The Dream Crafter (27 page)

Okay, maybe three-quarters genuine. But no more than that.

“Yeah, you are, and everyone knows it. Really, the only thing I should be surprised about is how long it took the little fink bastard to contact you.”

Sensing victory in the air and with her stomach giving a small growl, Laire kept the forgiveness train going. “Can we go? I’m hungry. Hamburgers would be great.”

Fallon was giving some serious side-eye, but seemed to decide it was no longer productive to be angry, because she nodded and turned, walking toward the road, and Laire hurried to fall into step beside the redhead.

Laire gave it a few moments to let the silence become more companionable before she asked, “Is anything he said true?”

That had Fallon stopping again, and this time her face was drawn, worn down in ways she’d never allowed revealed in all the time Laire had known her. “What parts are you asking about,
specifically
?”

Reign’s face sprung through her mind, and Laire beat it down. Curiosity be damned. She would not make the mistake of asking anything concerning him. “Tenro?”

Fallon’s lip quirked in anything but amusement. “What I do is because of me. Because
I
decided. Not some bitch of an Oracle, not a hunk of metal, and not any magic from any Realm or any asshole who wields it. It’s all
me
, and fuck anyone who says otherwise.”

There was a raw truth to Fallon, a directness she seldom displayed, a weariness she’d never displayed, and it tore into Laire, made her want to grab up the much larger woman and wrap her in cotton and settle her down to sleep for a week.

Instead, Laire did what Fallon would want her to do, what was needed to make their world right again. She pursed her lips and tossed out in her most smartass manner, “Does all this decision-making include deciding to kick evil’s ass and annoy people as we go along?”

The small vulnerability left Fallon, and the swagger returned as she began walking again. “
Hells
yeah.”

“That’s all I need know.” Laire fell into step again, and they made their way toward the street. “Please tell me you brought the motorcycle. I have a desire to pull alongside cars full of guys and make out with you to torment them, then we laugh and ride away.”

“I brought the motorcycle.”

“Yay!”
And there it was, black and shiny and a thing of beauty, and after Laire hopped on behind Fallon, arms wrapped around the swordswoman’s waist and Spellbook secure, the mage leaned in and said, voice as low and sincere as it had ever been and sincere in a way she would not allow herself to be again for a long while, said, “You know, if you switched sides, my dating pool would be wide open. No more turning people down for that whole
being evil
thing.”

Fallon turned her head away, but not so quick that Laire missed the upward curl of the corner of her mouth. After waiting for a final car to pass, Fallon pulled out into traffic, and together they sped away.

‡

“F
allon. A moment
, if you please.”

Fallon paused in her journey through the hallway so Tec could reach her. “What’s up?”

“I have a question about the Spellbook.” Tec’s gingery curls gave a small bounce as he stopped beside her, and Fallon squelched the momentary desire to ruffle his hair. Wulver kept telling her that was a bad idea, and she listened to let him cling to the idea he had authority. “About its safety.”

“Why wouldn’t it be safe? Laire gave it to you, right?”

“Yes…yes, of course. Of course she did.”

Sirens blared through Fallon’s head at Tec’s stuttery reaction. In fact, the whole conversation, including Tec approaching her, was not quite right. It was only a few words, but it was a few words of different than usual, and right now anything different than usual was not going to be tolerated. “And you gave it to Kyo like I told you earlier?”

“He was very pleased to have it in his possession.”

Fallon grabbed the imposter by the throat and heaved him against the wall. “Who are you?”

How the hells had someone breached headquarters again?
There was a flicker, and a moment before the fake Tec disappeared, a split-second shadow of Amana was visible.

She’s in my dream.

The revelation no sooner reverberated through Fallon’s skull then the scenery changed, a forest now surrounding her, autumn painting the trees multi-hued and decay heavy in the air, and no matter which way she turned, only a single path to travel. To go forward, to move ahead, and there was no other way, no matter how her body begged her to flee.

Squaring her shoulders, Fallon began the trek upwards, her long legs eating up the distance, travelling the easy trail with no issues.

Something startled within the forest, sending creatures in all directions. Fallon glanced over her shoulder, her gold eyes probing before she turned and headed once again up the wooded trail.

There was nothing special about the trail. It could be any easy climb in any wooded area, and there was nothing memorable enough about it that Amana could pinpoint the locale.

Fallon knew the area though. She moved with easy memory and no hesitation, stroking trees as she passed, and now…

Now Fallon stopped in front of one particular tree. This one she didn’t caress, didn’t reach out her hand. Instead she seemed lost as she eyed a spot where layers of bark had been ripped from the trunk, echoes of melancholy memory shining in the redhead’s eyes.

A hazy mist blanketed the forest now as Fallon turned back to the path. Icy tendrils of wind and water trailed over Amana’s skin as she followed where the warrior led. Black and deadened branches reached for her, scraping over her as she passed, the dreamscape growing darker and closer and filling her with uneasiness. Fallon was supposed to be the one trapped, but now Amana fought the building horrific certainty that she had opened a cell which should never have been disturbed.

Ahead the trees grew closer together, the branches reaching and entwining to create a tunnel effect, with a natural canopy of wood and leaf above them. Fallon forged ahead, travelling through the large tunnel and passing through the opening at the end of the path, clearing the forest and reaching whatever lay beyond.

