Dream Weaver (Dream Weaver #1) (22 page)

             
“Well, actually,” I said slyly, playing into her joke, “I
was
hoping I could…” In one quick sweep, I knocked Ivy on her back and pounced on her. I straddled her body, and pinned her under me. I tickled her until she screamed and gulped for air, the way we use to do and hadn’t done in a very long time. Nick sat back chuckling quietly, while I continued my tickle torture of Ivy.

             
“I’m gonna pee. I’m gonna pee,” she protested and continued screaming.

             
Amidst her shrieks of protest, the front door suddenly exploded open. Nick was on his feet in an instant, crouched for a fight, every muscle tight, while I pushed Ivy behind me, my body between her and the threat. Time froze. Every muscle stiffened and I held my breath while I took in the entire scene. Finally, I focused on the face of the intruder that had battering-rammed my front door. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nick relax his combat stance.

             
Sabre continued to glare around the room for the cause of the commotion, his chest heaving from the exertion of ramming down my door. Ivy whimpered quietly behind me, and Nick and I exchanged apologetic looks.

              Nick grabbed Sabre by the arm, and forcibly dragged him into the kitchen. I hauled Ivy off the floor and tried to unwind her, as well.

              I imagined what this must have sounded like to the battle-ready Sabre, a man from a time that the chivalry of a Union soldier was probably as vivid a memory as any from only yesterday. The screams of two women emanating from my rural cottage in the dark of night must have evoked the spirit of that fighter still in him. How do you explain that there was no emergency to a seasoned warrior? I wasn’t sure Sabre was capable of processing the concept of two silly girls just messing around.

             
After a few tense moments of low, rumbling conversation in the kitchen, Sabre stalked back to the front door. “I apologize, my lady,” he said formally but using the familiar endearment. “I heard the screams and assumed the worst. I am sorry for frightening you. Both of you,” he nodded to Ivy, who forced a smile and fake laugh.

             
“It’s all good, Sabre. We were just goofing off. You know. Playing. Perhaps you should ease up a bit and try it some time.” My relationship with Sabre was tenuous at best. I only hoped he would get the humor in my tone.

             
“Perhaps.” Sabre’s eyes narrowed, his brow knit together. He dipped his head in a contrite farewell, reassessed the room one last time and harrumphed as he walked out the door. He lifted and pulled at the door to get it to shut properly behind him.

             
I leapt from the couch, ran to the door and tugged it open in one last attempt to harangue him about my broken door. But I was too late. He had already vanished into a sparkling swirl that mixed with the snow and dissipated.

             
Nick sat quietly for the next couple of hours, listening to Ivy and me tell stories of our childhood escapades. His warm hand caressed my neck and he raked his fingers through my hair. I could feel a gentle pull as he tugged on the strings of long-buried memories, bringing them to the surface for me to remember. He was intrigued with the closeness that Ivy and I shared, and the silly, crazy things we did in our younger days.

             
We watched a couple of movies, chick flicks that I hated subjecting Nick to. He didn’t seem to mind at all, though he did drift away during one exceptionally sappy scene to find some tools and repair the damage to my front door.

             
Ivy and I made some dinner and ate, continuing our girl gab, while Nick went by the house to check in with Sabre, and ran a couple of quick errands. He returned later that evening with our favorite ice cream, Pink Bubblegum from the shop at the Y, and fresh movie theater popcorn from the Village. We all cuddled up on the couch for another movie; Jimmy Stewart’s, ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’—Ivy’s favorite-must-see-every-year Christmas movie. I kept a copy around especially for her. I flashed a teasing smile at Nick during the scene about how angels get their wings. As if angels even had wings.

             
Ivy’s eyes drooped and her head on my shoulder grew heavier as the hours grew later, but this was the most peaceful she’d been since before the attack and she was reluctant to leave. Of course, she had no idea how much Nick had to do with that. Her exhausted body finally drooped against my side and I couldn’t find it in my heart to move her. I felt Nick move his hand from my shoulder to her head.

             
“What are you doing?” I whispered.

