A muffled curse, the clink of rocks falling away, and a few seconds before Fallon’s voice came through again, lower-pitched and three degrees more strained than before. “The fight is to be continued.”
“I don’t see Merc crawling up from a hole.”
“As long as I’m drawing breath, it’s to be continued.”
Fallon’s head popped into line of sight. She looked a little worse for wear, dirty and scratched, but nothing that had Laire itching to call the healers. It would still be another minute before Fallon cleared the crater, but Laire’s chest loosened a fraction with the visual confirmation of Fallon’s words. “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”
Fallon’s attention was fixed on finding the next handhold. “The possibility is looking stronger by the minute.”
“Too bad. Not many can rock the guyliner like he does.” The only sounds for the next few moments were the crumble of rocks beneath Fallon’s fingers as she continued to climb up the side. As Fallon approached the top, Laire said, “I didn’t know he could do any of that.”
Fallon’s lips compressed into a tight line, the sight a familiar one from any of the few times Fallon was caught unawares. “I didn’t either.”
“Probably was saving it for a big-time power play where it really could have killed you. Lucky break for us he had to use it in such a hurried situation.” Fallon snorted as though to answer what she thought of that possibility, but otherwise said nothing, her concentration on each and every pull that brought her closer to the top. Laire waited a beat of time before saying, “He’s got a bound on him.”
Fallon stopped cold, holding by her fingertips as she looked at Laire with all steely intensity. “A bound?”
Laire nodded. “Mortal.”
Fallon’s mouth formed into a half snarl. With an explosive pull, she cleared the last few feet and pushed out of the crater. “What sort of idiot gets themselves bound by the likes of Hadrien?”
Laire stood as well, giving a nonchalant shrug before bending to flick a few stray patches of dirt from her skirt. “I don’t know how it happened, but it was undeniable. Even through that junk he threw at me, I could feel it between him and the Spellbook.”
“This gets better and better,” said Fallon, kicking at a large stone. She straightened herself, raising her head and putting hands on hips. “This isn’t a case of professional pride. He’ll throw everything, call every favor to keep that book.”
Laire only gave a half-nod in agreement before she froze, her eyes widening in animated despair. “You aren’t going with Plan B now, are you?”
“Oh, Plan B, C, D, E, F, and G if I can think of it in time. We are getting that book back.”
Fallon turned on her heel, but paused mid-stride as Laire, her voice devoid of all earlier animation, called out, “Merc has the Dream Crafter. He grabbed her along with the book.”
Fallon’s head fell forward for a bare moment. A new tension showed itself in the line of her spine and the clenching of her fists. Raising her head was a deliberate motion, as was the turn to face Laire again. Her voice was even, as void of emotion as she could achieve. “Merc’s not a killer. Whatever else he does, he doesn’t murder people.”
Laire’s gaze was hard, a rare look for the tiny mage. “You know his training. She’s an enemy and a threat he doesn’t know how to neutralize. Maybe he’ll debate for awhile, but she’s in his hands, and with the mortal bound, he can’t afford any variables right now.”
“Laire–”
“We brought her into this.” Laire stepped forward, her arms crossed in front of her and her breaths coming out in short bursts, the tempo rising the more she spoke. “We used her brother. We’re responsible, and we need to make this right.”
Debate played out on Fallon’s face, in her clenching jaw and hard eyes and deep breaths. Finally, she lifted her head and called out, “Tec.”
A British tone filled the air between them. “Good to hear from you. There was an explosion of magic and then a blackout. An Erasure team has been dispatched and damage control has begun. Should we send anyone else?”
“No, not necessary. Merc escaped with both the Spellbook and the Dream Crafter, so there’s no threat here. Put out to all our allies we want Merc and we want him now. Usual price. Also, put out Amana’s photo. Don’t give any explanations, but tell them we’ll give double the usual price for her.” Fallon’s gaze flicked to Laire before she glanced up. “For Amana, tell them to look anywhere that’s a known dumping ground. Double price goes for her body as well.”
A pause, and then Tec said, “Kyo has not authorized any rise in payment.”
“I authorize it, and Kyo can take it up with me.” Steel entered Fallon’s tone, the edge sharp and cutting. “Put it out, Tec.”
It took only moments before Tec’s voice came through. “Done.”
“Oh yeah…” For the first time in the conversation, a sliver of humor returned to Fallon’s voice. “Final thing. Contact the Blackguard. I need a meeting with Griffith himself. Tell him time and location are at his convenience, but I need it as soon as possible – and I’ll be bringing Laire.”
If looks could kill, well, Laire could kill with a look, and her face was only a shade away from that particular expression. Tec returned with, “It’s done. I’ll contact you when I hear back. Headquarters out.”
The inaudible click of magic that signaled the connection was broken, and Laire said, “Low.”
Fallon put up her hands in a don’t blame me pose. “I’m doing what I can. Sooner we get Merc, the better the chances for Amana. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Fallon jerked her chin and turned, calling behind her shoulder, “C’mon, I’ll buy you a coffee.”
