Shadow Dancer

by Krysta Scott

  Mr. Angelus scoffed but allowed the door to ease back open. “What possible use could your kind have for me? You’ve already taken everything. I’ve got nothing left.”

  “I’d like to talk to you about that.” Whatever the man had done, it must have been pretty bad to lose the favor of the Guild. He’d never been a member. That kind of scar left a very distinctive mark filled with shame and vile hatred. Although it was clear Mr. Angelus didn’t think much of Garrett, he didn’t spit that kind of animosity. His anger carried the fear of a trapped animal. Lunging and snarling hoping Garrett would just go away but with no real bite to it.

  “Appears like I can’t say no.” He turned and skulked down a narrow aisle.

  Garrett followed the man’s defeated back, curiosity about what had happened to the Angelus family urging him through the stacks of periodicals and old newspapers. Angelus stumbled to one side toppling a stack. Magazines and papers slid into the narrow aisle, sending dust particles straight to the back of Garrett’s throat. He wrinkled his nose as the burning tickle of an almost sneeze lodged behind his eyes.

  Angelus lumbered on, never acknowledging the periodicals he’d strewn over the only vacant area in his house. Garrett briefly considered stacking the magazines back in their place but if Angelus didn’t care about the clutter why should he? Garrett shook his head and stepped over the mess.

  Angelus reached behind what might have been a wet bar. The surface was covered with crumpled up napkins, knickknack figurines and more papers. Beer signs cluttered the wall. More things Garrett couldn’t even identify filled every corner of the house. Angelus pulled out a crystal decanter, pushed away some of the refuse on the counter, and set it on the recently cleared area. He smiled as if he had performed a complicated magic trick. Garrett almost believed he had. The decanter glinted under the dim light. A relic from a past days of glory Angelus would never recapture. “Wanna drink?”

  “It’s ten in the morning.”

  Angelus curled his lips, exposing clean even teeth. An oddity Garrett couldn’t reconcile with the state of the man’s house. Garrett half expected to see one or two teeth missing. “Judge away, Mr. High and Mighty. It wasn’t so long ago I was dressed in a suit as nice as yours.”

  “I meant no offense.”

  “Right.” Angelus grabbed a glass and filled it three quarters full. He lifted his glass, quirking an eyebrow. “You mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Good.” He took a big gulp. “I’d offer you a chair, but I don’t plan on you staying too long. State your business.”

  Garrett didn’t mention there was no vacant seat available. It just wasn’t good form. Whatever the reasons for his circumstances, Garrett had no desire to rub his nose in it. Like Angelus implied, it was better to get to the point. “I wanted to ask you about Nikki.”

  “Why?” Angelus’s eyes narrowed. “What’s she done now?”

  “Nothing. But I found a birth announcement for your youngest daughter but not for Nikki. That just seems odd.” Except avoiding Garrett’s mind push. But he couldn’t just blurt that out. Not until he understood exactly what Angelus knew. Maybe he’d been too blunt. He needed to try a different tactic. “It’s clear you know about the Guild. Just what is your involvement with them?”

  Angelus snorted. “I don’t have anything to do with them.”

  “But you did.”

  Angelus drained his glass and poured another. “Not for a long time.”

  “What happened?”

  Angelus leaned his skinny arms against the counter a wicked gleam in his eyes. “How is it you don’t know?”

  Garrett swallowed the burn of the put down. He would not be chastised by this fallen man. “Doesn’t matter. What is the Guild to you?”

  “Nothing. That’s what.” Tossing his hands in the air taking the glass with them. The acrid smell of whiskey permeated the air as it sloshed over the side of the glass. “You people come in with your promises. Oh, do me this favor and I’ll make you rich. But that’s a lie. You use people then you destroy them.”

  “How did the Guild destroy you?” Given the amount of alcohol Angelus drank, the Guild may have nothing to do with his current situation. It was just as likely his little vice had sunk him into an aimless life of hording and despair. Except the Guild could have helped him. Their own little version of rehab. Instead, they sat back and allowed Angelus to derail his life. It all went back to the same question. What had this man done?