             
Nick pressed a finger to his lips, feigning a stern look. His breath tickled my ear. “Just because a person is asleep doesn’t mean their ears stop hearing. Be very still and I’ll try to show you at the same time.”

             
“But…” I protested. I was pretty sure this wasn’t like his eavesdropping on Jesse’s memories, but it concerned me, nonetheless.

             
“Trust me.”

             
Finally, I nodded and rested my cheek on Ivy’s head. Nick guided Ivy’s sleep, making it peaceful and deep. He manipulated her memories of recent onerous events. He tricked her brain into feeling as if the memories were farther away, as if they were not fresh, tender memories, but older more callused ones. It wasn’t that he convinced her that time had passed, just gave her the impression of distance from the memories so they weren’t so painful.

             
I looked up at Nick with tears in my eyes. “You’re a very good man, Nickolas Benedetti.”

             
Nick smiled and kissed my temple. “Thank you.” He gingerly slid lower into the couch so Ivy and I would be more comfortable. Keeping Ivy tucked under my wing, I snuggled closer to Nick and closed my eyes. Sleep saturated my world with warmth, soft and dark, the absence of anything but peace.

Chapter 19 American Pie

             
Ivy woke with a start and a groan early the next morning as the sun chased the dove grey of the winter sky away. An orange-pink glow blossomed on the eastern horizon. In the night, she had shifted to the other end of the couch.

             
Nick nudged me. “Wake up, sleepy head.” I nuzzled into his chest, my new favorite place in the world.

             
“Grrr. Don’t wanna,” I growled playfully.

             
Ivy gazed at Nick and I huddled at the opposite end of the couch, a serene smile curled her lips. She was ecstatic that I had someone who cared for me. Her powers as my friend were limited. But Nick? Nick could save me from myself; save me, protect me, and make me whole. If only I gave him a chance. Ivy was hopeful.

             
She kicked my feet off the couch with a quiet, teasing giggle, and bolted to the bathroom.

             
“Thank you for what you did for Ivy, last night,” I whispered in Nick’s ear once Ivy was singing in the shower.

             
“Sure. She’s only been sleeping minutely better than you have,” he confided.

             
I figured as much but this confirmation pricked my heart and my gratitude to him swelled to spilling for his memory chiropractics on her. I stretched myself up to look directly into his eyes and grazed my fingers across his cheek. His eyes closed as though he was trying to isolate the sensation and he melted under my touch. My fingers sparked tiny tremors across his warm skin as I skimmed them across his brow. His body answered with a corresponding shudder. I leaned into him, brushed my lips delicately across his; a kiss so gentle and soft it might not have been a kiss at all—if it hadn’t been for the shock of adrenaline that blazed through me. My breath rushed from my chest as I pulled away, and I smiled timidly.

             
Nick’s eyes glowed; startling, fervid, dangerous. Their normal cool obsidian blue burned with a cobalt flame. An impulse of fear yanked me away but he caught my arms and held me near.

             
“I’m sorry. I…” I saw that intensity in his eyes once before—in a dream—right before he killed me.

             
“No, no. It’s okay,” his voice soft and husky as he tried to reassure me. “That was…um…wow!” His chest expanded with a deep, calming breath. “I just…it’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything like that. It just surprised me.”

             
“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

             
He stroked my face and delved into my eyes, the heat in his own eyes cooling. “On the contrary, I hope, when you’re ready, you will do it even more.”

             
Ivy swung the bathroom door opened with a bang. “Aw, come on! Can’t you two get a room?” She giggled, “Oh yeah, I guess I’m the gate-crasher, aren’t I?”

             
I launched off the couch, almost grateful for the escape and wrapped Ivy in my arms. “I’m glad you stayed. Do you feel better?”

             
“Yeah! I really do. That’s the best night’s sleep I’ve had since…well, in a while,” she confessed. “But, I really gotta get going. I’ve got to work in an hour and I need to go home and change.”

