The Book of Dreams Forgotten: (A Broken Creatures Novel, Book 2)

by A L Hart

  “Uh,” I said. She’d actually remembered to bring the painting by when I myself had forgotten all about it.

  “Not to be a bother, but are you all aware there’s a werewolf in your shop?” she wondered.

  The boy recoiled at the title, his mind distracted, his features gradually turning back huma. Another abysmal sound fell past his lips.

  “Not for long,” Jera grunted. Hand extended, the cotton fabric along her arm began to blacken, incincerated and falling to her feet. It left her arm visible, the magenta glow brightening the room a sickly pink. “I won’t tell you again.”

  “And I won’t tell you again, Jera,” I snapped. “Stop burning all your clothes.”

  “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” the boy pleaded.

  “You tear through shirts with your behemoth wings,” Jera retorted haughtily.

  “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  I crossed my arms.

  “Precisely.” Her gaze flicked back to the huddled werewolf, the tips of her fingers adopting simmering wisps of flames.

  “Terrible deeds are but products of the world itself,” Lia blurted before Jera could fire.

  In the center of the room, eyes narrowed to scathing slits of confliction, Jera froze. Hand still extended, slowly her fingers curled and came to a close, the heat dialing back in traceable increments. “This is different,” she muttered.

  “How?”

  Scoffing, she crossed her arms and turned away from the werewolf.

  Leaving the rest of us confused.

  Terrible deeds are but products of the world itself. What relevance did that have with this demon enough to stop her in her tracks?

  “I do believe the painting would go well in the lounge on the wall beside that inglenook of yours,” Niv concluded. “And I’ll collect my payment now.”

  I was aware I was standing in front of the boy now, in the event Jera decided to make a sudden move, but my thoughts halted at the faery’s words. “Payment? You said it was free.”

  “Did I? I can’t recall. Nevertheless, a payment is in demand and I’d like to collect now.”

  “I don’t have thousands of dollars, Niv, besides, we’re somewhat in the middle of something.”

  Her eyes did a quick scan of the office, then she said, “Clearly. Hence why I’ll take the pup.”

  And the stun never stopped. What could this woman possibly want with a werewolf hybrid?

  “You do know he’s —”

  She vanished.

  “—a hybrid . . .” I finished, staring at the empty spot she once occupied.

  “Quite aware,” came a lilting voice.

  I whirled. The faery stood behind me, the painting gone, her hand now outstretched and resting on the sobbing boy’s shoulder.

  A warmth spread beneath my skin and at once I recognized the faery’s magic like a psychic imprint on my mind as it buzzed all around her, invisible though it was. Forcing the odd sensation down, I asked, “Why do you—”

  She vanished and this time, so did the werewolf.

  Jera grunted, dropping into the desk chair and throwing her feet up on the oakwood. “As much as I hate to say it, I suppose some faeries do perform good deeds, and good riddance. So with that burden lifted from our shoulders, I do believe now would be an excellent time to prepare breakfast and perhaps get in some real training before that nuisance you call a friend drags us to her laughable sparring playground.”

  Closing the distance to the desk, I knocked her feet down and leaned against its side. I crossed my arms. Why did she insist on riddling herself with selfishness and apathy when she’d shown she was capable of more?

  “This isn’t a game, Jera. That boy came to us for help and now some faery whisked him off to who knows where.”

  Clopping her feet back on the oakwood’s ledge, she put her arms behind her head and said, “True, but our safety comes first. Indulging any of the pup’s woes would have compromised our haven.”

  “And what about his haven?” I said through gritted teeth.

  “From what I understand, the human infantry are surrounding it.”

  A migraine. That was what I was going to get if I continued talking with this woman.

  I opted for the more reasonable person in the room. “Lia, why would Niv want the werewolf?”

  Ophelia preferred to be a silent spectator whenever strangers entered the shop for after hours services. Before, it’d been because of the lack of integrity the “business” operated beneath, but we’d since stopped telling lies to the customers, which should have made her more willing to participate, but outside of tending to their needs, she was distant. Her gaze clouded.

