Dreamseeker (9 page)

He considered for a moment before answering. “My Guildmaster trusts my counsel. I could probably convince him to give the right orders. But I'd have to come up with a damn good reason for him to comply. Our Guild is less involved with the Shadows than yours is, but defying the will of a Shadowlord is still no small thing. Especially that particular Shadowlord.” He cocked his head to one side, a move that was oddly canine. “So are you going to give me a story to offer him? Or do I need to come up with something on my own?”

She spread her hands. “I don't know the inner workings of your Guild well enough to know what would convince him. So I'm afraid I would need to leave that in your hands.”

“And is this part of your secret experiment?”

A practiced wave of Morgana's hand casually dismissed the thought. “If you must know the truth, my Guild assessed the potential of these changelings when they were born, and sent them into exile on Terra Colonna. Now they're back. When's the last time you heard about a changeling finding his way home like that? It's a once in a lifetime opportunity for us to see what these children are capable of, when isolated from Gifted influence.”

“Do you think they may be Gifted themselves?”

“I've seen no signs of that yet,” she lied easily. “But if it turns out that one of them is, that would mean a Seer failed in his duty when he evaluated them. . . . so you understand why it's something I would need to investigate. Discreetly.”

The Hunter sighed. “I understand, Lady. I'll do the best I can to keep Rhegar off their tail.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

The ghostly figure lifted his hand from his fetter and then he, too, was gone.

For a few minutes Morgana sat alone in the dimly lit room, wondering if she had told the Hunter too much. Or perhaps too little? She didn't dare let the others know why she was really watching Jessica, but she had to tell them something. Which meant that the closer her plan came to fruition, the more dangerous it would become.

I've risked everything for this experiment,
she thought
. Let's hope the girl proves worth
it.

B
ERKELEY
S
PRINGS

W
EST
V
IRGINIA

J
ESSE

T
HE SOUND OF GLASS SHATTERING
woke me up.

For a moment I lay there in the darkness, not sure if it was something I'd dreamed or something real. Then I heard a heavy thud downstairs, like a body hitting the floor. Reflexively I reached under my pillow for my knife, just in case trouble came calling. These days it was reflex.

As I got up and moved toward the bedroom door I could hear people stirring in the hall outside; it sounded like the noise had awakened everyone in the house. I opened my door and saw my aunt and uncle rushing down the stairs, Rita and Tommy behind them. My brother had his knife in hand, which was probably why he was keeping to the rear of the pack: there was less chance of someone noticing that way.

I followed the flood of people down the stairs.

The ruckus was apparently coming from the kitchen. Dr. Tilford was already there. Devon was crouched on the floor, his back against a cabinet, wrapped in a trembling ball with his arms around his knees and his head down. Fragments of glass and pottery were scattered all
around him, as well as pieces of what had once been a sandwich. He must have come down here to make himself a midnight snack.

As Rose and Julian rushed to his side. I looked around the room for anyone or anything that might have hurt him—perhaps oddities in the room that the others might not notice—but the only people there were known to me, and no objects looked out of place save for the mess on the floor. That didn't necessarily mean there was no one else present; I'd learned the hard way that there were aliens who were skilled at going unseen. But for now, at least, this seemed to be a mundane accident.

Devon's father knelt by his side, and as we all pressed in close to see what was going on he looked up and said, “Give him room, please.” I could sense fear coming off Devon in waves, like heat off the summer pavement. Dr. Tilford seemed calm and collected on the outside, but I guessed that was just a facade. A good doctor knew how to keep his patient from sensing how worried he was.

“I'll call an ambulance,” Uncle Julian said.

“Already did,” Dr. Tilford told him. Then he turned back to his son. “You'll be fine. Try to take deep, slow breaths.”

Devon didn't respond to him. His breathing was rapid and shallow, like a dog's panting, and his body vibrated with tremors every few seconds.

Aunt Rose asked, “What happened?”

“He's having trouble with his balance,” Dr. Tilford said without looking up. “No idea why, yet.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

Lips tight, he shook his head. “Not at the moment.”

My aunt crouched down and started to clean up the pieces of shattered crockery. It wasn't what I would have worried about at a time like this, but maybe she needed the distraction.

Devon whispered hoarsely, “It's worse when I move my head.”