             
“Yeah, Christmas Break. That’s a real misser.” A wave of guilt washed through me as I thought of the crowds and the lines—all the screaming kids and cranky parents. “You guys got enough coverage?”

             
“Eh, you know. The usual. It’s all good.”

             
Nick and I stood at the kitchen window a few minutes later, sipping hot steamy coffee and waving goodbye to Ivy as we watched her pull away from the house.

             
Nick stood behind me as we watched Ivy’s progress down the snowy drive. His body radiated heat that warmed away the nervous chills that suddenly cascaded through my nerves. I rummaged through a plethora of questions that remained unanswered, searched for that one adequate enough to distract him from any conversation about the kiss. Though his presence in my memories wasn’t tangible at the moment, I still wondered if he was eavesdropping on my thoughts, trying to ascertain why shivers raced down my spine.

             
“I’d like to show you something,” he said. My heart hammered in my chest. “I told you the other day a little about memoryprints. Would you like to see how it works?”

             
I exhaled; relieved for the dodge about the kiss. “Yes, absolutely.”

             
Nick took my hand and led me down the basement stairs and out into the garage. A sea of boxes and crates flooded every corner and spilled into the middle in tidy rows; all the stuff from my parent’s house that held their memories but I just couldn’t bring myself to deal with. I wavered at the door, my heart racing. Nick tugged on my hand and flashed me a reassuring smile. Reticent, I followed.

             
“The best vessels are items with sentimental value. We believe an electrical impulse imbeds memories into an object. Memories implanted by Caphar or anchored by stronger emotions linger the longest,” he informed me.

             
I searched through the boxes until I found the one labeled ‘Bedroom: Jewelry Boxes, Knick Knacks.’ I slid the box into an open space and ran my fingernail along the tape. “Here, let me try.” Out of his pocket Nick pulled a brass pocketknife etched with a scene of trees and deer.

             
“Nice, my dad gave me one like that once. I still have it somewhere.”

             
“My father gave me this one, as well.” While he slit the tape on the box, I wondered about the parents he never discussed; what they were like to have raised a son so kind and compassionate. Dust motes danced in the air as we flipped the box flaps open and rummaged through the peanuts to find my mother’s jewelry box.

             
“Here it is,” I exclaimed with my arms buried up to my shoulders. I pulled on the top of the jewelry box. An avalanche of popcorn cascaded to the floor and into the emptied space. “Whew! I forgot how heavy it is,” I complained as I set the jewelry box on top of a nearby crate. “It’s an antique. Solid oak.” Both were my mom’s favorite collectables. Much of her furniture was antique oak or mahogany. Her bedroom suite; sleigh bed, highboy, dresser, night tables and jewelry box, were lightly varnished, honey colored oak from the 1850’s, complete with dovetail joints, beveled mirror, lion head drawer pulls and skeleton key locks. The original skeleton keys were still taped inside the drawers.

             
I opened the tiny jewelry box drawers one at a time and lovingly caressed the jewelry pieces my Mom collected over the years. Most of the trinkets were gifts from Dad; a few, childhood baubles from me. Dad’s gifts were gold and silver, embellished with precious and semi-precious stones. My tokens were more costume in nature, but she had cherished them all the same. My heart and fingers trembled as I caressed each piece, drawing on my own personal memories imbedded in them.

             
A tremor of sorrow quaked through me, a response that didn’t go unnoticed. In silence, Nick stood behind me with his hands on my shoulders, as his magic caught the memories that drifted through my mind. I relaxed against him. I needed no voice for the grief and loneliness I felt without my mom and dad. He knew with a touch, and he held me for a moment. Quietly, he whispered in my ear, “I think I can make this easier for you—if you’ll let me try.” I pressed into him and nodded.

             
Nick lifted pieces out of the jewelry box, his fingers slow and reverent. He held each of them for a moment, smiled and replaced them. “Your parents had a wonderful life together,” he murmured fondly.