  “They didn’t keep their promise.”

  “What did they promise?”

  Angelus issued a couple grunts. He slammed his glass on the bar. His free hand massaging his neck. He gasped. “I’ve said too much. I can’t say.”

  Well wasn’t that convenient. Someone from the Guild had blocked Angelus from leaking pertinent information. Garrett hadn’t come this far to be denied. Angelus couldn’t talk about the promise but that didn’t mean everything was out of reach. He just had to find the right back door. “I wanted to talk about Nikki.”

  “You know it all started with her.” His breathing was even. His voice clear. Promising.

  “Tell me about that.”

  “I was an Oil and Gas attorney. Did you know that?”

  Garrett shook his head. “Go on.”

  “I was at the top of my game. My wife and I couldn’t wait to have a child.” He swallowed. “When Nikki came into our life, my wife was so happy. She just doted on her. After Cassie was born. Things got a little different.”

  “Nikki didn’t like her sister?”

  “Oh, she adored her. That wasn’t the problem.” Angelus walked to the far wall and dug around in the mountain of paper. He pulled out a large box labeled photo albums in curved hand writing. An inch of dust covered the top. This was a box Angelus hadn’t opened in a long time.

  “Then what was?”

  Angelus caressed the top of the box sending a chunk of dust cascading to the floor. “All my sweet wife wanted was to be a mother. For us to be a family. After Nikki, she became forgetful. It started small, you know. Nothing that would alarm anyone at first. She would misplace her keys. Hell, anyone could do that, right?”

  Garrett wasn’t sure he needed to respond, but he nodded anyway.

  “Then it got a little worse. She’d be microwaving tea and just leave the cup in there for hours. Or doing laundry and leaving the clothes in the washer so long they mildewed. But she was taking care of two children, it’s possible that things would slip her mind.” He gingerly lifted the lid and pulled out a photo album. He hugged it to his chest. Tears glistened down his cheeks. “Then one day, she left the house to go shopping leaving the front stove burner on. We had a gas stove. An oven mit near the flame caught fire. If I hadn’t come home for lunch, the whole house would have burned down.”

  Icy prickles shivered up Garrett’s spine. A young woman losing her grip on reality was disturbing enough. Add Guild involvement and the eeriness shot through the roof. He bit back the copper taste rising in his mouth. “What did the doctor’s say?”

  Angelus glared at him, still clutching the book, his eyes full of pain. “They called it organic brain syndrome. But really that is a catch phrase for ‘I don’t know what’s really wrong’. There was no medicine to give her. And she just kept failing.”

  “I see.”

  “No, you don’t.” He gulped in air. “Then Cassie died. The doctors said it was pneumococcal meningitis. That it was easy to miss your child was sick until it was too late. My poor wife couldn’t handle that. She killed herself.” Angelus bent over. The tears spilling down his cheeks. Wracking sobs heaving from his chest.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Angelus straightened. “It was Nikki. She caused this, and I got left with that brat. But still, I did right by her. But the Guild abandoned me. He…” His voice stilled and Angelus grabbed his throat. His mouth working but no sound emerged. His eyes bugged. He held out his hand and fell forward.

  Garrett knelt down and place
d his hand on his head. “It’s all right, Mr. Angelus. Relax now. I won’t ask any more. You’re in no danger of telling your secret.”

  After a few grunts, he stilled and drew in a huge gulp of air. “Thank you. I just need a little rest.”

  Garrett helped him up and assisted him to the couch. After swiping the litter off the surface, he eased Angelus onto it. Within seconds he was snoring. Garrett made his way back to the dropped photo album. He flipped through pictures of family picnics, visits to Santa and trips to Disneyland. He smiled at a young Nikki holding up three fingers with the caption Nikki at three years in the same feminine scrawl as on the box. Once they’d been a cohesive family unit until they’d been ripped apart.

