Merc flipped through the memories of their time together, revisiting every moment spent with her in the dreams. The beach, both under sun and moon. His favorite park. His hotel room.
Wait.
In that first dream, when she had touched him and he had spun to face her, she had been sitting on a low wall in front of an apartment building, the numbers on a brass plaque mounted to the small gate in front. The street had been a residential one, kids playing on the sidewalk and a corner café that had old men in high-waisted pants entering, followed by two arguing women, their age difference and similar coloring suggesting mother and daughter.
There had been nothing special or memorable about that street, and nothing in her attitude suggested it was special to her in the way the beach was. No, that street was boring, predictable…home.
It was her home. It was where she lived now. It was nothing special to her – probably where she was living until something changed where she could make a move to where she’d rather be. That’s why she didn’t protect it. That’s why it was there.
Firing up his computer, he did what he always did – what he was good at. He hunted, using the hundreds of small details from his mind that most people would overlook, inputting them into the machine before him in ways he’d perfected over the years, matching electronic inputs and keystrokes to memories and topography.
There it was, waiting after several batches of longer and more complicated searches. Right there on the screen, a picture of exactly what he had seen in the dream, and close enough he could reach her today.
It was time to meet his dream woman.
Chapter Ten
‡
“We’ve managed to collect fifteen items, a list I’ve forwarded you in your mail. Another thirty-six we are aware of who has them. That list is with Kyo, awaiting his orders.” As Tec spoke about the current status of the search for the vault items, images of different items floated around them, illustrating on-screen the genius’s words.
Fallon watched as the pictures changed, making mental notes of which ones she was most interested in, the magic items that would cause the most damage. “And the gargoyles?”
“Expect one of Terak’s lieutenants at the end of the week to be an honorary member of the Guild. How did you convince him of the wisdom in this summer exchange program?”
Before Fallon could answer, Laire came zooming into the console room without looking where she was going. Only Tec’s quick reflexes stopped her from tripping and falling on her butt, and only luck explained how Laire managed to not take out either Tec or his beloved gadgetry while trying to right herself.
After a quick nod of thanks to Tec and a quick swipe of hand over outfit to make sure the red and black dress was in place, Laire grabbed Fallon’s wrist. “Come on, it’s about to get good if you don’t make me miss it.”
Fallon blinked twice before pulling her wrist away. “And hello to you too. Strangely enough, I might want to finish my conversation before being pulled away. There’s this little thing called work I do around here.” Tec, being the smart guy he was, snorted but otherwise kept quiet.
“You only hang around here because it’s an acceptable place to showcase your aggressive and hostile nature,” Laire shot back, but then switched tactics with whiplash speed, bringing her hand up to study her nails with an oh-so-casual manner. “It’s only that the Master of Monsters is here and Wulver is in the building and word is they’re being forced to work together. You know, no biggie at all.”
“Later, Tec.” Fallon waved a quick goodbye before grabbing onto Laire and forcing the mage to get in step with her.
“You might want to stop the high school dramatics sometime,” he called after them, the British accent giving the words a superiority he may or may not have meant.
Laire turned to him, hand on hip in pure attitude even as she was being pulled along like a toddler. “All life is high school. For example, how late did you stay up playing video games last night?”
The last sight of him before they turned the corner included blush stained cheeks and a quick ducking of his head. Laire giggled. “I love geeks. They’re so easy.”
“Just be careful. We can’t afford for you to break him.”
They made their way to the main floor of the building. This area was a large circular room, with only a few offices connected to it. Here was for waiting for missions to begin, or the occasional downtime where large groups would hang together. Weapons and training were below, while work areas, meeting rooms, and a few apartments for temporary stays were above.
This time Aislynn was there, talking in easy, calm tones to a woman. The woman was taller than the elf and slender as a reed, dressed in a shirt and pants of midnight blue, her outfit and bearing reminiscent of the glamour of old movies, where women clothed their power in silks and sharp silhouettes. Her straight black hair shone like the night sky that was touched by the faintest hint of moonlight. Her skin looked like it had never seen the sun, and at their approach, eyes so light blue they almost merged into the surrounding white met theirs. Rule, the Master of Monsters, was indeed here.
“Master of Monsters,” Fallon greeted as they approached her.
Rule inclined her head, a queen’s graciousness in the gesture. “Dragon Slayer. It is good to see you again.”
“And you. What brings you here? We only knew to expect you, not the reasons for your arrival.” Sometimes Fallon could be as subtle as Laire. The nice thing was, Rule would take no notice to the bluntness of the question. Though she never displayed any overt crassness, the woman never worried whether she was getting or giving offense, though whether that was because she didn’t know or didn’t care was often debated.
As expected, Rule didn’t even give an arched eyebrow over the question. “The Seven Houses have asked for my assistance. I do not know the details yet, only that I am to meet with Lord Kyo.”
Aislynn cleared her throat and spoke up. “I’m to take her to Wulver so they can speak with Kyo together.”
“Oh, you’re going to be working with Wulver,” Fallon said, while behind Rule’s back, Laire gave a fist pump and then a told you finger pointing at Fallon.
