Face the Dark (Hunters of the Dark #3)

by Dave Ferraro

  Chapter Twenty

  Rachel watched Amelia hover over one of the unconscious werewolves, blinking rapidly to try to stay awake. Amelia hadn’t moved in like fifteen minutes. It was really beginning to wear on her. Could she perform the spell to find the warlock or not?

  She sighed heavily and dropped her head onto her arms at the table halfway down the room. She glanced over at Krystal, who was on the edge of her seat, staring at Amelia in wonder. But what was she so excited about? It was like watching paint dry. There were no incantations being said, no light shows. It was just Amelia….sitting. How boring. She turned and stared at a glass paperweight that was atop a stack of papers, eye level with her. It was a clear sphere with a slight flat bottom so that it didn’t roll away, and as she looked at it, she felt hypnotized. There were little imperfections in the glass, bubbles trapped deep within the paperweight that seemed to call out to her. She smiled dreamily at them and closed her eyes for a moment and opened them with a gasp. She was no longer in the infirmary. She was in a forest in front of a clearing.

  I’ve fallen fast asleep, she realized as she gazed out of the shadows of the trees she stood among, into the bright, sunny field. Lush, green grass grew across the field, probably as tall as Rachel’s knees. A soft breeze sent the grass rippling as if it were the sea, living water. Little waves danced all the way to the other side of the clearing, where the forest picked up again.

  Rachel stepped out into the field and smiled as the grass caressed her skin. She closed her eyes and let the breeze envelope her for a moment, taking in the soft earthy smell given off by nature.

  I‘m actually dreaming this time, Rachel suddenly realized, shivering as her mind turned to the monster that had hovered over her body previously. What happened to the whole floating-above-myself scenario? Had the demon switched tactics? Was it doing something else to her now that her strings were cut?

  When Rachel opened her eyes again, she glanced over the circular field and suddenly realized that there was a man standing in the center. He was very pale and wore only sheer purple silk boxers that drew her eyes to his exposed sex. He had a slight build and light purple hair that seemed to float softly in the air of its own volition.

  She also noticed that several wells were littered over the field, complete with wooden buckets and pulleys. The man stood before one such well.

  Gathering her courage, Rachel began to walk toward the man. As she drew closer, a figure darted out of the sky as quickly as a hummingbird and paused only as it was above the well the man stood in front of, before becoming a blur once more and flying back up into the blue sky. The brief pause above the well had given Rachel a glimpse of a man about four feet in height with curly blonde hair and blue eyes. Little wings had adorned his ankles, reminding Rachel of the sirens back in Greece.

  “Hello,” Rachel greeted the purple-haired man as she found herself standing beside him suddenly.

  “Hello,” the man echoed her greeting. He lowered the bucket in front of him into the well and smiled. “I am Morpheus, Rachel. Bringer of dreams.”

  “Morpheus?” Rachel repeated. “Did you bring me here?”

  The man regarded her for a moment before answering. “You should be careful when reading incantations that you know nothing about, not to mention the fact that you slaughtered the Latin.” He offered another smile, then shrugged. “My father sent me to you, to make a long story short.”

  Rachel frowned. She had spoken some Latin back in Greece, from something handwritten in the column of a book. Was that what he was referring to? “What do you want?”

  Morpheus looked down into the well and nodded to himself before reversing the direction of the bucket. “These wells contain dreams...as well as nightmares. Pleasure and pain. Heaven and Hell. While mortals sleep, I dip their buckets into the well, into the unconscious realm and retrieve their dreams, their fantasies.”

  Rachel watched as the bucket in the well slowly lifted from the well, bringing with it water that glowed a light purple.

  “The deeper the bucket goes, the deeper the sleep,” Morpheus continued. “Sometimes I have no control over how deep the bucket goes. Of its own will, it sinks to the bottom of the well, its owner falling into a state from which it’s difficult to return.” He pulled the bucket out of the well and poured it into the air before him, where it disappeared, as if a portal were swallowing it. “And eventually, the Fates will cut the rope that holds the bucket, so that I can never retrieve it from the well again. For them, the dreaming comes to an end. Their lives - forfeit.”

  Rachel shuddered as Morpheus replaced the bucket over the well. “Why...why are you telling me this?”

  Morpheus looked at her and ran a hand absently over his chest, over his flat stomach. “Sometimes I can not budge the buckets at all. Sometimes another takes control of the buckets. There are many different things that can happen here.”

  Understanding seemed to flicker over Rachel’s features. “You mean me and Shanna?”

  “When I pull your buckets from the depths of the wells, I find them tainted. Filled with sand instead of dreams.”

  “Sand?”

  Morpheus put his thumb up to Rachel’s lips and gently rubbed them. He smiled. “But you are a beauty, aren’t you? It would be a shame if the sand became too heavy for me to pull the buckets out again. It would be a great shame if the weight caused the rope to snap without the Fates’ intervention.”

  “You mean-”

  “It is time for you to awaken. Your pursuer grows near. Remember my words. They are all I may offer you.”

  Rachel nodded and was startled as Morpheus suddenly pressed up against her, kissing her full on the lips. She was aware for the first time that she was naked as well and she could feel every inch of his flesh as it pressed up against hers. His tongue intruded into her mouth and it felt delicious. She wanted to swallow it. She wanted to keep it there. She found her hand run over Morpheus’ smooth body, over his wispy hair. She moaned lightly as his hands sought out her flesh as well. She kissed him harder and opened her eyes, shocked to find herself in the infirmary.

  Everyone was still focused on Amelia. Except Felicia. Felicia was looking at her sideways, as if studying her, but she turned away as soon as Rachel met her eyes.

  Rachel looked away and put a finger up to her lips. They were warm and swollen. Had that actually happened? Had she met a god in her dream? Or was it merely a dream, after all? She frowned as she contemplated this, but was soon pulled from her thoughts as Amelia was suddenly facing them with a smile on her face.

  “I got it,” Amelia announced, beaming at them. “It was a tricky little devil to track, lots of false leads, but I’m confident I found the source of the spell.” She paused. “And it seems he has some demon energy about him, as well. He may even be more demon than warlock at this point.”

  Valor extinguished the cigarette she’d been smoking during the ritual, and slid off of her stool gracefully. “And where can we find the warlock-demon?”

  “Close. He’s in New York. Brooklyn, actually, where he has an art exhibit opening. It seems he fancies himself an artist.”

  “Well, I love a good art exhibit,” Rachel beamed. “When do we go?”