A hand— God, it felt real— reached out to touch her. Numbly she lifted her head to look into his face. He regarded her with a strange, guarded expression, snatching back his hand once he saw that he'd gotten her attention.
"Go away," she said softly.
"I can't."
Of course he couldn't, Cat realized. He'd be here for as long as she projected the illusion that he existed. You're not real, she thought at him. You don't exist anymore. Time to go poof and vanish. Bye-bye.
He stayed right where he was, still watching her. "One moment," he said, "we were by the pool in the forest, and in the next I was here. Alone. You told me I wasn't real, that you'd made me up, and then"— he snapped his fingers— "I was here." He leaned closer. "I am real, Mistress Cat."
"Okay," she said. Is this how it happened? Illusion and reality blended together until you couldn't make head or tail of it? Phantoms that expounded on their existence, that you had to accept or they just wouldn't leave you alone? "Okay. You're real. Now go away."
"I can't," he said again.
Cat sighed. Maybe if the pounding in her head would let up for a few moments, if things would just slow down for her…
"Why not?" she asked.
Toby pointed down the hill. She looked, and saw what she hadn't noticed before. She'd been too busy disavowing the existence of the Otherworld to bother with all of its details.
Around the hill, just beyond the protection of the stones, shadows… capered. There was no other word for it. There were dozens of them— sly, liquid shapes that conducted some cabalistic dance she could only watch for a few moments before she had to look away. They drew her gaze and repelled her at the same time. There was something in their movement, like the gliding gait of a reptile, that awoke primal terrors deep inside her. She couldn't watch them without becoming nauseous.
"What… what are they?"
Toby shook his head. "I've never seen their like. They were here when I arrived— not many at first, but enough to keep me penned at the top of the hill. Their numbers have grown since."
"But what are they?"
The creatures wove a sinuous dance just beyond the stones, trapping the eye. More than anything else they convinced her that, imagined or not, there was more to the Otherworld than what she could have created. Those things couldn't have come from her. But if they had… God, if they had… She couldn't follow the thought through. Better to pretend that the Otherworld was real on its own.
"I've had a thought," Toby said.
She dragged her gaze from the weave and dip of the shadows, glad to concentrate on him, on his face, on what he was saying, even if she had made him up.
"They belong to your dream thief," he said. "They're his power… manifesting in this world."
Like the time the black shape had dropped out of the sky a few nights ago. These things left Cat with the same impression. They lacked something. They hungered. They wanted her.
"Why don't they attack us?" she asked. But she already knew. The longstones on top of Redcap Hill were protecting them.
Toby shrugged. "My iron blade?" he ventured. "The hill's magic? You said it was hallowed, didn't you?"
"To Mynfel," Cat replied. "But she's…"
What exactly was the antlered woman? A manifestation of Cat's, just as those capering shadows were the dream thief materialized in the Otherworld? Or was she a being who belonged to this world, one who had withdrawn her favors? Cat had never truly understood just what it was that Mynfel represented. Mynfel had always been the silent companion, the sense of peace that Cat could draw strength from, the deepness that underlay the whole of the Otherworld.
"What can we do?" she asked.
"Try to break free?"
Cat shook her head. She couldn't bear the thought of being touched by one of those creatures, to have them crawling over her, clutching at her hair, the shadowy smoothness of them clammy against her skin.
"And go where?" she asked.
Toby nodded. "Then we can either wait, or take the battle to your enemy."
"You don't understand," Cat said. "I'm not in control of… of any of this. Ten minutes ago I was convinced it didn't exist. Even now I… I'm not all that sure…."
"But—"
"I'm not even sleeping right now! The last thing I remember is some maniac attacking me in my driveway."
The memory of her assailant's eyes floated up in her mind, chilling her. She tried to explain it to Toby, but the words came out in a jumble. The confusion was too complex to unravel in a few easy sentences. How could she explain it when she wasn't even sure herself what was real anymore? But Toby drew one fact out of her story.