“It would seem so,” Rule replied, and when she turned to look at Laire, Laire’s hands were behind her back and she had the Laire version of an innocent expression on her face. Which meant it wasn’t, but thank gods Rule was not strong on the social cues.
From above them dropped a creature the size of a pony, which landed in front of Rule. All three women made to grab their weapons before the creature wound around Rule’s feet and settled in front of her. As Rule didn’t seem surprised at this, in silent agreement the three went back to staring at it in horrified curiosity. After twenty seconds of dead silence, Laire exclaimed, “What in the four hells is that?”
The creature which guarded the Master of Monsters was lion and raven and reptile, all feline grace and carrion cruelty, with the scent of magic seeped into its skin. Rule’s pale eyes warmed, the first hint of emotion since her arrival. “My Thantus. He was a wizard’s experiment before I found him.”
“Where is the wizard now?” ventured Aislynn.
“Digested.”
Before any further questions could be asked, Wulver came into the room, stopping short as he took in their guest. His blue eyes snapped, and the good humor he always carried around with him washed out of his face. He drew in a deep breath that was pure shoring defenses before coming farther into the room. “Rule. I wasn’t expecting you until tonight.”
This time there was no bow of her head, and while the words were still polite, this time the challenge in voice and tone was unmistakable. “Alpha. I received word to come earlier.”
They were gunslingers at high noon, facing off as tumbleweeds rolled by. “I hadn’t heard that.”
A new voice spoke up, so curt it edged on harsh, though the words contained the expected courtesy. “My apologies, Wulver. It was a sudden change in my schedule that prompted this swit
ch.”
The energy around them became charged as Kyo entered the room. The Japanese man radiated power so strong that for those not used to it, it was hard to breathe around him.
His near-black hair was long enough to touch his nape, the fringe falling over his forehead and face, but it looked in no way unkempt. His dark eyes shown from behind the bangs.
He was six-foot with a medium musculature, but even next to Wulver who was bigger than him in both height and mass, something about Kyo made Wulver seem small. Kyo wore a traditional yukata in a midnight blue, and though the garment resembled a robe, on Kyo it might as well have been the most ornate and majestic of outfits.
Next to him was a Japanese woman of about five-four, taller than Laire but shorter than Aislynn, and far shorter than both Fallon and Rule. She carried herself the same way Kyo did, spine vertical and chin lifted high, eyes watching for the tiniest sign of weakness. She wore a white sleeveless top with a high collar, the tailoring resembling a vest, and white flowing slacks.
Kyo looked over the group, including Laire who was studying her nails again, but this time her body was a story in distinct uncomfortableness.
Tec’s voice filtered through the air. “Fallon?”
Taking in Laire’s small breath and subtle shift of her shoulders downward, Fallon answered, “Yeah?”
“The Dream Crafter has contacted us. She has what we requested.”
“That sounds like my cue to miss this little lovefest.” Fallon cuffed Laire on the back of her neck, which caused the mage to jump and give Fallon the side-eye from hell. “Come on. I might need your help.”
Without any goodbyes, Fallon ushered Laire away to Tec and their mission.
Chapter Eleven
‡
The urge to vomit was a constant pressure from the back of her throat. Amana took another sip of ginger ale, willing the acid to settle back in her stomach and behave.
Once again, her hand stroked over her bag, feeling for the shape of the book within it, as she had done every minute since she walked out her door to the trendy café on the corner. With every ring of the bell over the door she looked up, and so far all it got her was disappointment and stretched-out nerves.
Another sip of soda, hand again ghosting over the book. She wanted…she wanted to meet a god, or the Oracle, and ask them why? For the first time in ten years she had felt…
That was it. She had felt. She had opened up to someone, trusted them enough to let them in, and it was so good. Warm and remarkable and now… Now she was supposed to go back to what she was before? Worse, she was a betrayer, a thief who had stolen from him, stolen his faith in her.
Nakoa. This was the price for Nakoa to come back to her. How many times had she said she’d pay any price, only let him come back to her?
The gods took her at her word.
A phone rang, and the person behind the counter answered. His countenance turned from disinterest to fierce focus, and after he hung up, he called out, “Everyone out. Not you,” he said, looking to Amana. The two other patrons startled, but taking in the proprietor’s expression, they made hurried movements to grab everything and go. In moments, the place was empty.
The view from the café’s huge ceiling-to-floor windows was clear for a minute before Fallon and Laire appeared outside. Fallon gave a quick sweep of the area inside and out before she entered, Laire behind her in fire-engine red thigh high boots and a red and black skintight dress, which ended mid-thigh.
Fallon wasted no time to stand before Amana, the redhead all in black and twice as intimidating as when she fought a group of werewolves with her bare hands. “Where is it?”
“Where is my brother?” She had given up too much. There was no way they’d touch this book until Nakoa was in her embrace.
“The book first.”
If Fallon thought Amana was going to jump when told, the woman was disillusioned in a big way. “There is no first. Get Nakoa and you have this book. That was the deal.”
“And that’s still the deal. We need to go through channels to get to him.”
