Yarrow (28 page)

"What are you doing?" Peter asked.

"I can't stay here. I'm going home."

"What about your prowler? Your dream th—"

"There
is
no dream thief— can't you see? There aren't any dreams for him to steal in the first place.
He's
not real, because the
dreams
aren't real."

"And what about last night?"

"God, I don't
know.
There's enough weirdness in the world as it is without having to give it supernatural trappings, don't you think?"

Peter shook his head. The sudden role reversal was throwing him off base. He didn't know if Cat was insane or not at this point, because he was seriously beginning to doubt his own sanity. Nothing was making sense anymore.

"Did you ever think," he asked, "that maybe those other relationships didn't work out
not
because those guys couldn't handle you, but because you couldn't handle
them?
Maybe you didn't so much drive them off as ran away yourself?"

She stared at him, face paling. Shut up, Peter told himself, but the words came boiling up from inside him.

"It's like someone just trying to be your friend," he went on. "You say you want friends, but you don't really. As soon as someone gets close, you drive them away. You don't want anything to be real. Just your ghosts. And now that you think they're gone, you've got nothing left, have you? Only where does that leave the people who care for you?"

He knew he was hurting her. A reverberating echo of her pain tightened in his own chest. But the words all came out in a rush, almost before he knew what he was doing. He was angry with her, more angry at himself. For playing matchmaker, for dragging Ben into this, for the pain it was going to cause Ben— never mind that hurt Cat was feeling right now. Everything was a mess. Cat, Ben, himself… He looked at her, suddenly sorry he'd said anything at all. But the words hung between them and couldn't be taken back.

"Oh, Jesus," he tried. "I'm sorry, Cat. I didn't mean—"

"No, Peter. Maybe you're right. Maybe…" She couldn't finish. Turning, she caught up her shoulder bag and ran for the door.

Peter stood frozen, watching her go. He cursed his own blundering stupidity, then ran to follow. "Cat!" he called from the top of the stairs.

She turned, the front door open in front of her, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Just… just leave me alone, Peter. I'm everything you… you said I was. I can't… even handle reality…."

Then she was through the door and gone.

Peter plunged down the stairs, taking them two at a time, stopping at the front door when he realized he wasn't wearing anything but a pair of boxer shorts.

"Cat!" he cried again.

She ignored him. Maybe she didn't even hear him. He watched her get into her car, heard the door slam, the VW's engine kicking over, catching. The headlights came on and she pulled away from the curb. He watched her make her way down the street until all he could see were the two winking taillights, then he ran back upstairs to put on a pair of jeans.

When he reached the porch again, he never even got a chance to lock the door behind him. A Blue Line cab was pulled up in front of the store. Peter hesitated, hand on the doorknob. A premonition ran like a wild spark through him. He saw Ben get out, then…

He saw Tiddy Mun. He stared at the little man, unable to accept the image that his eyes were sending to his brain. It… just… wasn't… possible.

He never saw Becki slouched in the passenger seat. Never glanced at Ben who was moving toward him with the somnambulant steps of a sleepwalker. His entire attention narrowed to focus on the small figure of the gnome. Tiddy Mun. One of Cat's ghosts. Real. But if he was real…

At last he turned to Ben, his eyes pleading for an explanation. Ben looked back at him with a panicky gaze.

"Peter," he said numbly. "Oh, Peter. We're in deep shit."

By the time Rick parked near Cat's house he was feeling good again. Okay, so maybe he'd panicked back there. But it had all happened so fast. The guy had been big, and hadn't let Rick get a bead on him with the old magic-eyes routine. And that fucking cat… He'd forgotten all about the power, about what
he
could do. But, hell, he was new to this game. He'd get back to that dude— him and the other one Lucius wanted. Right now he had other business.

He regarded the dark bulk of Cat's house, the stolen strength of Mick's psychic essence still rushing through him euphorically. That last moment, just when he cut the punk's throat and the soul's final essence had fired through him… Rick shivered, reliving it. Never thought a dude could make me feel so good, he thought with a grin.

