The Dream Crafter (13 page)

There was no discernable pattern to his driving. He made abrupt turns and now, was making an illegal U-turn. He gave a quick flick over her body before turning his attention back to the road. “You stood out when you entered the club.” So much for thinking she was being too hard on her hair and clothing. “The Guild put a notice out on you, and when I saw you tied down, everything fell into place. I knew I needed to take a chance and get you out.”

“So, wait, you mean you’re not a
member
of the Guild?” Unsettlement roiled through her. Even if she wasn’t happy about the thought of being with the Guild again, they were a known quantity and she knew what to expect from then. This man was a blank, and she had enough uncertainty these last several hours.

“No.”

Amana’s stomach began to hurt and worry crept through her. “So why did you get me if you’re not Guild?”

“They have a substantial reward for your rescue.”

“Oh.” Amana pushed back the worry. It didn’t matter he wasn’t a traditional knight in white armor, charging to her rescue. Whether doing it for a reward or doing it because it was the right thing to do, it didn’t make a difference to her. She was escaping the first free moment as it was, all she needed him for was to get her away. “So where are we meeting them?”

“We’re not.”

“What the-”
The car’s leather seat expanded and shifted under her, and two tight bands of leather strapped themselves around her waist and chest, trapping her against the seat. Amana kicked out, shifting and pulling, but to no avail. She had little wiggle room and the leather held fast.

The man kept his attention on the road, not looking over at her through her struggles. “The Guild wants you bad. Why is that? There’s one thing I know, and that’s the Guild doesn’t give a crap about anyone. This reward isn’t because you’re some poor woman caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Doesn’t happen like that. The only reason they’d pay so much for you is because you are
very…
special. Want to tell me how?”

“Get lost amidst the four hells.” Amana could spit she was so pissed. First Merc, and now this waste of flesh? She kicked and twisted in a bid for freedom, but so far there was no give, no path to freedom.

“Quit it.” The man reached over, but whatever he intended was thwarted by Amana clamping down on his forearm with her teeth and ripping into the flesh.

“Fucking shit!”
He got his arm free, and when he turned to her, his eyes burned with a fever and a light that promised pain. The effort to get himself under control played over his face, but he managed it. “You’re fucking lucky I don’t know why you’re wanted. Enough of this shit. I’d rather knock you unconscious, but I’ll have to settle for putting you to sleep.”

Righteous rage suffused veins and blood, pouring and pulsing through with every heartbeat, each one louder in her ears, and the whisper in seductive tones
yes sleep. The little man won’t be so
secure
after we’re done with him, will he?

Oh gods no

oh gods no

“Please no. No sleep. Don’t put me to
sleep
.” A red haze still blocked her sight, but fear smacked against it, pushing it away and clearing her body of the deep comfort of anger, leaving the shivers of terror jerking her against all restraints.

“I hope you’re worth all this,” the man muttered, fiddling with the radio dial as he did so. His nails were bitten to the quick, and even with that, dirt somehow still lodged underneath them.

“No sleep. No sleep no sleep no sleep
no sleep
.” It would happen again.
It would happen again.
Damn it,
damn it
, this was the natural end, this is what the Guild had begun.

Panic coursed through her and she threw herself around in the seat with every muscle bunching against the restraints.
Please please please
, and even as the begging words filled her brain, a heaviness swamped her body and mind, pushing consciousness down and closing her eyelids against all effort otherwise.

Her body might be asleep in the front seat, her head lolling to the side and toward the passenger window, but Amana’s consciousness was aware, strong in her dreamscape, sitting in the battered and lumpy backseat. In front, her captor was still driving, glancing over at the sleeping form of Amana next to him. Blood moved in a slow trickle down his arm from where she had torn into him. At the next red light he stopped and flexed his arm, cursing and giving her dark looks.

She passed through his consciousness, and
oh
, that’s what he was. A wizard and a trickster, his magic all about illusion and escape. Powerful in that, powerful enough to have freed her, but overall he would not be someone most magic users would worry over. He was deception and misdirection, not direct combat.

“We could end him.” Sitting next to Amana in the backseat was her devil dressed in her skin, from the long near-black hair to the thin top lip, to the petite body and gentle curves. The double’s gaze was locked on her, and here was the only difference between the two. Her devil had a disconcerting teal-blue gaze, the color of the ocean as darkness sets in, and all of death on display in its depths. “You fight too much. You could have so much more. Why be scared of such a waste of flesh as that?”

Even in the dream Amana’s pulse drummed in her ears, and she didn’t answer, focused completely on her sleeping form. She wouldn’t acknowledge, not even for a moment. Acknowledging meant giving it power and position in her life.

The other Amana didn’t press. She sat forward and flicked at the man’s ears, hitting him with light taps. The man shook his head, waved his hand as if to wave a fly away. “Little mosquito. I should swat him harder.”

“No.”

