to cut the whole family off without a penny if I didn’t agree to marry Alexander.”

  “He can’t do that,” Nicolas said, far too calmly.

  “I certainly don’t intend to let him, but he did steal the books. I figure Mom will remember most of it, but–”

  “No, you don’t understand. He can’t do that. He didn’t take the books.”

  “He lied?” I asked. “Are you in the library now?”

  “I’m sure he told the truth.” Nicolas said. I heard the sound of another door opening on his end of the line. “I’m in the library now. Yes, there’s an empty space on the shelves.”

  “Do you think Mom read them? Will she–”

  “Mom has read parts of them,” Nicolas said.

  “Only parts?” My heart sank.

  “It’s okay, Cassie. He doesn’t have the real books.”

  “He doesn’t?”

  “No.” Nicolas lowered his voice. “Look, Cassie, Dad took me aside about three years ago and showed me bits of what was in those books. You have no idea. It’s dark stuff.”

  “Mom and Dad never–”

  “No, they didn’t. And Mom didn’t want to know half of it, which is why she hasn’t read everything. There’s a lot you don’t know about alchemy.”

  “Yeah, I know. Why bother to teach me when I can’t use it?”

  “No.” The vehemence in Nicolas’s voice surprised me. “He didn’t teach it to you because he was afraid you couldn’t protect the information. He didn’t use much of it, even though it might have seemed like he did. His rejuvenating potions are only skin deep for a reason, and it’s not because he didn’t know how to achieve true immortality.”

  “And you do?” I asked.

  “More or less. I would need to study the information, but I don’t want to.”

  “He didn’t keep it in the library.” It wasn’t a question.

  “No, and I won’t tell you where he did keep those books.”

  “I don’t want to know.” I meant it, too. Nicolas didn’t scare easily, and whatever was in those books scared him. “Why not destroy them?”

  “I asked Dad that. He said I might need it one day. It’s not like we have the only copy.”

  “He was worried about what Victor might do with the information?”

  Nicolas hesitated. “Believe it or not, I don’t think so. I think protecting that information might have been the one thing they had in common.”

  “I see.” I didn’t see. Not exactly.

  “Uncle John doesn’t have the real books, Cassie. There’s very little information in the books he does have that’s real. He’ll figure it out sooner or later.”

  “It’s still a betrayal, what he tried to do.”

  “Yes.”

  When he didn’t elaborate, I pressed, “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t realize it, but I think he’s been trying to step in and take over. I didn’t stop him.”

  “He claimed he was the new head of the family.”

  “Did he?” Nicolas sounded young and vulnerable. “I guess I need to be the one to step up.”

  “What about Mom?”

  “She can barely feed the babies. Maybe she’ll get better, but we can’t wait for her.”

  “I’ll help however I can. You know that, right?” I wanted to step up right alongside him, but not living at the castle would be a serious disadvantage. Plus, I had an arrangement with Evan that needed resolution. There was a mystery to solve and a wager to win. After that, well, I found myself hoping Mom would survive this depression.

  “Yeah, I know,” Nicolas said. “Just stay close. And let me know if Uncle John comes near you again. I think he and I need to have a talk.”

  * * *

  When I hung u
p with Nicolas, I felt certain I could put the day behind me and get a good night’s sleep. I felt exhausted, perhaps more than I had a right to be. After all, Madison had been the one to suffer the most. I had just showered, changed into my pajamas, and pulled back the covers to slide into bed when the doorbell rang yet again.

  No more, was all I could think as I headed for the front door, checking the peephole before opening it. Evan Blackwood stood on the front porch, a familiar overnight bag clutched in his hand.

  “I, um, thought you could use your stuff back,” Evan began haltingly. “Especially the dream journal. Saw it on the nightstand.”

  I gasped, before remembering that I had not written down the details of the dream I’d had the night before.

  “I didn’t read it,” he said.

