Moon Bound (Dreamshifters Book 2)

by Cameron Drake

  Singing.

  Hush little baby don't say a word...

  I held perfectly still, afraid to believe what I was hearing. I knew that voice. I’d heard it a hundred times.

  I knew it because it belonged to my mother.

  Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird...

  My mother was here. Somewhere in this house. Catherine Thomas was here.

  She was alive.

  I took the steep stairs at a run. There was no effort involved. I practically flew up the narrow steps. All I had to do was exert the slightest control. Barely even a thought, as to where I wanted to land.

  The singing got louder as I floated up towards it, drawing me toward the sweet sound like a beacon. The voice I had never thought to hear again. Soft, melodic, feminine. And then it stopped.

  I looked around at my surroundings. I was at the very top of the enormous house. Just under the roof, with sloped ceilings and a high circle above me where there must be a turret above. It was lovely, ornate, but clearly being used for storage. Dusty trunks and old furniture were everywhere as far as I could see in the dim light.

  I wandered through the maze of haphazardly stacked boxes, forcing myself to slow down. My movements in the dream were too large, too fast. I didn't want to get lost, or worse yet, lose her.

  Finally, at the far end of the attic I saw a door. A door meant another room. I crept towards it, my ears peeled for another snippet of song.

  I reached out, letting my fingers brush the heavy, dense wood. I traced the edges of an enormous lock barring the entrance. It was obviously meant to keep something out.

  Or keep something locked in.

  I reached for the handle but it wouldn't budge. I’d never been locked out before. Of anything. If I wanted to go anywhere, I did. For the first time in my life, I couldn't go somewhere in my dreams. I pulled hard on the old brass handle in frustration, rattling the door futilely in it's frame.

  "Who's there?"

  I gasped, the voice touching my heart, making me freeze in place. It was my mother. There was no question in my mind now. It was her.

  I hadn't been imagining things.

  "Mom?"

  Pattering footsteps ran toward the door.

  "Kneel down, quickly. Look through the keyhole."

  I did as she asked. A beautiful brown eye blinked back at me.

  "Scoot back so I can see you."

  I moved backwards a foot and smiled, tears of relief washing over my face. My mother... she was here. She was alive.

  Maybe that was why I kept coming here.

  Maybe she had called me here.

  "Oh my sweet girl... You are so beautiful, Krista. I never thought I'd see you again."

  I reached out, laying my palm against the door.

  "I never thought I would see you again either."

  "You have the gift? You can dreamwalk?"

  I nodded.

  “Yes. Ever since I can remember. Now you scoot back so I can see you.”

  I pressed my eye against the door and gasped. It was a lovely room, lit by high windows. Beautiful old rugs and dark wood furniture sat before an ancient looking fireplace.

  And right there, kneeling before me, was my mother. She was exactly as I remembered, with large eyes and tumbling waves of silky brown hair. She looked drawn, worried, with tears standing out in her achingly familiar eyes.

  She hadn’t aged a day.

  After all these years, she barely looked older than I did. Maybe late twenties or early thirties at most. If anyone saw us together, they would think we were sisters.

  "There is so much I want to teach you. I need to warn you. It’s not safe here.”

  I pressed my eye even harder against the door and stared. The room was clean. There were books everywhere and a large bed covered in white blankets. A large window looked out over the countryside. And standing in the center of the room was a slim, beautiful woman in her early thirties. She looked like a girl, until you saw her eyes.

  Her eyes were sad. Tired. Not the eyes of a young girl after all.

  My mother.

  Then I noticed the white streak in her hair. No matter how well she looked, she had aged. Or something had changed her.

  "You're really alive."

  She nodded.

  "I'm so sorry my love. I tried to get back to you but they wouldn't let me leave. I tried so hard. I never forgot you."

  "Please. I need to know. Are we really witches?”

  “Yes. We are descended from the original witch.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She shook her head.

  “There’s no time. If they find you…”

  She wanted me to leave. I’d finally found her and she wanted me to abandon her! A flash of anger cut through the joy in my heart.

  “Why are you here? Why didn't you come home to us?"

  My mother’s voice cracked. She shook her head, her tears spilling over as she crawled closer to the door.

  “There’s no time. You have to leave. Quickly, before they find you!"

  “I need to get you out of here.”

  “No! You have to go."

  "Mom, I’m not leaving you.”

  In a flash Catherine was back at the door, bringing us eye to eye again.

  "No, Krista. You have to leave. Now. And never come back here. You have to learn to hide your gifts. Snuff them out, like Gran did."

  Slowly, I shook my head.

  "I won't abandon you, mom. And I won't hide what I am."

  "If White Beard sees you-"

  "Is that his name?"

  "You've- dreamt of him?"

  I nodded. White Beard. It was better than what I'd been calling him.

  "Yes. But I've been calling him Ghost Face."

  Her mother cursed, fear twisting her features.

