Dream Stalker: Talented: Book 1

by Hopkins, Amy

  One of them with white hair piled atop her head and adorned with sparkling jewels approached us. I started when I recognised her as the dirty crone from the markets.

  "You seek aid."

  "Yes, great lady." Harrod offered a deep and respectful bow. He let go of my hand to do so and I suddenly felt less sure of myself.

  "Why should we provide it?" Anoher of the Guardians spoke. He was fine boned with hair just a little redder than was natural and a smattering of perfectly placed freckles. His cherry lips should have clashed with his hair but somehow, he just looked... perfect.

  "We seek to return an item that has been taken from you." Harrod now bowed at the second speaker.

  "Oh," came the voice of a young girl. "So much formality. You Lordlings, always so stuffy. We shall retire to the parlour and speak like friends." I turned to find a human girl of about nine years old standing behind us. She had dark, perfectly curled hair framing porcelain skin and a dress in the style of a Victorian era princess. Despite her young age and human appearance, her presence was every bit as commanding as the other Guardians.

  She waved her hand. The cluster of Fae disappeared and the room swirled. A feeling of fatigue washed over me briefly but I fought it, staying awake by force of will alone. My stomach lurched and then everything settled. We were now standing in... well, a parlour. It looked like something out of a Victorian manse, with lavish drapes and intricately carved furniture. The Guardian that had created the room waved me to sit. I perched on a love seat in which a sleeping Harrod reclined.

  "Is he going to be..."

  "Oh, he'll be perfectly fine. I thought it would be nice to converse for a moment, without all the bowing and apple-polishing."

  I wasn't particularly reassured by her words, as stories about those who put a foot wrong with the Fae in general didn't tend to end well. These? They were the Lords and Ladies of the Fae, they ruled supreme with powers that no human could dream of wielding. I wondered again at her human appearance. A disguise, perhaps?

  "Now, tell me what you came for my dear." Her tinkling voice was soothing to my anxiety. I knew it to be false, an enchantment woven to lull me into false security.

  "We came for your assistance, great one." I inclined my head respectfully, but kept my eyes on her.

  "Oh please, don't tell me you're as bad as that one." She waved a hand delicately at Harrod.

  "Very well. We came to ask for help. We think a Talent Lord stole from you and is using the thing he took to hurt my people."

  "And your people are?"

  "Half-bloods. Those with Talent and Mortal blood combined."

  "Why do the Talents not protect you from this threat if he is one of theirs?"

  I had to step carefully here. Every question would have a purpose and often not the one apparent.

  "The Talent Lords do not believe him to be a threat to them." That was the prudent answer. I pressed my lips together to stop myself from saying something scathing about their motivation.

  "And yet he is a threat to their children. Do they not care?" The child Guardian looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. It was easy to believe she asked genuinely, except that she was one of them. She knew. Still, it wouldn't be wise to speak the truth, not here.

  "I don't know their motivations. However, if I - if my friends and I can stop him, we'll return the item he's using to you." My heart ached to pour out my frustration at the Talent Lords, and it was a real effort to hold back. I ground my teeth until they hurt. There was magic here, something compelling me to say more than I wanted to. After a moment, it passed.

  "We do not wish to have it back. It was not stolen, but given freely." The Guardian's voice lost its musical quality and was now flat and serious.

  Uh oh. Given freely? One of the Fae - one of the Guardians themselves - had given Opius a grail? That was bad news.

  "Ah. Well then, I think my friends and I should depart then. It seems we misunderstood the situation and are wasting your time. You have my deepest apologies."

  The Lady leaned forward and poured tea. She held a cup out which I took, but didn't drink from.

  "You have nothing to fear from us, my love. Our intent was not for harm to come to you, then or now. Eat, drink, indulge in our world. It does not suit us to keep you here. Not this time. Now, tell me why you think you need to take on this threat alone?"

  "Alone? No, I..." I realised it was true. "I don't want my friends at risk."