Laire snorted as she began the fast walk needed to catch up to Fallon. “Don’t think you’re getting off that cheap. Dealing with Griffith? You’re buying me a whiskey neat – and I’m talking the good stuff.”
Chapter Thirteen
‡
Amana had long ago exhausted counting cars, humming songs, playing Can I find a license plate from every state? and anything else she could think of to distract her from the roar of thoughts and fears storming around in her head.
Merc said nothing, had said nothing from the moment he put the car in drive. He pulled her around for three difference car swaps, the final one he had swapped a license plate with another car of the exact same make and model. Right now they were in a minivan, and on the bumpy, backwoods road they were travelling, the car’s lack of suspension was bruising.
She hazarded a quick glance at the quiet man. Merc drove with only his right hand, while his left elbow rested on the car door, that hand hanging loose. He appeared assured, in control, emotionless – the opposite of all that she was right now. She wanted to scream and kick at the door, demanding to be let out. The only sign of his possible anxiety was the way his eyes flickered back and forth, jumping between the mirrors every few seconds.
The silence was too much. There was no lying to herself – she was in a dangerous position. But the last thing she wanted was this pulled out, stretching her nerves and her sanity. Whatever would be done, let it be done. With that in mind, she broke the silence. “What are you going to do to me?
He didn’t physically acknowledge her, but he at least answered the question. “I don’t have a standard way of dealing with people who betray me. Most people are smart enough not to.” His voice was ice, no emotion in the tone even as the words used conveyed personal hurt.
She flinched, her own guilt rising again to beat at her. “I didn’t want to.”
“Somehow, I knew that would be your answer.”
“I’m serious, please.” Even if he wouldn’t believe her, even if this was going to end in her death, she wanted him to know the truth. “Please, I’m not Guild. I’m not one of them. This is the first time I have ever dealt with them.”
He said nothing, only took a sharp right turn with no hesitation, the same type of easy assurance a racecar driv
er would show. If it came to a high-speed chase, she could see him doing the same type of maneuvers that were common in the movies. “Who are you? What’s your name?”
“Amana. I’m not Guild,” she repeated, and a sudden desperate wish rose up in her, a desire to see him upset, mad at her, yell at her, something that told her their nighttime visits had meant to him what they meant to her, and that this situation was destroying him the same way it destroyed her. “I never wanted to betray you.”
That got a slight tightening of his hand around the wheel but nothing else. “The fact is you did. Wanting to or not doesn’t matter.”
“Don’t you want to know why?”
“No. Not really.”
Whether the words were said because of anger or indifference or something else didn’t matter. He was going to hear the truth. “I only did it to save my brother. The Guild came to me and said if I helped them, they would get my brother free. That’s the only reason I helped them. But you have to understand something. Those first two visits, those weren’t because of the Guild. Those were you and me finding each other.”
“I really don’t want to hear it,” he said, the snap of anger in his voice a crack through the air, contained but undeniable. “I don’t care to hear you anymore. Stay quiet before I decide to silence you.”
If that threat was real or not was impossible to predict. He was controlled anger now, and it was apparent he didn’t believe her. The man from the dreams wouldn’t hurt her, but this was not that man.
A few more minutes of silence as they rode. The sky had been going through a gradual darkening, but in these last minutes total darkness descended.
The tip of his right middle finger beat a drum on the wheel of the car. His long bangs covered his eyes, stopping her from seeing any feelings or thoughts. All she could do was wait as he came to a decision.
After long moments, he spoke. “We’re stopping for the night. Don’t make a sound or attract attention to yourself in any way.” He looked over at her for the first time of the ride. “I will silence you if you try.”
“Yes.” Of that, she had no doubt.
“You can have the first sleep shift.”
“You’re going to let me sleep?” She wished she could take back the question the moment she asked him. Red in front of the bull, and she kept waving as hard as she could whether she meant to or not.
But he only came back with, “Yeah.” After that, silence.
And not even dreams to look forward to.
Chapter Fourteen
‡
There was a seductive innocence about her as she slept, her body lush with relaxation and the long dark hair shaping itself to the curve of her back, over her shoulders and arms. A siren, and she had lured him when no one else could claim that privilege.
Merc ripped his eyes from Amana, using every hard won ounce of self-control to turn from her and not keep staring at his dream woman made flesh. She was even more breathtaking in reality, her skin glowing with a luminescence dreams couldn’t touch, the brown of her eyes deeper and more inviting, even filled with the fear and worry she’d been experiencing throughout their journey.
The clock showed four plus hours since she began sleeping, a sleep he interrupted just before every REM cycle. She made sleepy noises of protest when he did, her mouth scrunching up and her body jerking away from the annoyance. And gods, he was an idiot, because even those small actions had something twisting in his gut, a something that should have died with her betrayal.
A couple more hours, and then he’d get her out of bed and lie down himself. She’d be rested then…as well rested as could be with being woken up so often. Then they’d head out after he got a few hours of sleep. He could live on a few hours, and between that and a few precautions, it should be safe enough for him with working around dreams and whatever she was, at least for the short-term.
The problem, this was going to last longer than the short-term.