"He wants you," he said. "He hunts you on both worlds, Mistress Cat. Now he has your body on one, your soul trapped here on another. You must wake up and face him."
"Wake up? I'm not even sleeping!"
"Wake, or you doom us both."
"You don't understand." No one understood. She didn't even understand.
"Wake!" Toby cried. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her forcibly.
"I'm not a hero!" Cat cried. "Going back won't do any good."
But it was already too late.
The drumming headache between her temples took on the rhythm of Toby's shaking. The Otherworld began to dissolve around her. The smell of grass and moor wind was replaced with the stale odor of old car leather and aftershave. She had a dim impression that she was underground somewhere. In a car and underground. The car wasn't moving. Her face was pressed against a man's leg that shifted as she moved away from it.
"Oh, no, you don't," an unfamiliar voice said.
She struggled, but she was in too confined a space. An arm went around her neck, cutting off her air as it dug into her windpipe. A hand grabbed her hair, twisting her head back so that she was looking up into her assailant's face. The eyes caught her gaze and she started to plummet again, falling into their depths. Desperately, she tried to look away, but only managed to squeeze her eyes shut.
"Look at me!" the man demanded. "It'll only hurt forever."
She clawed at him. The arm around her neck tightened. The hand in her hair twisted with a new grip. The moan of pain that roared inside her died somewhere between her diaphram and her vocal chords. She desperately needed air.
Her eyes popped open, pleading. The power of his gaze leapt out at her. Mercilessly he battered at her will. Falling. She was falling again. Blackness, compassionate and peaceful, wrapped itself around her. Falling. She dropped like a stone into the darkness.
She felt his grin all around her. His mind was inside hers, toying with her most private thoughts. That was the ultimate violation. As her defenses collapsed under the sheer ferocity of his attack, her sense of defilement allowed her one final recourse. He was too strong. She couldn't fight him physically. So…
Falling into the darkness, she locked onto his will. Using the force of his assault to fuel her own need, she drew him down into the void that was swallowing her.
The shadows bleeding into his own mind were Rick's first intimation that something was wrong. But by then it was too late and he was falling with her.
14
The Ravens Feed
Lysistratus had been amused with Rick's performance as he monitored him throughout the evening. He admired the flair with which Rick made use of his gift, but knew as soon as Rick's mind turned to its grandiose schemes that this relationship would have to be terminated before the night was ended.
It wasn't simple fear that made the parasite live as he did on the fringes of society— it was plain common sense. He knew through experience what Rick had yet to learn, that no matter how many hundreds one could dupe with the power, there would always be those like the shaman who could see beyond it to its threat. And it was the ones with such sight that were the most danger to his kind. Lysistratus had long ago decided that it was better to live on the fringe and still have all you could wish for, than to be dead.
No, Rick would hav
e to go.
Besides, he made mistakes. His killing of the punk had been sloppy, and then, excited as he'd been by the suddeninflux of the dead man's soul mingling with his own, he'd been unprepared for the subsequent attack and rout from the apartment.
Lysistratus was troubled as well by the recurring presence of that straying from Cat's dreams. What was that inexplicable creature? He saw again the diminutive being's saucer eyes, the war of fear and determination reflected in their depths. It was a creature from a fairy tale, from… from a dream. It had physical presence, yet whenever he reached for it with his mind, it slipped from his approach as though it were something that couldn't be grasped. He could sense its where abouts, but he didn't seem to be able to snare its thoughts. And whenever it was near, things went wrong.
Lysistratus sighed, leaving the puzzle aside to ride Rick's thoughts to Cat's house. Anticipation rode high in him as he shared the wait in the hedge, peaking when Rick captured Cat and started back to Stella's apartment with her. As the car pulled into the underground garage below the highrise, Lysistratus rose from his chair.
Soon, he thought.