  She looked to me slowly, something flickering in her eyes. “Why faerys do much of anything is a mystery in and of itself.”

  I groaned.

  Why did I expect either of them to be of any help?

  “I’m going to start prep,” I muttered, pushing away from the desk.

  Didn’t matter that it was 2 AM. There was no chance of me going back to sleep. Not only because of my broken sleep cycle. But also because there was a cold, chilling blue waiting for me in my dreams’ depths.

  Something that faded rapidly the more I tried to recall it.

  Something dark.

  And something twisted.

  Something I wasn’t meant to see.

  *****

  “Boss, mail,” Danny yawned at closing time.

  Stacking the chairs while Lia swept the floors, I pointed to the edge of the bar. “Just put it back there.”

  He did as told, but seconds later, he reemerged, his eyes boring into me with full judgement. In his hands, he had a pile of letters. Today’s, yesterday’s, and all of the other days’.

  “What?” I asked innocently when his stare hardened.

  When he didn’t relent, I sighed. “I’m going to go through them. I’ve just been busy.”

  It wasn’t even busyness pertaining to the shop, but mundane, day-to-day things. Ensuring old customers were still getting on well (read: not dead), ensuring Things 1, 2, & 3 didn’t manage to destroy the shop (namely Jera), and figuring out a solid routine that we could all function beneath with the holidays coming up and three out of four of the shop’s occupants being relatively new to the scene. Then there was my pondering which way to best help Danny after what’d happened, constantly watching out the side of my eye, waiting for him to break apart into a million irreparable pieces. Then there was the unannounced visits from Vincent, Elise, Niv and quite often, Walsh, the veteran that lived in a complex right around the corner.

  When I wasn’t doing any of those things, I was training with Jera to use what they called the Maker’s gift, which was, in a nutshell, controlling dark energy and all it entailed. I’d gone out of my way to try to train with Lia again, having yet to get over our last session which ended with me spotting something corrupt in the core of her—something I had yet to talk to her about because I didn’t, and still don’t, know how to breach the topic with her. Which was fine, because she was avoiding me, too.

  Like now. When I gave her a brief glance, she did a poor job of pretending not to catch my eye as she shuffled off to the kitchen to likely help Jera.

  Maybe it was for the best. At least until I came up with a better approach than: ‘There’s something evil about your dark energy, Lia. Yes, the dark energy that makes up 98% of you. Yes, I’m basically saying there’s something sinister about your entire design, and therefore you.’ Not the easiest thing on my list of To-Do, which naturally bumped it to the bottom.

  I’d rather go through the mail any day. “Alright, I can do them now.”

  “I’ll finish putting up the chairs,” the kid said with confidence.

  “No, you will not,” I said breezily, all too used to him trying to take on jobs outside of those I assigned. Despite all that’d happened to the boy, it was hard to forget he was eleven, because his vocal projection said forty and his personality sai
d politician-in-the-making, but the scale in the bathroom said he was seventy-five pounds and barely a hair over four feet.

  He gave me a look I was pretty sure he was learning from Jera. The one that said, ‘Oh, really?’

  “Really,” I said sourly. “You can prepare the mop bucket, though. Like I told you to do.”

  “The mop bucket again?!”

  “And after that, the windows,” I added, waiting for him to toss out another complaint so I could toss out another loathed chore.

  Catching on, he stalked off briskly to the backroom.

  I sighed, dropping onto one of the stools at the bar, the platform levelled from the main floor. My body groaned from the effort, more sore from this morning’s training session with Nat than the session with Jera.

  “Truly coming into your guardian role,” Niv said.

  I gave myself props for not jumping—only to shoot to my feet when I remembered the werewolf. “Niv!”