Claws descended in front of the opening, and Amana jumped back in horror. Each claw was taller than she was and twice as wide, and beyond, through the openings of the razor sharp appendages, a nostril so large it could inhale her situated in a reptilian snout, the scales a shimmery silver over deep green, and smoke emanating from the nostril trailing into the sky.

There was a sharp tug on her sleeve, and Amana looked down into the eyes of a little girl, beautiful and precious, five or six or seven. The girl’s gold eyes were shiny and solemn, and red hair cascaded down her back. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, in a tone too old for someone who should only know innocence.

“No. She shouldn’t.” This voice was a terrible ricochet, a mix of deep dark magics that swept through her with fiery vengeance. Amana turned to witness the visage of a barbarian warlord, his presence terrible and ferocious, his silver-green eyes tearing through her, and this…this was the monster under the bed, the phantom shadow that clung to each dark place, every primal fear humans fought against and lost. She shut her mouth tight against the pleading, blubbering mess that threatened to erupt under that gaze. “You dare much, Dream Crafter. Your predecessors would never have moved against me so.”

Swallowing was impossible, her throat parchment dry. Speaking, questioning, neither were desired. She wanted escape, wanted free from his gaze, from the terrible things promised in every lash of his eyes over her.

He moved forward, creation and destruction cycled in every step. “Do you expect me to leave such a challenge unanswered? You approaching
mine
?”

Even as prayers begging to live circled through her brain, the man looked down. Beside him, the little girl now stood. Her hand was in his, and those big, bright eyes were locked on him.

He gentled under her gaze. Still looking at the girl, he said, “Leave, Dream Crafter. Know death will be a blessing should you ever return.”

“Amana!”

Her throat was sore, and only as she awoke did Amana hear herself screaming, but she couldn’t stop it, not yet, not with that man’s eyes still vivid in her mind.

“Amana, you’re safe. You’re
safe
.” The words were still being said as she flung her arms around Merc, burrowing close and using him to ward off the terror of those last moments. “You’re here, and I’ll protect you.
Shhh
.”

“I can’t go back. Please, I can’t go back. I can’t.” She was babbling, but her brain was on auto and she couldn’t stop, couldn’t rationalize, couldn’t command herself to return to reality. “Please don’t make me go back. I can’t.”

“No, no.” He held her closer, bringing her into his lap like a child. “I swear, you never have to go back.”

He rocked her, holding her close,
shh
ing and whispering in her ear, gentle sounds and quiet commands, and let her cry on him until she had cried herself out.

As the last of the fear faded, embarrassment came hard and fast to the foreground. Amana wiped at her eyes with ineffectual swipes of her hands. “That’s embarrassing,” she said, the comment not as effective as maybe it could have been if she wasn’t still sniffling and wiping at her eyes and nose.

“You did fine,” he reassured her, and as the fear faded, where she was situated also became clearer. In his lap, pressed hard against him, drawing strength from where he was warm and firm and strong.

Always with her, but it had shifted from the oppressive bindings of captivity to a wanted chain twining around them, and even if he offered, she would not want him to unlock her. “I didn’t get the book. I wasn’t with Fallon long enough for her to tell me where it was being hidden.” The words were automatic, but her mind was on him alone, near her, imparting strength and safety even in the aftermath of that dream.

His full lips thinned, his jaw going tight in the way that said he’d made a decision without her. “We’ll figure out something else. I’m not going to let you go back to whatever you experienced there.”

Her brother’s eyes on her, imploring her
You can’t keep doing this. Leave me.

There was never a possibility it would happen. She’d never walk away from those she loved. Until the end, she would march forward, bearing the burdens as they came, but she refused to stop moving. “I’m not going to let you die, and you die if we don’t get the Spellbook. That means we’re getting the Spellbook.”

It was cute how he puffed himself up, making himself as broad as possible and looking at her through narrowed eyes, as if that had the power to intimidate her anymore. “And I’m not letting you try to go after Fallon again.”

She moved up and kissed him, bringing her lips and hands to his face, pouring all the adoration and joy and gladness inside her that this man, this
mercenary
, had been brought into her life. It was gentle and it took him a few seconds before he returned it, but his hesitant response had her pushing harder against him, the kiss still light and more playful than passionate, but it was undeniable in its intensity.

She kissed his forehead. She kissed his
eyelids
. She kissed over his cheekbones and the tips of his ears and the tip of his nose, and he was giving little huffs of laughter and half shakes of his head, as though this were too ridiculous a thing to be doing at this moment, but he didn’t do anything to get her to stop.

She did stop though, pulling back from him, her fingertips still travelling over his face. “I think I might have another way.”

His laughter stopped, seriousness returning, and he eyed her as though watching for a trap to be sprung. “What way?”

Her hands left his face and now she held his hands, pressing them against her chest so he could feel her heart. “Our second dream meeting, do you remember how you took me to that little park you liked? You said it was one of your favorite places.”

“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate, but the look on his face warmed her, like he’d have to be dead and buried before he’d ever forget one of their dates.

“No one else has ever directed a dream, but somehow you did. Maybe we can somehow do the same thing now. You have some connection to the Spellbook. I’ll bet you can find it within the dreamscape, and if you direct me, I’ll take us to it.”

‡