  “No, of course not.” I grabbed the bag from him. “Not that it would matter if you had.” Not that dreaming about sex with Evan meant that deep down inside I was still in love with him; it had just been a product of the day’s events, especially the forging of a wager that would change my life forever, one way or another.

  “What have you been dreaming about?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” I lifted the bag. “Returning this is just an excuse. I’d be flattered, but I don’t think the excuse is designed to see me.”

  “I’m always happy to see you.” Evan flashed me a teasing smile, but there was too much worry behind it for it to be effective. “Is Madison–Can I talk to her?”

  “She’s sleeping.” I didn’t go into why she was asleep at seven o’clock in the evening. He didn’t need to know and besides, I was headed that direction myself.

  “You weren’t going to sleep, were you?” Evan looked at his watch, then took in my cozy flannel pajamas.

  “I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

  “We need to talk about it. Or at least, we need to talk about tomorrow, and how we’re going to look into things.”

  “My father’s murder, you mean?” The words came out with an acidic tang. “I’m not going to forget if you don’t use the words.”

  “I know. Can I come in?”

  With a heavy sigh, I stepped aside and waved him through the front door, trying to make myself small so he wouldn’t have to pass too close to me. It didn’t work; he brushed against me, probably on purpose. I didn’t call him on it.

  “The place looks nice,” Evan said. “Last time I was here, it was all bean bags, and I think you had a console TV on an old desk.”

  I smiled, remembering the makeshift furniture, largely freebies and garage sale cast-offs. We now had a plasma TV hanging on the wall with a small table beneath it for the DVD player.

  “Thanks,” I said, “although Madison’s the one who decorated. I don’t think I would have gone with black leather.”

  Evan hesitated before sitting on the aforementioned black leather sofa. “Is she okay?”

  I closed the front door before taking a seat across from him. I had no intention of telling him what Madison had been through that day, but he did care. If only he’d cared a little more in November, then maybe she would be sitting here answering his questions instead of me.

  “She’s fine,” I said. “Don’t push her, though. I know you mean well, but she’s hurting, and you’re part of the reason why.”

  He closed his eyes and nodded, once, regret written all over his face. It was becoming a familiar expression to me. He had shown it to me just before his grandmother died, when he’d learned I had no intention of marrying Alexander for power. I still hadn’t forgiven him for believing that of me, one more in a long list of transgressions going all the way back to the theft of my magic.

  So why aren’t you angry with Madison?

  Sleep. That’s what I needed, a good night’s sleep. In the morning, this would all seem very straight forward again, and I wouldn’t care that Evan was looking at me with beautiful, haunted eyes.

  Can a man’s eyes be beautiful?

  “Can you…?” Evan broke off, searching for words. “Will you help me?”

  “I am helping you.”

  “I mean with Madison.”

  I didn’t know if I could convince her to give him a chance, and I didn’t even know if I wanted to, because what he was really asking me to do was be his friend again. I’m usually very receptive to pleas for friendship, but with Evan the difference between friendship and love was too small, almost nonexistent. It wasn’t as if I had any doubts about my physical attraction to him. Luckily, James Blair wouldn’t be asking about lust.

  “Look,” I said, trying to find a tone somewhere between heartless bitch and intimate friend, “I know you’ve always wanted a brother or sister, but finding out you have a 22-year-old-sister isn’t the same thing as your mom having a new baby.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “Do you? She’s a grown woman who’s dealing with a lot right now, and I don’t know that an over-eager brother who once tortured her for information—”

  “I didn’t torture her,” Evan interrupted. “She owes Scott a debt; that’s why she went with him.”

  “Oh well, that’s just all right then.” I could feel myself slipping closer to heartless bitch. “But you know she actually already has a brother, one who, to my knowledge, has never kidnapped her.”

  “Please, Cassie,” Evan said, “this is important to me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s not just my sister. She’s your friend.”

  The answer surprised me so much that I could only blink in response.