  "And yet you are willing to risk a friend of theirs? You are the ward of an ancient creature who's bond to you will be severed if you die. It will take from him much of the sentience he has earned over time. You are the linchpin of a community that is fractured. If you leave them, they will scatter. You are the light that will guide one friend to do great things. If you extinguish it, he shall fail. You are the stone that another will lean upon when things are darkest. If you rumble, so shall he. You are the key to their success. You are... so much more than you realise, Emmeline."

  "My name is Emma." My mouth was dry and my stomach roiled at hearing the name I once used.

  "And yet, you are also Emmeline. You may have discarded it but it is still yours. You will one day claim it again. For now, you may pretend."

  I looked at her, unsure of what to make of all she said. She turned to Harrod and handed him a cup. Just like that, he sat up, lucid and apparently unaware that he'd been sleeping.

  "Ah, thank you, great lady."

  The 'great lady' rolled her eyes.

  "Might we petition your Ladyship for assistance in our quest? We would be most humbly grateful."

  "You do not need it." She sighed as if bored and kicked her feet, swishing her full skirt. "The way to defeat the dream stalker resides in the one he seeks the most. You shall prevail. Now hurry along back to your little world. I grow bored with your presence."

  "Ah. Well then. Thank you, esteemed Guardian," Harrod bowed his head and I mimicked him, trying to look like a good, deferent little human.

  "When we arrived here, we provided a sampling of... ahhh... a mortal. I hope you've had sufficient time to enjoy him. As we have the answer we came for, it is now time for us to collect our offering and depart your realm." Harrod's voice was clear with only the slightest tremor to indicate his anxiety. We should have talked about this, rehearsed it instead of having our petty argument.

  The Guardian snapped her fingers and Martin was led in by two Fae. I say led because he looked like he couldn't find his way out of a paper bag. His eyes were drowsy and lovesick and his shirt was gone. Apart from some red scratches on his torso and a dozen love bites across his neck and shoulder, he didn't seem to be injured.

  "You want it back?" the male said. He laughed, pointed teeth bared. "You are fortunate I did not have the time to partake in this gift myself then. He may not have been returned in such good condition."

  "I'm quite inclined to keep him actually," said the woman. "Do you truly wish him to return with you?"

  "Yes," Harrod and I spoke the word at the same time.

  "Well then, if you want him you may have him. If you can't keep him however, we shall."

  Martin was thrust at us. Harrod caught him as the one who'd spoken snapped her fingers, causing Martin to slump to the floor unconscious.

  "Hold on," he said, gripping Martin's arm. "It's a test. For the sake of the Gods, hold on and don't let go, or we'll lose him forever!"

  As I reached for his other arm, I shot a beseeching look the Parlour Guardian - probably not her title but I didn't know what that was. She just watched serenely. I guessed the platitudes she'd extended to me hadn't covered Martin as well. I grabbed Martin's arm as instructed, just as it changed. Human skin transformed into rough scales, moving under my hand. I'd heard of this test; it was one of their favourites. As long as we won, as long as we didn't let go, any hurt done to us would be an illusion and Martin truly would be returned to us safely. If we let go, however, the damage caused would be real... and there would be damage.


  Using both hands to ensure a steady grip, I didn't flinch as the hand I held became that of a beast, scaled like a fish and gnarled with long, silver talons. I dared not look at his face, for I knew that it was likely to be the face of some creature used to scare children into behaving. It flexed, and claws dug into the flesh of my arm. I weathered the pain, knowing worse was to come.

  The claw shifted and writhed as it transformed into rough tree bark. I was holding a branch and green vines snaked over my wrist. Branches sprouted from the limb I gripped. One punctured my hand and I let out a scream. I cut off the sound, forcing my mind to hold onto the knowledge that it wasn't real, it was just an illusion. I closed my eyes and concentrated, blocking out the pain and sensations, focusing on the soft, human flesh I knew I held. As I did so, the pain vanished and I held Martin's arm again as it should be.

  "It's not real," I said. "Dammit Harrod, it's not real."

  I risked a glance at Harrod who still yelled in agony. His hands were punctured and bleeding. If he let go, our only chance at getting Martin home was me. I knew I couldn't outdo a Talent in a Fae test. Harrod was a thousand times stronger than me, so if he failed...