  “Perry!” she returned. She was in all white today, a stark contrast to wild red curls framing her face, shoulders, waist. She was around six-eight this time around, her seat upon the stool beside me barely leaving us eye level. Boredly, she left one of her white-booted feet to oscillate lazily, her rapt leafy gaze roving over me.

  “Where is the werewolf?” I demanded.

  “How did you know about him?!” she startled.

  I growled. “You stole him from me. This morning. In return for that.” I stabbed a finger at the painting.

  She gasped. “What a gorgeous piece of art. Send my admiration to the talented artist.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose.

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “That style . . . hmmm, say Pierce, did I happen to paint that?”

  Impatient, I tried to even out my voice. “Yes, Niv, you did. Yesterday you offered it to me for free, then came and put a price on it early this morning, which was the werewolf you have now. Where are you keeping him?”

  Eyes still on the painting, she said, “Have I ever told you about Skashora?”

  My shoulders sagged, my attention turned back to the mail. “You told Lia about it. Yesterday.” The first letter was from the gas company, the bill reading only . . . $10.43?! My eyes bulged. It should have been over fifty times as much as that.

  Was I losing my mind?

  “A lovely land it is,” Niv said, distracting me from the abnormality. “I was telling Bryan about it just this evening as I started on his training.”

  “Bryan?” I asked, glancing up from the papers.

  Niv nodded. “The werewolf pup. His name is Bryan.” I wondered how credible that was.

  “Training?” I asked next.

  “Bouncer training.”

  For her club. Of course. Now it made sense. “You only wanted the kid because of his ability to protect your club,” I said incredulously. Were the majority of immortals looking out for their own skin, taking advantage of those beneath them at every single opportunity?

  “I wanted the human because he sought sanctuary and I had it. I may be fae, but that does not mean I am without a heart.” At my look, she added, “As a form of courtesy, I even stripped him of the turmoil surrounding the family in which he slaughtered.”

  So she’d erased his memory. It was really only something she could make sound like a favor rather than the unlawful theft it was.

  I continued rifling through the mail, choosing my next words carefully. “You have to understand, Niv, those who come into this shop are my responsibility. They are not up for sale or negotiation. Ever.” Especially not for some painting, no matter how spectacular a piece it was.

  “And that’s what you and that crude succubus do not understand: just because you make statements in an authoritative manner does not mean one will simply follow. At least the insufferable demon will back her words with force, but you, Pete—”

  “Peter.”

  “—are hardly in a place to make demands. You say you wished to keep that boy here, but you know so little about his species. What more, this shop of yours is no haven for such a volatile pup.” She held up a finger just before I launched into a defense. “Not to mention, there is so much that goes over your head in this shop, it leads me to believe this place is the last beacon of safety at one’s disposal.”

  “I—what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means,” She leaned over and plucked one of the envelopes from the top of the pile. “You wouldn’t sense real danger were it to curl beside you in the dead of night.”

  I glanced around the shop, quiet save for the distant sound of water running for Danny’s mop bucket. Ever since HB was put behind us, the only “danger” was all internal, singular and contained. Jera’s sickness from the bond, then Lia’s from the wiring of her dark energy.

  And I was working towards resolving them both. First, getting Jera to open up to me and second, learning all I could about Lia’s powers so I could better understand how to fix them. The only problem was, both women had gotten considerably more distant from me than before. But that was a different matter.

  “HB isn’t a problem anymore,” I told her. “And as far as I know, no one else is out to kill us.”

  “Key words being ‘as far as you know.’” When I frowned, she said, “One thing I’ve learned, Paul: there is never any peace to be found in any world and the place in which we lay our head is the very place we should be most wary of, because nothing and no one are what they seem.”

  “How comforting,” I said drily.

  “Strange, seeing as it wasn’t meant to be,” she remarked, sarcasm soared high over her head. “Say, I did not know you were in correspondence with the Sanctuary. Perhaps I’d have been inclined to offer a discount for the wolf boy.”