  But Mr. Angelus was wrong. Nikki didn’t cause this, but someone who knew her did. The mysterious he had used Nikki’s mother as a training ground to hone someone’s skill as a dream caster. And he had to find out the man’s identity soon. He searched through the album for the earliest picture of Nikki. Funny. There were pictures of Cassie, a cute pudgy infant, at one month, three months and six months. The album didn’t contain any infant pictures of Nikki. Curious. He rifled through the box just in case it contained Nikki’s baby book. It didn’t. Interesting. He snatched a picture and left the house filled with more questions than when he’d arrived.

  ****

  Nikki crumpled another page and tossed it onto the living room floor. It was hard to concentrate on the case files. Maybe it was the warmth of the heavy blanket she lounged under on her couch enveloping her with fatigue. Or maybe she was tired because the Hanover case sucked more time and energy than she had available with so many other cases to attend to. Her cell phone buzzed. She picked it up. Her father. Again. She’d avoided his calls all evening not wanting to deal with whatever rant had caught his fancy. She just had too much to do. In an effort to get caught up she’d lugged several files home. They now lay strewn across the floor and ottoman. She turned her phone off and tossed it aside. Ignoring the twinge of guilt for her much needed silence, she reviewed her current task.

  She’d started a letter to the attorneys in the Carter case only to nod off leaving indecipherable scratches on the page made with the very pen Garrett handed her that morning. She rolled it between her fingers mesmerized by sparkles the light caught. There was a rich golden color to the pen. The initials GCN were engraved into the body. A pen made for him in her hands. She wasn’t sure why she’d brought it home. It had a nice weight and stroked smoothly across the page. But that wasn’t the only thing. She liked the way it glittered in the light, liked the way it felt in her hands, and liked the way it made her feel…special.

  She ignored the last thought trickling across her mind and went back to drafting the letter. It wasn’t a difficult subject. She was only asking for the attorneys to consider moving the date of their hearing because she had five others set that day. It required less than three sentences plus her signature. Still, she had trouble committing her words to the page. She yawned. Her eyelids drooped and everything went fuzzy. Enveloped in a warm haze, inviting her to doze, it was so tempting to succumb to the gentle prodding. After the last two nights of restless slumber, she relished real rest. Just for a minute, she promised, closing her eyes.

  She must be dreaming again because no one can float upon air. Yet here she was soaring through the atmosphere with nothing holding her up but her arms and legs propelling her forward. On impulse, she dipped her head toward the floor and somersaulted three times before righting herself, once more hovering. She pirouetted in a tight spin and laughed at the freedom of movement drifting here and there, going in no particular direction. In a space filled with gauzy mist there didn’t appear to be any route or any specific direction to take until she felt an urgent tug.

  She was swept up in an undercurrent powerful enough to topple her over and over. It wasn’t the soft tumble of the somersault or the exhilarating spin of her pirouette. The force was much more compelling. An apprehension squeezed the breath from her lungs. She froze, attempting to orient herself to this new development. The stream was much too bright and fast for her to identify where she was headed. She closed her eyes against a dizzying wave of nausea. The brilliant light scorched the backs of her lids. A rhythmic pulse pounded her ear drums raw. Then silence before she was hurled into a solid barrier and sent sprawling to the ground.

  Her head throbbing, she stood and contemplated her surroundings. It was darker and the air dense. Other than the solid wall in front of her there were no corners or edges that gave the black void any definition.

  “Would you like some help navigating from here?”

  She stiffened when she heard a deep gravelly voice. It was familiar. She’d heard it before but couldn’t place where. Though she knew she should turn around, she fought the urge as if she would find an evil clown behind her. She forced herself to look and was relieved to find an old man standing there. He was tall, thin, and did nothing to hide the amused glint from strange blue eyes. Nothing hostile or unfriendly. He was the man who gave her the amulet.

  “Are you?”

  “I’m William Songe.” The man nodded.

