The Dream Crafter (9 page)

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 road. 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
!”

‡

“A
re 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.”

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.”