             
“They did. They were adorable together,” I told him as I handed him a silver-framed picture of my parents wrapped in each other’s arms. “I used to watch them together all the time. Every time they parted or came back together, they kissed. I would giggle and blush if they caught me watching them. That box,” I pointed to a large one in the corner, “That’s all the photographs he took of her. She was his greatest subject. There’s pictures of her when they were first married; she was sixteen and he was seventeen; and of her in the hospital holding me after I was born. He chronicled her entire life. There’s ten times more pictures of her than there are of him.” Yet, their past remained blank to me.

             
My mom’s cameo locket and my dad’s military ribbons dangled from his hand. “These pieces tell me more than the pictures could,” he said.

             
We scavenged some more in the dresser and highboy drawers. In one of the nightstands, we found an old pocketknife belonging to my Dad. Nick smiled as he squeezed it in his hand for a few moments. “This will do nicely,” he declared. He picked up the other two pieces and took my hand, led me back inside to the warmth of the living room. He guided me to the couch. “Sit. I’ll go make you some tea to warm you up.”

             
I nodded and swaddled myself in the blanket from the back of the couch. Rummaging in the garage was like rummaging in a meat locker—I was chilled bone deep. My body shivered uncontrollably even curled up in my blanket and I rested my head on my knees. Was I really so physically cold, or was it just the chilly climate around my heart?

             
Nick returned with a steaming cup of tea for me. “Oh my gosh, thank you,” I said as I inhaled the tendrils of fragrance rising from it. Gingerly, I sipped the sweet, earthy flavor. “Hmm. This is different. I recognize chamomile, but I’m not sure about the rest.”

             
“It’s a relaxation tea with valerian, catnip and chamomile.”

             
“Me-ow,” I purred.

             
Nick laughed. “It won’t put you out, just help you relax a little. I thought, maybe, your mind would be more receptive to the weave if you were more relaxed. You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to. It will help warm you up, regardless.”

             
I gazed thoughtfully into the swirling steam, and inhaled the fragrant aroma of the tea, deliberated over the charms of the tea. Finally, I sipped some more and patted the cushion next to me. Nick sat watching me with those incredible blue eyes that pierced into the cool deep green of mine, as if he were trying to read something arcane immersed inside me. I was frozen, but not from the cold. I was mesmerized, fixated on those eyes, his soul so intensely focused on mine. My heart raced, and heat surged through me, radiated to the tips of my fingers and toes.

             
The warm cup lifted from my grasp but I remained frozen, my eyes locked on his. His fingers sizzled against my cheek. My chest heaved as if I couldn’t get enough air. He slid closer, moistened his lips, and pressed them to my mine with gentle caresses. Fire surged through my body, my lips parted in a sigh. He pulled away from me and pressed his forehead to mine, eyes closed, quiet for a moment. I placed my hand on his chest. “Nick…I…” 

             
“I’m sorry, Em. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Again,” he said and flopped back against the couch. The lines between his brows deepened in frustration.

              “I’m not afraid. Exactly. Not of you.”

             
“I know.” He tucked my hair behind my ear, and the corners of his mouth twitched up with an embarrassed grin. “I just can’t seem to help myself. You are just so…” he paused searching for words.

             
“Crazy? Messed up?” I offered.

             
He chuckled and squeezed my hand. “That too. I was going to say beautiful, amazing, enticing. I’m just—drawn in by you.”

             
I didn’t know what to say. “Um…”
So loquacious.

             
Nick retrieved the still-warm tea from the coffee table, still chuckling at me. “I’m sorry. I just got a little carried away. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way. I had almost forgotten what it was like to really care for someone; to really feel passion first hand.” His eyes mirrored the winter night sky.

             
“What do you mean ‘first hand’?”

             
“Well, to feel another’s passion in a dream or a memory is one thing; while the heart may race, it lacks the actual physiological responses—the surge of adrenalin, the rush of fire that consumes the body in reality. It would be the difference between reading something and experiencing something. It has been many years since I’ve had these kinds of feelings,” he explained. His head and shoulders slumped forward as if carrying a great weight.

             
“Do I remind you of her?” I wasn’t certain I wanted to know the truth of this one and I knew he would tell me the truth.