  I had no further time for thought as Martin's arm burst into flame. White hot fire licked at my arms and I wept. Not real, not real. I reminded myself, trying to block out Harrod's screams and the scent of burning flesh. Again, the pain subsided and the wounds healed. Harrod's screams had turned into broken whimpering. Gods, I hoped this would end soon. I didn't know how much more I could endure.

  Writhing. Another change. This time, Martin's limb became slippery and long, growing out into a giant tentacle. I made the mistake of looking at him, and came face to face with a beast from hell.

  Red eyes glowed from sunken sockets. His mouth was open and filled with razor-sharp teeth, dripping venomous liquid. It dribbled on to my arm and seared like the flames had. The giant tentacle I gripped continued to grow, elongating and slithering up my arm, to wrap around my neck. No. No, no, NO! It wrapped around my throat and started to squeeze. Not real. I rolled my eyes to Harrod, who had fallen on the floor, holding out an arm charred into blackness. He'd already let go.

  The monster tightened its grip on my neck and I felt my airways crush. Pressure built behind my eyes and my vision went blurry. Not real. My heart pounded, seeking oxygen that wasn't there as another tentacle wrapped around my chest, forcing out the last remnant of air. Not real. My hand went numb and started to slip. Not... real...

  I couldn't do it. Couldn't pass the test, couldn't save my friend. I was weak and useless, like I'd always been. How dare I think I could win this, or that I could take on a Talent killer by myself? My mind flashed to the friends I'd lost, then ran past the ones I still had - friends still at risk from a man who traded innocent lives for power. A white hot rage filled me. No. No, I was NOT going to lose this battle. Somehow, despite the crushing pressure on my throat and chest, I heaved a breath and let out a scream of pure anger. Anger not just at the Fae for trying to take away my friend. Anger, not just at the killer who wanted my life. Pure, unfettered rage. Rage at my siblings for bullying me, at the Talents for ostracising me, at the mortals for fearing me. Rage at my own inadequacies, at my misjudgement of Harrod, at the harm to my dog, at the threat to my Gibble. All of it rushed out in a thunderous scream.

  The beast disappeared and the pressure around my throat vanished. Martin stood before me, a wavering form. He dissolved into a liquid puddle on the floor but his arm where I gripped it stayed warm and solid. It was like a dream; two things that shouldn't have been able to exist together, did.

  I reached out and took Harrod's blackened arm too. As I touched it, the charred skin fell away and was whole underneath. I held them both as Martin shifted again, into soft sand, trickling though cracks in the floor. Still, his arm was solid. The final change, this one unexpected. A man, but not Martin. I knew him - it was a Talent, one I knew. It was Jacoby Priest, the man who'd stopped a fight in my shop. Confusion melted into pure relief as Martin became Martin again - whole and unscathed. I let out a sob and pulled him close.

  "You now have two things you will need to win the battle ahead. Take care, dear one, and save yourself for the bigger fight ahead." The crone regarded us with sombre eyes, but the child ran up and embraced me, smiling with glee. She let go, then waved at me.

  With a whoosh and a pop, we were sucked back into the void between worlds and unceremoniously dumped on the other side.

  Chapter Ten

  I opened my eyes to the smell of fresh grass. An ancient oleander tree towered over us, bright sunlight prickling at my eyes through the branches I stared up at. Turning my head, I saw a neatly clipped hedge.

  "Guys?" I called, my voice tremulous.

  "Mmrph." It sounded like a classy grunt. Harrod, I guessed.

  "Martin?" I lifted my head to look for him, worry spiking until I saw him lying on the ground, staring at me with a goofy smile on his face.

  "Mmmm. Mmff." Ok, he was vocal. Sort of. I rolled onto my stomach and pushed up onto my arms.

  I wondered aloud where we were; Harrod told me we were back at his house. A quick look around to check for topiaries in the shape of dragons, or an endless maze found only a simple patio, the tree above me and a box hedge border. It seemed his landscaper had more taste than his decorator. We shook ourselves off and headed inside. Harrod made tea while I sat with Martin, warily eyeing him from across the room. It was disconcerting to say the least. The Fae-spell lingered, leaving him with a heady grin and sleepy eyes. Harrod came back and after some food and drink, Martin seemed to step back into the real world.