  I leaned close and looked to the beige manila in her hand, the flap sealed by an elegant gold thread, the clasp made into some elaborate design that may have been a fox or wolf’s head. The address stamp said—Texas?

  “I don’t know anyone in Texas,” I assured her.

  “No, but they must know you,” she murmured, inviting herself to open the parchment, where then she pulled out a thin stack of papers. No regard for privacy, she read over the cursive riddling the pages while explaining to me simultaneously, “The Sanctuary is much like my club, though far less fun.” Which likely translated to far less illegal. “Takes in stray immortals or hybrids, shelters them and tutors them. Mostly orphans who some way or another became separated from their parents and grew up in the hands of humans.”

  “Well, what do they want with me?”

  Her brows lifted at that exact moment as she read over something. Passing the pack over to me, she said in exasperation, “See for yourself.”

  I did.

  Greetings Peter Bately,

  My name is Inoli and I am the owner of the Sanctuary, located here in Anahuac, Texas. I am writing to you on a matter of utmost importance. Recently, you have come into strange abilities you do not quite understand. Just as well, it is to my understanding that you are not only housing two very rare succubi, but are also bonded with one of them.

  Cement was churning in my stomach now as I postulated on all of the possible ways this woman could have known all of this information on me. Then I blanched.

  Could this . . . could this be the man in the shadows, who was actually a woman, the one who’d been sending all of the creatures to my shop?

  I forced myself to read on.

  In this moment, I am certain you have many questions and I am glad to say I have many answers, but first, you must understand the nature of this letter.

  Dark energy.

  It has been poisoning world for years too many and I fear your world will meet its demise rather soon if the situation is not rectified. Understand, this is not presumption, this is not calculation, this is, quite simply, foresight. Inevitable should we all standby and allow such to occur.

  Unfortunately, I do not have time to qualm your skepticism as there is another I must recruit f
or the same objective.

  I’ve left you two plane tickets set to leave this coming Friday. Bring only the twin in which you are bonded with.

  Thank you,

  The Sanctuary

  P.S. The werewolf hybrid the faery is harboring will grow sick within the next twenty-four hours of reading this. Have the faery feed him vampire’s venom to concentrate the dark energy to his stomach, where only then are you to extract it.

  I stared at the letter, perplexed, uneasy and slightly lightheaded.

  “Is this for real?” I asked to no one in particular.

  “The Sanctuary is operated beneath a . . .” Niv tapped her chin. “Changeling? Druid? Dark elf, perhaps, yes. I don’t really recall, but she is indeed one of a kind and has the gift of foresight. She has helped quite a few humans and immortals alike. She is indeed one to be trusted.”

  But I wasn’t sure if I trusted a faery who flipped a profit off of stealing others’ emotions and doping her patrons anymore than some anonymous face in Texas. Besides, I had other problems on my plate.

  If the world was in some grand danger, she’d written to the wrong hero.

  Ch. 5

  Navajo County, AZ

  2:39 AM - HB Labs

  “Charge to 250.”

  The wretched screams to pierce through the lab was the stuff of nightmares. The good kinds, of course. The ones where the monsters got their just deserts and the nightmare was suddenly a sweet dream of victorious triumph. And she was the bringer of such justice.

  “Doctor?”

  Kyoungja blinked, then swiveled around in her chair to face the white coats. “Results?”

  “Uh, success,” one of them said in astonishment. “We actually did it!”

  She scrubbed her eyes behind her glasses and sat back.

  The lab was a spacious expanse of sterile white. Pristine. Bloodless. From the metallic workstations to the reflective white tiles. The power savers struggled to be subpar, leaving the room dim and grim. Their overhead lights provided a sufficing throw of luminance over the steel counter the three medics hovered. The rest of the lab—the shelves with their narcotics and hazardous chemicals, the showcases and their neglected texts, the EKGS, IVS, blood freezer and OPA and its counterparts, the state-of-the-art monster enclosures—all presided in the shadows, barely brushed by unsparing light.