  “When we get married–” Evan began.

  “If. Big IF.”

  Evan leaned forward. “James Blair called today. Said he might be back in town early, even tomorrow or the next day.”

  “Did he?” I tried to sound as confident as I had inside the tunnels, but my insides were shaking. “Well, that’s good. We can get it over with.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” He looked so composed, although I supposed his cool exterior could be hiding just as much self-doubt as mine.

  “Just don’t kiss me right before you ask him. That would be cheating.”

  He laughed.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing.” He looked away, his eyes roaming the room until they fell on his pretext for coming in the first place, the overnight bag resting on the floor at my feet. “So, did you have any more luck with the dream catcher last night?”

  “Why?” I asked, my eyes narrowing. “Did you work a love spell into it?” It wasn’t an entirely idle question, though I was sure my subconscious could have come up with the content of the dream.

  To my surprise, he laughed again.

  “What?” This time, I stood and crossed the room, getting right in his face so he couldn’t look away. “What is funny?”

  “How many mental attacks do you suppose you’ve fought off since August?”

  I shrugged. “Dozens.”

  “Exactly. And I’m not even a mind mage. So if you’re so desperate to believe it’s not your fault that you’re attracted to me–”

  “It’s definitely not all my fault. That stupid kiss of yours shares at least some of the blame, mind mage or no.”

  I almost expected him to laugh again, but instead, he went suddenly serious. He took my hands and tugged me forward until I fell onto the sofa right next to him, then his arms went around me in a tight embrace.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Testing a theory.” With that he drew me even closer, and brushed his lips against mine.

  By now I knew what to expect when he kissed me, but it still didn’t lessen the impact one bit. I hadn’t even realized how tense my body had been, largely from holding myself aloof from a man who had always been able to make my heart beat a little faster. That tension eased now as I leaned in closer, trying to drink the rest of him in, to lose myself in his warmth.

  This was the part of the kiss I had always secretly liked–the freedom from the weight of responsibility.
All problems were gone, and all thoughts gone save Evan, who for some reason would not kiss me again.

  “Evan,” I said, straining closer.

  He stood, moving away from the sofa, and I blinked in confusion. I almost stood and went after him, but his movement must have created enough of a shock to break the spell of the kiss, or at least ease it somewhat.

  “How are you feeling?” Evan asked.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Opening your eyes.” He stepped closer, leaned down, and again brushed his lips against mine.

  I reached for him, grabbing and missing as the effects of the kiss made me feel simultaneous longing for him and annoyance with him for leaving me wanting.

  “You’ve pretty much learned to fight off mind magic, Cassie,” Evan said. “That’s all the kiss is–a form of my mind magic. If you’re responding, it’s because you want to.”

  I thought back to the day he’d cornered me at Aunt Sherry’s shop. He’d kissed me then, and it had been amazing. Overwhelming. Just like always. He’d only broken the spell when he’d accused me of not being as far gone as I was pretending. Or had he?

  “You must not be using full force,” I said.

  “No, but you could fight that off too, if you wanted to. The question is, do you want to?”

  I turned away from him so he couldn’t see my mortification. Of course I wanted to fight it off. I wanted to fight him off. Only… I loved it. Which wasn’t the same as saying I loved him. This didn’t prove anything, except perhaps that he really wasn’t underestimating my ability to fight off a love potion. However he thought he could win this wager, that wasn’t it.

  “Two days, Cassie,” Evan said from somewhere behind me, somewhere far too close. “Then you’ll be mine.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head, violently. “Go home, Evan. Just go.”

  To my immense relief, he did so without another word, slipping so silently through the front door that only a soft whoosh marked his passage.

  Eventually, I made it off the sofa. Eventually, I made it to bed. I even hung my dream catcher, hoping for those clever insights my subconscious was supposed to be able to give me when I mastered dreaming. But sleep didn’t come for a long time, and when it did….