  "I'm so sorry, Krista. I should have found a way to warn you. I searched for you. But they control me now. I can’t go where I want to in the dreamscape. There are too many of them and this place- it binds me. Now it's too late... If he's seen you, he will never stop trying to find you."

  "Who is he?"

  She closed her eyes as if struggling with something. Then she looked at me.

  "He is my husband."

  "You married him? The enemy?”

  Her features twisted in a grimace.

  "It wasn't a traditional marriage. It was a wolf marriage. He's an alpha. He didn't exactly ask permission."

  Heavy footsteps rang out behind me, echoing in the gloomy attic. My mother’s eyes widened in fear. She leaned into the door, her eye once again filling the keyhole.

  "Wake up! He's coming!"

  I blinked and woke up an instant later in my bed. I was covered in sweat from fear and exertion. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered now.

  She was alive.

  My mother was alive.

  Chapter 19

  Dean

  Sleep eluded me for hours. I stared at the ceiling, wishing she was here beside me. I was leaving tomorrow morning. Going to her.

  Krista. My mate. My perfect match. Our love was preordained by destiny.

  I wondered how she would feel about that. Even if I meant it as a term of endearment, it sounded a bit primal.

  I’d called but she hadn’t answered. I had so much to say, but I needed to know she would be okay.

  It was late, or early, but I texted anyway. I held my breath, praying she would answer.

  I need to know you are okay.

  It felt like an eternity, but it wasn’t. She finally answered after only a minute or so.

  I am. I have something to tell you.

  I have something to tell you too. Well, a lot of somethings.

  When do you head back?

  Tomorrow. Cancel your bus ticket.

  What? Why?

  I’m coming to you. Should be there by the early afternoon.

  Okay. Drive safe.

  I will. Dream safe.

  Too late.

  Tell me.
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  Tomorrow. I promise. It’s better said in person.

  Alright. Sleep tight, angel.

  You too.

  I finally closed my eyes and slept, the phone clutched against my chest.

  Chapter 20

  Krista

  “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

  I yawned and stretched, grinning at the familiar figure in the doorway. Gran was cooking something. I could smell it.

  “Good morning, Gran.”

  Gran smiled, her eyes wrinkling. She had pure white hair, but other than that, she looked decades younger than she was. From what I could see in pictures, her hair that been that way forever.

  Even when she was a young girl.

  I stared as a spiral of red shot through her locks.

  “Your hair!”

  She brushed it over her shoulder, winking.

  “Come on, now. It’s time for French toast.”

  That got me standing and pushing my feet into my worn-in slippers. Gran’s French toast was legendary. Not only was it homemade from scratch, but she even made the bread.

  No-knead bread she called it.

  It made everything taste better. Sandwiches, soup, you name it. But especially French toast.

  “Set the table and I’ll bring you a cup of coffee.”

  Gran made coffee with the well water from out back. She even ground the beans herself too. It wasn’t some fancy coffee from an organic shop or anything like that.

  It was just good.

  Perfect really.

  She always winked and said it was the salt, but I was starting to wonder if Gran had more magic going on in that kitchen than she let on.

  I set the table and sat, sipping the delicious brew.

  I couldn’t help noticing that parts of Gran’s hair appeared to be pink, in addition to the red swirl.

  “Did you go to the salon or something, Gran?”

  She gave me a saucy over the shoulder smile.

  “Nope. Guess again.”

  “Did you rinse with hibiscus tea?”

  She shook her head and kept her eye on the griddle.

  “I let myself start dreaming.”

  I stilled, my coffee cup halfway to my lips.

  “It wasn’t safe for the longest time. But now I’m old, and my girls need my help.”

  “You are… aging backwards?”

  “So to speak. Denying your powers takes a toll. Usually, in the form of white hair. But I was never anywhere near as powerful as your mother.”

  She turned to face me, giving me an assessing gaze.

  “And neither of us could hold a candle to you.”

  “Me?”

  “Every seven generations there is a powerful witch born. You can’t fight it. You are a throwback to the mother of us all.”

  “I didn’t think you knew any of this.”

  “Well, I was hoping you’d manage to steer clear. But that was foolish. Anyway, I’d forgotten so much.”

  She winked at me.

  “You are the one who forced me to remember. It was like I was asleep. My nana spelled me when I was just sixteen. So I wouldn’t accidentally use my powers.”

  She rubbed the back of her neck, turning the stove off.

  “It takes a toll on a body. And it meant I couldn’t do much to help you. Even if I had remembered how to, I couldn’t.”

  “I saw mom.”

  “I wondered if tht would happen. Is she alright?”

  “No. They have her. She is locked up. But she’s alive. I’m going to save her with Dean’s help. As soon as I ask him, I mean.”

  She nodded.

  “I know you will. I woke up early and it all came flooding back. I think I’ve been remembering bits and pieces ever since you found him.”

  “Dean?”

  She smiled.