He often found himself living on little or no sleep for periods of time, but even with his training there was no way he could stay awake through the end of this assignment.
He needed answers if he was going to survive this.
The secure connection on the computer went through. The Guild’s techmancer was near legendary in his abilities, but Merc knew quite a few back ways around electronic transmissions. As long as he kept it brief, he had no worries about the Guild.
The face that appeared on the tablet screen held an ageless quality, with mature features but firm, unlined skin. His head was as bald as it had always been, his almond-shaped eyes dark, filled with too many secrets and more knowledge than contained in a thousand libraries. He looked the same now as he did in Merc’s earliest memories of him – Merc’s earliest memories, period. “Shisen.”
“Merc,” the man replied, his voice as placid as a lake on a windless day. “There is much excitement over you. I have heard many interesting things.”
“I can imagine.” No doubt he heard everything that happened and knew what was going on, maybe even before Merc himself did. Between Shisen’s contacts and endless store of knowledge, he was a force to be reckoned with. “Tell me what I don’t know.”
The man showed no emotion, his usual neutral countenance in effect. Sometimes, in private musings, Merc questioned if the male had taken sides in the war, or if he stood pure center and waited to observe the end game. There were other beings Merc had the same thoughts over. With the Oracle, it was due to her love of chaos and causing beings to come against each other. With Cashric, everyone else might call him the god of law and justice, but all Merc saw was a righteous prick. There was no doubt in Merc’s mind that if Cashric felt the scales fell on the side of the necromancers, the god would stand back and allow their victory without comment. But with Shisen, it was due to the man’s devotion to learning and craft. All his master cared about was teaching beings to come into their power. What they did with that power, the man seemed not to take notice of. Shisen spoke. “Hadrien has disappeared.”
Merc’s hand was halfway to the tablet in a motion to throw it before he pulled back, tightened his muscles to the point of pain to get himself under control.
Gods damned Hadrien. Of course Hadrien disappeared. Of course he did, the cowardly little prick. As soon as news of the Guild’s little stunt reached him, he would have gone for cover.
Wait…wait…the small Asian woman, she was a magic user of some type, but he was so focused on Fallon he paid the mage only a moment’s attention, enough to immobilize her and move on. Was there enough time for her to discover anything? “What has the Guild put out?”
“They want you both. Regular price for you. Double price for your guest.” There was no question in his tone, but Merc knew the man well enough to know he wanted answers on what was happening. Double price meant there would be more eyes and put more variables in play. It meant the Guild was serious, and people who otherwise would stay well clear might get an inkling to try something.
“Nothing about wanting Hadrien?” Merc pressed.
“Nothing.”
If they weren’t hunting Hadrien, they didn’t yet know about the bound. The very momentary desire to exhale in relief was cut short by the ticking clock in his head. He couldn’t even claim he was safe for the moment. After what happened today the Guild would be ruthless in their attempts to get the book – as evidenced by the rise in bounty – and the woman in the bed before him was an enemy…though everything in him recoiled at classifying her as such.
Merc turned his attention back to Shisen. Right now the man was the best shot Merc had to figuring out what was going on. If Shisen didn’t know the answer, the answer didn’t exist. “My guest was able to get the drop on me. She invaded my dreams like nothing like I’ve ever experienced, and I never caught a whiff of magic about her. She grabbed the Spellbook within the dream and brought it with her into the real world. I’ve never heard of any magic user being able to manipulate dreams like that.”
The last dream washed over him again, unwelcome but no less vivid for that. The silken slide of her skin against his own, the press of her breasts against his chest as she took his mouth with hers, the desperate energy infusing every caress. In involuntary movement his tongue came out to swipe over his lips, the phantom taste of her still strong on them.
A movement from the screen caught Merc’s attention, and what he saw had every thought freeze. For the first time in long memory, his master’s features changed, momentary surprise crossing those features. “Describe everything.”
Rapid fire, as he did so long ago while still in training, Merc answered. “She did not set off any of my triggers. In the dream, took the Spellbook from me and chained me. When I woke, I was chained as I had been in the dream, and the Spellbook was gone. She had it. None of the physical or magical traps around my living area were sprung, and the only explanation that makes sense is she took it while within the dream.”
As Merc spoke, Shisen’s eyes took a faraway cast even as his features schooled themselves back into neutrality. As Merc finished, the older, ageless man said, “When I was young, I was told very old, very ancient stories. One of these stories was of those who took dreams and made them reality. More powerful than mere walkers. These beings were known as dream crafters. It was said the strongest of them could penetrate the deepest of magics and bring forth anything they desired – be it human, magic, fortune – in ways that rivaled the gods.”
“They challenged the gods?”
“Nothing challenges the gods.” Master’s voice was a whip crack, snapping at the statement. “Which is why crafters no longer exist. Except, perhaps, this girl at your side.”
Merc took in Amana, curled up on the bed and so fragile in appearance, the occasional shiver across her frame making her curl ever inward. “How do I know if that is what she is?”
“A walker is not capable of what you described, and even necromancers could not get past your defenses without your awareness of them. She is either a crafter or a god. Which do you believe?”
The Dream Crafter Page 7