“I know,” his father said. “Just sit still for now. Help is on the way.”

I could hear sirens now, moving toward us at a fast clip. That was one benefit of living in a small town; there were no traffic snarls to slow down an ambulance.

Devon looked up at me for an instant . . . or tried to. One of his eyes was twitching wildly back and forth, and I got the impression he couldn't see anything clearly. Then he shut his eyes again, leaned his head back against the wall, and shuddered. I was so terribly afraid for him, and also frustrated. There's nothing worse than seeing a friend in pain and not being able to help. I looked at Rita and Tommy and saw similar emotions in their eyes. None of us knew what to do, or even what to think.

When the ambulance finally arrived Rose met the paramedics at the door and led them to the kitchen. Dr. Tilford identified himself and gave them a quick rundown on Devon's condition. Mostly medical jargon, but some phrases were recognizable.
Sudden loss of balance. Disorientation. Severe nausea.
He displayed such an air of medical authority that I felt somewhat reassured; clearly he was on top of this.

With his hand on Devon's shoulder he asked, “Can you move?”

“I'm not sure.” His son's voice was barely audible, and he winced when he spoke, as if even the slight movement of his jaw made him feel sicker.

Then the paramedics took him by his arms and helped him get to his feet. He was swaying like a drunk, and at one point it looked like he was about to throw up. Two more paramedics had brought in a stretcher, and they helped ease him onto it while Dr. Tilford watched in obvious torment. I could taste how much he wanted to step in and help, but that wasn't the protocol, and he knew it.

When Devon was finally lying down he shut his eyes, sighing deeply as they strapped him in, as if relieved that he would not have to move for a while. His color was ghastly. The paramedics wheeled him out with Dr. Tilford close behind; the rest of us followed in their wake, down the hallway, through the entrance foyer, and out onto the front porch. From there we huddled together and watched as they slid the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. Dr. Tilford exchanged a few words with the head paramedic, then the two of them climbed inside the back, and the heavy doors swung shut behind them.

Suddenly I realized that we weren't alone. Neighbors had come out onto their porches to see what all the commotion was about, and a few people in robes and pajamas were standing in the roadway across from our house. For one sickening moment I had a flashback to the pajama-clad crowd that had surrounded my house when it burned down. I tried to shut them out of my head as I looked back at the ambulance.

Someone grabbed my hand and squeezed it briefly. Rose? Tommy? I didn't want look away long enough to find out.

Finally the ambulance began to move out. Sirens pierced the night as brightly colored lights began to strobe from its roof. I felt tears start to gather in the corner of one eye, born of fear and frustration. I felt helpless not being able to help the friend who had been such comfort to me in my own need.

“C'mon.” Uncle Julian's strong hand gripped my shoulder. “Get some clothes on, we'll take the SUV.”

The emergency room was sleek and clean and mostly empty. In one corner was a middle-aged woman who was knitting nervously; every few minutes she would glance at the double doors that led to the hospital's interior, a look of concern on her face, then she would turn back to her yarn and knit even more furiously. Other than her, we were the only non-nurses there.

A woman in scrubs showed up to tell us that Devon was being cared for and that for now he seemed to be okay, but she wouldn't give us any more details. We weren't family.

Eventually Dr. Tilford came out. His normally stoic façade was clearly being strained to the breaking point.

“Devon is suffering from an acute attack of vertigo,” he told us. “They don't know the cause yet, but they've ruled out some major concerns. He seems stable for now.” He turned back toward the double doors. “I'll let you know if anything changes.”

Before he could leave I asked, “Is he going to be okay?”

He hesitated. “We're doing everything we can to make sure of it.”

He didn't wait around for any more questions, so I pulled out my phone and looked up vertigo.
Extreme dizziness
, Wikipedia said.
Sometimes comes on without warning.

Not a big help.

Time crept by after that with agonizing slowness. Tommy had stayed at the house to monitor the internet channels, searching for any sign that other changelings were getting sick. It wasn't so long ago that someone had been killing them off one by one, and if that was starting up again, we needed to know. But he said he hadn't found anything to suggest that was the case. One bit of good news, anyway.

Finally Rita and I were allowed to see Devon.