He got out of his car and moved toward the house. He could tell the building was empty, but he had already decided to wait for the woman to return. She was the one Lucius wanted the most. When he brought her in, maybe Lucius wouldn't make too big a production of the way he'd fucked up earlier. Wouldn't be smart to get in
that
sucker's bad books.

He heard the sound of a car then, and stepped into the shadows of the cedar hedge. Wouldn't do for a cop to spot him right now, not with all this blood on his suit. Some of it was his own— that damned cat!— but most of it came from the punk when he'd cut his throat. Christ, he sure had a lot of blood in him. Rick glanced up the street and relaxed. Cops didn't drive VW's. Fact was, nobody drove bugs much these days.

When the car kept coming closer, a tingle of anticipation started up in him. Maybe he'd made a mistake in not going after the other two first. Just thinking of the driver of this car started the juices running in him again. Guess you could never get too much of a good thing. Then the car pulled into his victim's laneway and forced the lust from him. It was her— and she belonged to Lucius. He flexed his fingers at his sides, waiting for the engine to die, for the car door to open.

Hey, Lucius. Look what I got for you.

When the car engine shut off, he reached into the vehicle with his new abilities to see what made this woman so special. Tasting her, he almost lunged out of the hedge, lust overriding responsibility. There was so much inside her, and it was so fucking pure.

Saliva built up in his mouth and he trembled. His hand went down between his legs to touch the hardness swelling in his pants. No wonder Lucius wanted her for himself. She—

He shook his head, forcing reason to assert itself. Anyone that could give him this kind of power wasn't someone you fucked around with. This one belonged to Lucius. But there'd be others like her. Others that he would find and keep for himself.

When the car door opened, he moved forward from the shadows of the hedge.

Peter couldn't take his eyes from the little man. Ben's jumbled account of the night's events barely penetrated his consciousness. He stepped from the porch and moved close to Tiddy Mun, one trembling hand reaching out to touch the gnome. The little man stood still, saucer eyes wide as he watched Peter approach. Physical contact broke Peter's spell.

Real. The little man was real!

He snatched his hand away. His gaze shifted from the gnome to Ben, his mind awhirl. If the gnome existed, then so did Cat's Otherworld. And if
it
existed, then there really was a thief of dreams, and that meant— Cat! She was out there in the night, alone. And the vampire was out there hunting her.

Suddenly what Ben was saying broke through the rush of his own thoughts. He realized there was a woman in the cab, took in Ben's state of shock and what he was saying.

"Dead?" Peter demanded. "Who's dead?"

"Jesus, Peter. Were… weren't you listening? One of those vampires killed Mick. Cut his… throat… cut it with a knife…."

"What do you mean
one
of the vampires?"

"The guy that… that killed Mick wasn't the Dude. I never saw him before. And that means there's more than one of them! We've got to warn Cat."

More than one. The words went through Peter like a fire. He stepped closer to Ben, saw that his friend was on the edge of a complete breakdown. After what he'd been through…

"Who's she?" Peter asked, pointing to the cab.

"Becki. She's… was… oh, shit. She was Mick's girlfriend. Peter. There was so fucking much blood, and he was just lying there…."

The woman was in worse shape than Ben by the looks of her. Reddish-blue bruises discolored her face. She sat in the passenger's seat, staring blankly out the windshield. He had to get both Ben and her to a hospital. But first he had to warn Cat. He turned to Ben, gripping him by the arm.

"Get in the cab, Ben," he said softly.

Ben just stared at him. "His… his throat was cut," Ben said wonderingly. "From ear to ear— you know how they say that in the detective books? Jesus! I just can't… believe… The blood…"

Tiddy Mun came to Peter's aid. Between the two of them they got Ben into the backseat.

"They're going to kill us," Ben said. "They're going to kill all of us, Peter, one by one…."

Peter shook his head. "It's okay, Ben. No one's going to get us. Not you, not me— not any more of us."

"You don't understand," Ben said. "You didn't see him. I… I don't know why he took off. He could have had me right then. If Tiddy Mun had… hadn't jumped him…"

"Look, Ben. I—"

Ben gripped Peter's arm fiercely. "Don't look in their eyes, Peter. That's how they get you!"