  “Lovely boy, from what I can see.” She tapped her temple. “My vision is still a bit fuzzy. Might be age, might be lack of use. Or maybe I was only ever halfway to full witch on the power scale.”

  I took her hand, her silky, old lady skin feeling plumper than usual.

  “Gran, I’m so glad you remember. I need someone to talk to about all this.”

  “We’re going to do more than talk, never fear.”

  “We are? You’ll help me figure out how to save mom?”

  “Yes. But as you said, she’s safe, relatively speaking. We won’t go rushing into this without a plan. It’s far too dangerous.”

  She patted my hand and got up to get breakfast.

  “But first, we eat.”

  Chapter 21

  Dean

  I grabbed another box, dumping old photos and anything that mattered into it. Clothes, my old baseball mitt. Pictures of my grandparents. I knew I was never coming back here again.

  I didn’t take much. Not my fancy watch. Not the sterling silver picture frames filled with stiff, overly posed professional family portraits.

  I tipped them over, one by one. I didn’t want to look at them. I had to hurry if I wanted to see my lawyer today.

  I was going to break my trust. I didn’t want my father in charge of it anymore. I could budget my own expenditures for school and anything else I needed. It was plenty to last for a dozen of masters degrees if I wanted them.

  And a house. A big one.

  I picked up one of the photos, staring at my grandfathers portrait. It was a tintype picture, which made me frown. I grabbed another photo of him, taken in the 1970’s from the looks of it.

  He looked exactly the same.

  Even the crazy sideburns.

  I shook my head. I guess I did have a long life ahead of me. If I survived whatever was happening in the dreams.

  If I survived the beast in the dungeon. Or the others. The ‘Northern Tribes’ my mother had described.

  And without Krista and her abilities, I knew I didn’t stand a chance.

  The only question was, could I do anything to protect her?

  A soft knock at the door made me drop the photographs into the box again. I stood, facing the door. I was praying it wasn’t my father.

  I had a terrible feeling I might actually knock him out this time.

  “Enter.”

  I relaxed when I saw my mother standing there. I was still angry at her, but I knew she hadn’t done any of this to hurt me. My father was the real deceiver here. He was the culprit.

  Her face was carefully blank as she looked at the boxes on the ground. She swallowed and I saw her blink back tears.

  “You’re not coming back, are you?”

  “It’s highly doubtful I will ever darken your doorway again.”

  “Please, Dean. Don’t be so dramatic. Things have a way of seeming less important over time.”

  “Things like lying to me my entire life?”

  “We didn’t- I didn’t…” She reached for me and I ignored her hand, staring at it like it was a snake. She dropped it, looking bereft. “We never wanted to hurt you, Dean. No matter what happens, you should know you were loved.”

  She cleared her throat.

  “Are loved. And always will be.”

  I clenched my jaw. Then I nodded with a sigh. I couldn’t be cruel to her, no matter how angry I was.

  All the same, I didn’t plan on coming back here again. Maybe in a decade or so. Or maybe not.

  “I brought you something. I want you to have this.”

  I noticed she was clutching something wrapped in folded cotton. It was rough and dusty, almost like a potato sack. It was definitely not the sort of thing my mother generally had laying around.

  “What is it?”

  She handed it to me and I felt a shock the moment it was in my hand. It… thrummed with power. Almost as if it were electric.

  “Open it. It won’t bite.” She gave me a sad semblance of a smile. “At least I hope it won’t.”

  I unfolded the beige cloth and stared at the leather book in my hand. It was crudely decorated with embossed moons forming a border. It had every cycle of the moon,
all thirty of them.

  I ran my fingers along the edge and then the name.

  “It’s your grandfather’s journal. You father wanted to destroy it but I… well, I hid it.”

  I stared at my mom.

  “Thank you.”

  She shrugged self-consciously.

  “I don’t know how helpful it will be… but maybe it will give you some clues. Maybe it will help.”

  I enfolded her in a hug. I felt her start to cry and held her tighter. We stood there as sobs wracked her body. My shoulder was soaked by the time I let her go.

  “Are you leaving right now?”

  I nodded.

  “But I want to sit down first and take a look at this.”

  She wiped her tears away.

  “I’ll send someone to take your things down to the car.”

  “You don’t have to do that mom.”

  “It’s fine.” She smiled at me shakily. “And maybe I’ll bring you a cup of tea or a sandwich?”

  I nodded.

  “Thanks. That would be great.”

  I pulled out my phone.

  I found something that might help. I will be there a little later than planned.

  I settled into the chair and opened the book.

  Chapter 22

  Journal of Caspian Weston

  March 11th, 1868

  Father took me hunting today. He said he had something to tell me. What he proceeded to tell me chilled me to my core.

  He said that the feud that claimed his father’s father was still going. That I had to beware of the moon. That if a woman came to me in my dreams, I should tell him.

  That it was black magic at work, and I had to consider it carefully. That without her, I was weak. But with her, I was a target.