He was sitting in a hospital bed, in a small enclosure with curtains for walls. He seemed to be aware of us when we entered the room, but he didn't open his eyes.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” he whispered weakly.

“You okay?”

“If I don't move. Or try to look at anything.” He paused. “Or breathe too hard.”

He barely moved as he spoke to us. His hands were gripping the rails of the bed as if he was afraid of falling out of it. I placed my hand gently on top of one of them. His skin was clammy, and I felt him trembling.

Dr. Tilford came into the enclosure. “Tests all negative so far,” he told Devon.

“Is that good?” I asked.

“Well, it doesn't tell us what's wrong, but some rather serious possibilities have been ruled out, so that's good. Sometimes this kind of thing just comes out of the blue. We may never know the cause.”

A nurse entered the enclosure, took Devon's blood pressure, and gave him some medication. Then Dr. Tilford left for a minute to go talk to the doctors. And the three of us were alone together.

Devon whispered, “Do you think
they
did this?”

Neither Rita nor I had to ask what he meant. Was it possible that
people from Terra Prime were responsible for his sudden illness? I couldn't recall a case where any changelings had been struck down exactly like this, but that didn't mean much. There were probably dozens of changeling deaths we didn't know anything about. Tommy's online research suggested that none of the others were being assaulted, but the three of us might be a special case. We were the only changelings who knew the truth about where we were from. The only ones who had crossed into the world of our birth and destroyed a major transportation hub on our way out. The Shadows might want revenge for that. The Greys might want revenge for that. Hell, a dozen other Guilds whose Gifts we'd never heard of might want revenge for that.

But
they could have killed Devon if they'd wanted to
, I reminded myself.
This was just a warning shot.
“They have people who can heal. I suppose they have people who can un-heal.” I spoke softly, so no one outside the curtain would hear me. “Maybe they're trying to scare us off.”

“To keep us from going back to Terra Prime?” Rita asked.

I nodded.

She folded her arms over her chest, a gesture that managed to be both defensive and aggressive at the same time. “So what, then? Are we supposed to give up, just like that? What about your mom?”

I looked down at Devon. His coffee-colored skin was filmed in sweat. “We can wait a few days, until Devon gets better. I can talk to Seyer—”

“No,” Devon rasped. “No. You two have to go. Now. Don't wait for me.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because if you're right, and they're trying to scare us off, what will happen when they figure out you're just delaying the trip, not cancelling it? They might do something worse than this, to drive the message home. Maybe go after Rita next time . . . or even you. But once you cross over, there'll be no point in threats anymore; they'll have lost that battle.”

“Shit,” Rita muttered. “He's right.”

“And second . . .” He sighed. “I'm sorry, Seyer's Gift may be
terrifying and powerful and utterly beyond my comprehension, but nothing short of a direct message from God Himself is likely to convince my father I should go with you. I mean, it was nice to dream, but. . . .” His words trailed off into a pained silence.

For a moment no one said anything. I wondered if Dr. Tilford was rethinking his response to the story Devon had told him. No one on our world could cause sickness like this, but Devon had described a world where people could. Was Dr. Tilford wondering now if he'd dismissed his son's tale too quickly? Was he wondering if the maker of our alien artifact might want to hurt his son? Or was he ascribing the timing of this to mere coincidence?

“I don't want to go without you,” I murmured.

He sighed. “Yeah, and I don't want to lie in a hospital bed worrying about whether you're both safe or not. But we don't always get what we want.” He attempted to shake his head, but winced as soon as the motion began. “I wish I could go with you too, Jesse.”

Something about the way he said my name made my heart lurch in my chest. I leaned down and kissed him gently on the forehead. His skin was cool and salty against my lips. At least he had no fever. That was good, right?

He opened his eyes and looked at me. His left eye was twitching less than it had in Rose's kitchen. “Come home in the right time frame,” he whispered. “Even if you have to stay there a while to figure out how to do it right. Don't end up like Sebastian, coming home after everyone you love is long dead.”
Including me,
his eyes pleaded.

“We will,” I told him, and Rita said, “We promise.”

Dr. Tilford came back then, so I let go of Devon's hand. The doctor told us he was going to spend the night by Devon's side, and promised to text us if anything changed. So we left them both there. What else could we do? Whoever had struck Devon down had played his hand well.