  That explained the familiar face and voice. His phone call that morning made a larger impact on her than she realized, for him to materialize inside her dream. This representation of him might have been conjured up in her imagination. She didn’t know what was going on. Maybe her mind was trying to make some sense of their conversation, or trying to figure out who he was to her. Whatever the reason, he was here. For now, she decided to play along with the scenario to see how far her mind was willing to take this matter. “Why did you bring me here?”

  “I didn’t.” He grabbed her wrist, jerking the hand that held the pen in front of her face. “This did.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You were brought here because you are holding an object that belongs to someone else.” He took the pen and studied it. Its golden surface dull in the darkness. “Hmmm, GCN who might that be?”

  “An attorney on an opposing case.”

  His clear blue eyes met hers with an intense gleam. He didn’t quite believe her words. She frowned. There was no real reason for him to doubt her but beneath the surface she detected a subtle flicker pass before he tilted his head to one side. “What business do you have inside the mind of your colleague?”

  She frowned. “I don’t understand.” It was hard enough to accept the premise of her dream without having to puzzle through the significance behind his bizarre questions. It became increasingly clear that Songe was having an entirely different conversation with her than she was trying to have with him. Perhaps he was touched in the head.

  “You’re here.” Songe waved his arm indicating the dark vacuum. “There is something you need from him or something you wish him to do. What is it?”

  “Mr. Songe, please. I truly do not understand.”

  The elderly man grimaced. She knew that look. It wasn’t anger really; but more the expression of a frustrated parent striving to enlighten a three-year-old to the way of the world. But a piece of information was missing from her comprehension. Something that he believed she already possessed. His irritation stretched to its limits at having to explain again. “This is the first time you’ve done this on your own. You have a purpose for being here. Just tell me why you’re here,” he growled.

  “I don’t know. All I remember was working on a case and falling asleep. And now I’m here. Talking to a madman in my dream,” she smirked.

  He stared at her with such intensity, Nikki had to forcibly keep from squirming. Finally, he said, “I see. Perhaps we should start from the beginning, shall we?”

  “Please.” Was this a dream? Everything felt so real. She glanced around her. She stood on a solid surface breathing air and though she failed to understand the content of their conversation, the words were coherent and more precise than in her previous dreams. The surroundings didn’t change abruptly. The events took place logically and
systematically. Perhaps this was a walking-dream. She’d heard of those. Though she sought for some sort of justification an uneasy feeling fluttered deep in her gut. The kind of feeling she knew spelled life changing news.

  “This object”—Songe held the pen out—“is a gateway into the mind of its owner. Sleeping allows access to that owner’s conscience, allowing us to influence judgment and actions.” He paused, watching her reaction to his words. But somehow she found them incomprehensible. He was a candidate for Bedlam. Nikki took a cautious step back.

  “When you fell asleep holding this pen, you were naturally drawn to this person’s mind.” His eyes took on a maniacal light. He smiled and lowered his voice. “All you need to do is use it to open the door.”

  The words began to filtrate. The idea was absurd. “You must be crazy. Are you saying I’m psychic?” Only con artists claimed to have that type of power. She wasn’t a con artist. She wanted to slap his amusement into the next universe.

  “In a manner of speaking.” He grinned. Apparently thrilled she was starting to “get it” and his tone took on a smug countenance. “It isn’t that simple, my dear. You are descended from a race of dream casters known as the Guild. You are here because you want something. However, I can’t assist you, if I don’t know what it is you seek.”

  “I don’t need anything from him.” She snatched the pen from Songe’s hand and plunged it through the barrier. “Take that Garrett Nightshade.”

  To her surprise, it ripped apart leaving a gaping hole. She pulled the rift further apart and peered inside. Doors? Was she seeing doors? Curiosity propelled her onward but a firm grip held her back.

  “Did you say Nightshade?” Songe demanded harshly.

  “Yes. The bastard,” she muttered.

  “Then I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  She twisted her hair into a ponytail in frustration. Was she standing on the precipice of Garrett’s mind because of their interaction earlier? Why was this happening? She didn’t like this dream anymore. “I want to wake up now.”