He gazed out the window. The panorama of Ottawa's night skyline paled before his anticipation. The Human League's "Don't You Want Me" came to mind, as it often did when he thought of Cat and her narcotic sweetness. The Europop beat sounded to the rhythm of his pulse. She wanted him, only she didn't know it. But soon… He could already taste her dreaming strength—
Her rousing from Rick's control came as a rude shock, cutting through his pleasure. A vague aftertaste lingered, swiftly faded. He turned from the window.
"Don't you dare lose her," he commanded, his eyes cold.
But she fought Rick with a desperate fear. When she drew Rick down into the darkness with her, his body slumping across hers in the car, Lysistratus lunged for the door of the apartment. The abrupt motion pulled open the wound in his side, and he staggered at the sudden pain. Blood grew in a widening stain on his shirt. He moved resolutely down the hall. Her strength would heal him.
He reached the elevator, stabbing the Down button with a stiff finger. He wouldn't let her escape him again.
The second time Debbie regained consciousness, she didn't move. She was naked— she could feel a chill on her exposed skin— but she'd learned enough the last time not to move even though she could sense Lucius in the room with her. She knew it in the way a sleeper wakes, knowing that she's being watched. But she didn't dare open her eyes to pinpoint his position in the room, not when she remembered how easily he'd dealt with her the first time she woke.
She concentrated on keeping her breathing even. She had to get by him— get her clothes and get out. God knew what he planned to do with her. But her previous attempt had ended in such a dismal failure that she didn't know what to do.
There was something in his eyes…. It was like hypnotism— the way a snake mesmerized a bird— only it worked faster than any kind of hypnotism she'd ever heard of. All he had to do was zero in on you with his eyes and he had you. Zap! Just like that.
So she had to move quickly and not look in them. Screw her clothes. Better to be naked than dead. She'd just go. Once she got out the door there was no way he'd stop her. Not without a chase.
She heard him move and everything went still inside her. The muscles of her stomach drew tight. He'd gotten up from a chair and moved… where? She couldn't remember what he'd done to her the last time he'd knocked her out, but if he touched her again, she knew she'd scream. She wanted desperately to open her eyes, but all she could imagine was his face about six inches from her own, and those eyes boring into her own….
Move, damn you! she thought. She had to know where he was.
She was so caught up listening for another movement that when he suddenly spoke, she almost jumped.
"Don't you dare lose her."
Lose who? Who was he talking to? Stella? Rick? Someone she hadn't even seen yet? God, the pressure was getting to her. Her head ached. And when she thought of all those newspaper headlines about strange cults and mass murderers, she just wanted to throw up. Was she going to end up as a thirty-second video clip on the six-o'clock news?
Her mind filled with footage of sheet-draped bodies being taken out of the building in stretchers and the announcer's excited voice speaking over the picture: "While the police have not officially released the names of the victims, pending notification of next of kin, a reliable source has informed us that one of the women was Deborah Mitchell, late of—"
She stifled a moan. She had to get out of here.
She heard Lucius move across the carpet, shoes whispering on its thick pile. The front door of the apartment opened, and she stole a peek. The door was behind her. There was no one in her range of vision. If there wasn't somebody standing right behind her, she could get up, grab something— that vase—
The door clicked shut. She pushed herself up from the couch, hand scrabbling for the vase. Turning, her makeshift weapon lifted and ready to be thrown, she faced an empty room. He was gone. Where? For how long? And what did she do now? Get the hell out of here and chance meeting him in the hall? What if he had a gun?
He didn't need a gun. He had his eyes. Those eyes…
She found her clothes puddled at her feet and hurriedly slipped them on, underwear first, blouse, skirt. Her nylons she stuffed in the pocket of her skirt. Holding her high heels in one hand, the vase in the other, she decided to check the apartment before doing anything else. Lucius might have Rick tied up in one of the other rooms.
She tiptoed to the bedroom, vase ready in her hand. The door was half open, and she pushed at it with her foot. Her headache throbbed behind her temples. The sick, twisted feeling in her stomach worsened with each inch the door opened. Anything could be in there, from horribly mutilated bodies to one of Lucius's confederates, waiting for her with those same cold eyes…. What she found was Stella sitting up on a big double bed, eyes dazed, hands clutching her head.