His grip faltered and his gaze turned inward, replaying the horror of what he'd found in Mick's bedroom. Peter closed the door and moved to the driver's seat. Bending down to get in, his gaze went from Becki to Ben. He was forgetting something. He was… Turning, his gaze settled on Tiddy Mun, who was standing mournfully on the pavement.

"You," Peter said softly. "What are you? And what're you doing here?"

He shook his head as the incongruity of what he was doing hit home. The little man shouldn't even exist. But he did. And he was standing there. And he was talking to him….

"I'm Cat's friend," Tiddy Mun replied. "That's all."

Cat. He had to get moving.

"I… still can't believe you're for real," Peter said.

"I want to help," the little man said, not understanding Peter's talk of realities. To Tiddy Mun things simply were. Some were nice and some terrified him. But he never questioned their existence. "Cat's my friend," he repeated. "The evil seeks her. I'm very afraid, but I want to help."

Peter nodded. Whatever it was that was out there hunting, it
was
evil. And it wanted Cat. It was his fault that Cat was out there. She'd come to
him,
looking for help, and he'd driven her away. He slipped behind the wheel of the cab, then leaned across the seat to speak to Ben. Ben's eyes had a lost look to them.

"I couldn't help him," Ben said. "I just… just didn't get there in time. And Cat…"

"We'll get there in time," Peter promised, but Ben wasn't listening anymore. His eyes had gone unfocused again. Peter glanced at Tiddy Mun, who stood just behind the door of the cab.

"Are you still coming?" he asked.

The little man nodded, hands clasped in front of him to keep them from trembling. "The metal…" he said. "The cold iron…"

Peter rubbed at his temples. Then, reaching down, he helped the little man up. Tiddy Mun scrambled across his lap to sit between Becki and Peter, his limbs shivering.

Oh, Cat, Peter thought as he shut the door and turned the engine over. I'm so sorry. If we get out of this, I'll believe anything you tell me. Any damn thing.

All the way home Cat thought about what Peter had said. Couldn't he see what all this was doing to her? Maybe he couldn't have understood, but couldn't he at least have tried a little harder to see things from her point of view? It wasn't just the suspicion that there might be something, wrong with her— not anymore. Her whole life had been lived as a lie. A delusion.

She'd been something of an elitist, believing she could see more than the plebian hordes with whom she shared the planet. She was special. She dreamed true. But the truth of the matter was, she wasn't so special at all. The psychotic wards of hospitals were filled with people just like her.

Her tears dried up, but not her grief.

Now she didn't have only Kothlen to mourn, she had all of them. Kothlen's kin. Tiddy Mun. Mynfel, whose name she shared. The Otherworld itself. They weren't dead. They weren't gone. They'd never existed anywhere but in her own imagination in the first place.

How did you mourn what never was?

She'd never felt so lost or so alone as she did on that drive home. The route from Peter's store to her own house stretched to impossible proportions— a night journey that promised no cleansing at its completion, no catharsis. She was used to being alone and not feeling alone. But now, inside her, desolation lay bleak for wasted miles.

There were no landmarks, nothing familiar to reach out for in that wasteland. No hope. Just the barren expanses. Dreamless. Self-pitying. The late-night streets echoing the emptiness inside her. No escape possible. Not to an Otherworld ruled by antlered Mynfel, because it didn't exist. And in this world? Did she dare take a chance with someone as kind as Ben? Did she want to mess him around? He deserved more than someone like her. And Peter, just trying to be a friend…

Crossing Lansdowne Bridge, she considered pushing the gas pedal to the floor and sending the car through the railings to the canal below. But that wouldn't solve anything. Then she was over the bridge, nearing Sunnyside, and the moment was gone.

She turned right on Willard. Home was just a couple of blocks away. A big empty house, filled with books and records. Two cats. It wasn't what she needed right now, but it was all she had. Pulling into her driveway, she sat still for a few moments, hands gripping the steering wheel.

Home is where the heart is, she thought. Was that what was wrong with this house? That it wasn't where
her
heart was? Her heart lay in the woodlands and rounded hills of the Otherworld. The remote home of her dreams. Of emotion. More recently home might have worked out to be where Ben was. But not in this empty house.