  "So." Harrod looked at his brother. "All that rushing around trying to save you, and you were off having fun? That surprises me less than it should."

  "Oh don't be such a wet fish. They were..." he sighed. "They were incredible. So beautiful and Gods, what they could do with their hands..."

  Harrod choked on the last of his tea.

  "Oh get your mind out of the gutter Harrod. They were just... Oh I don't even know what they were doing, but they took good care of me."

  "Apparently so," I said, trying to keep my face straight. "I'm glad to see you made it out in one piece at any rate. You didn't happen to eat or drink anything while you were there, did you?"

  "No. They didn't even offer."

  That was unusual. They'd clearly enjoyed his company, though it was rare for a Fae to turn down any human. Normally, they'd have plied any of their visitors with food and drink. One bite would give them the right to ownership, according to the law of the Otherworld.

  Once it looked like Martin was fairly back in this world, I asked Harrod if he knew how much time we'd missed. He went to the kitchen and a brownie gave him the morning's paper. We'd been gone for five days. Melanie would be starting to worry by now, though she knew where we'd gone. That was always a risk in crossing over; there was no way of knowing how time was passing in the mortal world. Sometimes you could visit the otherworld, stay a year and return, only to find out it had been only mere minutes since you left. Of course, there were also many tales of the reverse - visitors who had made the trip and immediately returned into a world that was days, months, even years older.

  All in all, five days wasn't a huge loss, but it did mean we'd have to hustle to get ready for the Gala. It was the following Friday - I needed a dress and all the fluff that goes with a formal outfit, and we had to make sure we were magically prepared too. I knew I'd have a lot of work to catch up on, and I needed to find out what happened to Gibble. The way he looked when he'd left us weighed on me. In all the years we'd been together, he'd never been anything but friendly. Grouchy sometimes, though that was often an act, but he'd never scared me. Though I often thought of him as my protector and my helper, truth was, he was family.

  "Are you sure Opius will be there?" I asked Harrod.

  "Reasonably. There will be some kind of announcement, something to do with the treaty talks between the Talents and t
he humans. I don't know what his stance is regarding the matter but it's important enough that it should draw him out for the night." Harrod flipped through the pages of the newspaper as he spoke.

  "So what's the plan? If the invitation covers a partner I can go with you, can't I? I know I was usually able to get into events with my father without raising too many eyebrows."

  "I think I can manage that." He didn't look at me, but smiled into his newspaper.

  "Great. No, not great. Oh wow, out to catch a killer and I have nothing to wear."

  Harrod laughed at that.

  "I'm serious. I don't even own a cocktail dress let alone something suitable for a Talented gala. Have the fashions changed much in the last ten years?"

  "They're Talented, nothing ever changes for them. Don't worry. Today we rest, tomorrow we shop. I know somewhere."

  I smiled thanks at him, Martin watching the exchange closely. Then, Harrod stretched and suggested we eat. Too tired to do much more, we sat and ate the sandwiches Martin had packed. It was a picnic lunch in an antique banquet hall. Ridiculous really. Harrod offered me a room to sleep in and I gratefully accepted. I was exhausted and didn't relish the walk home. Martin found a spot for me and once we were alone, he gave me a smile.

  "So, you've forgiven Harrod?"

  "Yeah. We're all good." I returned a tired smile.

  "I'm glad. He's a good man. A good friend."

  "Yeah. He is."

  With that, I crawled into a very plush four poster bed and went straight to sleep.

  I woke in the wee hours of the morning, still weary but restless. A soft glow under the door told me someone was likely awake, so I padded out into the hallway. I found my way to a sitting room, where Martin sat alone. He looked up as I entered, looking far better than I felt.

  "The sleeping princess awakes," he said.

  I grunted at him and flopped into a chair. My head was pounding. He rang a tiny bell and asked the brownie that appeared to procure some coffee.

  "Bring my potion box, too," he added.