Debbie's grip tightened on the vase. She looked into the other woman's eyes, remembering Lucius's power too late, but before she could tear her gaze away, she saw the undisguised shock registering in Stella.
"You," Stella said numbly, hands falling away from her head. She grabbed fistfuls of blanket to cover her nudity. "You… you're here. Oh, my God! Then it's all real!"
Debbie stepped into the room, and Stella backed up against the bed's headboard with the look of a trapped animal about her. Another victim, Debbie thought. Then she remembered that she still had the vase uplifted in her hand.
"I'm not with… him," she said, setting the vase on a dresser. She put her shoes beside the vase, then held her hands open in front of her, trying to appear non-threatening. Stella wore all the panic that Debbie was fighting down herself.
"Where's Rick?" Debbie asked.
"R-rick…?" Stella's gaze went past Debbie's shoulder.
"There's no one out there," Debbie said. "Not right now. Have you got a phone?"
Stella nodded, pointing. Bringing it to the bed, Debbie sat beside her. Before she dialed, she indicated the door.
"Keep watch."
Stella swallowed and nodded again.
Don't say anything about his eyes, Debbie told herself as she dialed. She and Stella needed help, not to have their sanity questioned.
"Hello, operator? I need the police. This is an emergency."
Tiddy Mun pointed to the high rise and Peter slowed down.
"That tower," the gnome said. "In the caverns underneath it."
Peter turned onto Lees Avenue, then steered the cab down the ramp that led to the underground parking. Sensors caught the cab's bulk and the garage door slid upward. Peter tramped on the gas. Fired up as he was, the entranceway reminded him too much of the gaping maw of some monstrous beast that was swallowing them.
"Ahead," Tiddy Mun said.
The little man spoke no more than he had to. Fear of the parasite, combined with his prolonged exposure to so much iron, left hi
m barely able to give the directions Peter needed. Inside this cave it was worse than ever. There were so many metal dragons….
Peter nodded. He didn't ask how Cat was doing, or if she was still alive. He wasn't even sure that the gnome could tell him if he did ask. What Peter had to do now was concentrate on getting them to wherever she was. One thing at a time. That was the only way he could handle this. If he started to think, he knew he'd just fall apart.
He glanced in the rearview mirror, saw Ben's drawn features, and shook his head. Peering ahead, he tried to catch a glimpse of Cat in the jungle of cars that the headbeams lit up in a rapid-fire flicker of glare and shadow.
Rick arrived on Redcap Hill moments after Cat. He stood stunned, his mind desperately trying to assimilate what had happened to him, where he was. One moment they were struggling in his car, in the underground lot under Stella's apartment building, and now… now… His gaze settled on Cat, and he moved toward her. It was all her fault.
Cat backed away. She was still unsteady on her feet. The simple act of breathing had never seemed so sweet. She sucked in lungfuls of air.
Rick moved deliberately forward. He seemed all the more menacing because of his slowness. Cat caught a glimpse of Toby regarding the two of them, his hand on the hilt of the knife in his belt. Beyond him the shadow things had multiplied. There appeared to be over a hundred of them now, leaping and writhing, icy eyes turned to watch her. A low gibbering ran through their ranks, building steadily in volume.
Cat looked away. She wanted to block her ears. Her head and chest hurt. Her vision spun.
"Don't know… how you're doing this to me," Rick muttered, "but it's not going to work. No way, babe. I've got the power with a capital P."
His advance, her retreat— they made a macabre dance. If he got hold of her… His eyes glittered menacingly, but she refused to be lured into them, refused to meet his gaze. His entire attention was focused on her. He was trying to draw her to him by the sheer force of his will. The need to meet his gaze grew stronger with each passing moment. But there was no other world to draw him into. No other escape.
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