“Then you’ll wait.” Amana’s hands curled with the desire to claw at this woman. “He should’ve been at the ready to go. That was the deal, and like hell you’ll get this book a moment before I see him. I’ll throw this book to the necromancers before I let that happen.”
From the corner of her eye, Amana saw Laire straighten, the mage’s hands opening in slow, methodic circles. Fallon’s expression was set, her eyes hard. “I told you, we’ll get you your brother. I guarantee it. But we need the book now.”
Yet another lie, another broken promise, and this one took from her the only good thing to happen to her since her brother. Damn Guild. Damn them.
Laire raised her hands, but before she could finish whatever magic she was going to cast, a filmy black cloud whipped over Laire’s face. It pulled tight and backward, like someone had wrapped a scarf around her head, but this was not fabric. This black mass moved and shifted, and Laire lost whatever power she was harnessing, her hands coming up to claw at the blackness as her struggling breaths sounded loud through the room.
The mage was thrown to the floor, skittering across the tile as her hands never stopped trying to pull away the black mass, and Merc burst forth in a quickstorm of movement so sudden Amana could not tell from where he arrived.
Time slowed, passed in a frame-by-frame reel, like a movie in quarter-time. Reality was a paltry second or two, but to Amana the shifting of expressions on Fallon from startled to battle-ready, a burning focus radiating from her body as she faced the incoming enemy, was big and bright startling clarity. Fallon pivoted toward Merc and lunged forward, moving into position with enough time to deflect the punch that was aimed at her, a hit that would have sent anyone else sprawling, and met the attack with her own strike, only for that to be deflected as well.
Now time returned to normal pacing, and now Amana could see nothing, the two warriors too fast for a step-by-step recounting as they threw punches and kicks toward each other.
This was nothing like what was found on movies. This wasn’t even like the brawl at the bar involving the wolves. At the bar Fallon was enjoying herself, a smile on her face, the movements and adding in furniture and the music playing making the whole production theatrical, with punches that seemed…less, less than the maximum amount to hurt or stop another, letting the fight linger on far longer than it needed.
Here, both Merc and Fallon’s faces were masks, only the burning in their eyes promising life flowed underneath. Here there were no big, grand movements. Here, every strike was small, intimate, and designed for immediate pain, immediate incapacitation.
Fallon jumped toward Merc, landing a blow across his face and a gasp punched out of Amana, an insane urge to run to him, to protect him, bunching the muscles of her thighs before she relaxed them. While Fallon pushed her advantage after landing the blow, the tattoos across Merc’s forearms began to writhe, and while Fallon’s attention was on the fight, a black aura rose above his skin, misty and lighter than what still enveloped Laire, the lines snaking around Fallon.
Fallon jerked, but if it was in awareness of her situation, it was done too late. Merc had lured her in and closed the trap, and now she was enveloped, the magic covering most of her body as she fought against it. She was not helpless in the same way as Laire. She had movement, and where Laire seemed prisoner to the magic, even now Fallon was breaking through, the black sludge disappearing under her hands, a red glow arising from Fallon’s own skin.
Merc rose. The magic that enveloped Fallon was still connected to his arm, and like he was throwing a discus, he tossed the magic towards the windows.
Fallon, still enveloped within the magic, soared through the air, crashing through the window in an explosion of glass, traveling several feet into the city street. Shouts and the squeal of brakes ricocheted through the now glassless windowpane. Merc jumped through, slamming his hand on the ground, sending more blackness across the roa
d. A crater formed, and even this far away its size and depth was noticeably massive. Fallon tumbled down, disappearing into the inky blackness.
Laire was still on the ground battling her own entrapment, but before Amana could go to the mage, before thoughts began moving through her head again, Merc was at her side, grabbing her wrist in a rough grip and jerking her out of the café, using his other hand to take the bag still in her grasp.
He pulled her to a waiting car, throwing her in and getting in the driver’s seat before she could recall her wits enough to protest. Tires pealing, they roared away from the chaos, the car fast and low and taking her to her doom.
“You killed Fallon! By the gods, you killed Fallon!”
Chapter Twelve
‡
“Are you ever coming up?”
“Unless you’re planning on zapping me up there, shut the hells up.” Fallon’s voice carried up to Laire from the crater. Fallon still hadn’t emerged from the deep darkness, but the voice was close enough that Laire calculated a minute or less until visual contact.
“Can’t.” And if there was a hint of smug glee in the tone, what could Fallon do to her anyway? “Used too much power getting rid of Merc’s little present and quelling the chaos he caused up here. People really need to calm their asses. It’s a little hole. Why yell over it?”
“Laire, focus.”
“Anyway, I’m low on the power scale. I can’t even contact headquarters, so you’ll need to do it once you’re free of this-” she poked at the edge of the blackness that clung to the huge crater, disgust shuddering through her as she came into contact once again with the strain of magic similar to what held her captive. “-crap.”
“Fine, I will. Leave me alone until I get up there.”
Reclining so she was resting her head against her hand, Laire continued to watch for a head to appear. Alright, so it wasn’t little, it was a crater which almost took up half a block. Still didn’t excuse the yelling. “You kind of got your ass handed to you.”
The Dream Crafter Page 6