Her devil looked triumphant at the break, her smug smile settling into the unlined face. “Thought you weren’t interested in talking?”

“He’s driving the car. Even you’re not that stupid to want our body destroyed.”

“You call me stupid? Really? You condescend to
me
?” The voice was disgusted amusement, and the twisted look that followed that never belonged on Amana’s features. “Why would I want you to exist as you are? What are you? A groveling mongrel, always with its belly to the ground and pathetic in its gratitude for any scrap thrown its way. Nakoa deserves better.” And the other Amana punched through the seat in front of her, and in the dream her fist passed through the fabric and went straight through the man’s throat.

He began to shake and choke, grabbing at this neck, and Amana screamed as the car swerved around the road. The doppelganger kept her fist through the man, as easy and calm as if they were sitting on the park bench on a lazy Sunday morning.

“Stop it.”
Amana grabbed at her doppelganger, twisting her arm away from the driver and pushing the other back into the seat, climbing atop her to keep her still. The driver coughed a few more times but he regained control of the car.

Her devil was calm, almost bored, as she held Amana’s gaze. “Pathetic. When will this
end
?”

A black mist filled the car, circling the driver. Once again her kidnapper began coughing, but this time the car’s roof was torn off, and from above like an avenging angel crouched Merc, swooping down and pulling her kidnapper from the car, throwing him out to the side of the road and taking his place in the driver’s seat.

Merc didn’t stop the car, but he turned the wheel hard, tires squealing as the car made a U-turn and began its journey to wherever Merc deemed it necessary for them to go next.

Several times he looked over to her sleeping body, his eyes on her more than they were on the road. He reached out his hand, and, after a minute’s hesitation, a split-second jerk, placed his fingertips against her cheek.

Amana’s attention was torn away from her double and now her sole focus was Merc. She was caught by the reverent look in his eye, the gentle caress given with such unwilling fingers, but given nonetheless. He pulled his hand away, running his fingertips against the skin of his palm.

“Think of all you could give him, him and your brother. You can lay the world at their feet. Why keep crawling?”

Amana pulled back her fist and punched it through the face of the other, wanting to crush her mouth and nose through her skull and into the back of her head, destroy that face so it bore no more resemblance to the Amana who existed in wakefulness.

Amana fell forward, down,
through
, and the dark swallowed her whole.

“You’re up.”

Merc’s voice, and morning light hit her eyes.

Thank gods, she was
awake
, and her devil was no longer around. “Where are we?” This car didn’t have a ripped off roof, but otherwise it was similar to the one that had been used in her kidnapping, a big boat with a non-descript mixture of pleather and chrome.

“You were taken from the club last night.” The words were straightforward, no lilt towards the end or pregnant pause afterwards, but the question lay there regardless, the one she wouldn’t answer. With deliberate intent, she folded her legs under her, twisting towards the passenger window, her shoulder blocking any part of him from view.

As the endless stretch of trees and mountain passed, they both remained quiet, soft sighs the only break in silence.

‡

T
hey rode in
silence through the day and into nighttime, with only a couple bathroom breaks at appropriately empty and isolated stops to tide her over, the shriveled hot dogs which all gas station markets carried and a couple bags of chips her only nutrition. Now it was full dark, with only the sliver of a moon and a large, clear sky dotted with stars, the lull of the engine and a surprisingly smooth road considering they were most certainly off the beaten path.

“Stay awake.” Merc’s hand was on her shoulder, so large it enveloped her shoulder and a good part of her upper arm. He gave a small shake, enough that her head moved in unwilling rhythm.

“Stop that.” She pushed out at the hand, moving it off her, though it was only because he allowed it. “I’m not a puppet to be pulled around.”

“It’s not that late, and you were sleeping earlier. You shouldn’t be tired.” His hand settled into the space between them, far enough away to be out of irritation zone, but the twitch of his fingers told a story of being ready to go into action if need be.

“It’s not like you’re helping me stay awake by being mister silent over there.” A cringe shuddered over her as the bitchy note in her voice hit her eardrums. Amana cleared her throat. “As for earlier, it was a magical sleep. If you’d ever been hit with one of those, you’d know it’s not going to give you the rest a normal night’s sleep would.”

“I can’t be hit with them.”

Amana glanced at him to see the slight downturn on the corner of his lips. So, he hadn’t wanted to let that slip. “They don’t affect you?”

“No.” The voice was curt, but surprise brushed through her that he answered at all.

“Are you affected by any type of magic?”

He shook his head, this time the lips compressed to stop mirth, the longish strands of hair swinging over the planes of his face. “You don’t seriously believe I’ll answer any questions on my abilities, do you?”

“Why not? Telling me that magic doesn’t do anything to you, even if I spoke it to everyone, it seems like that would be a plus for people to know you’re invulnerable.”

“No one’s invulnerable to magic – not completely. Telling people where your strengths lay can sometimes make it easier to figure out your weaknesses.”

She’d have to take him at his word. Magic was something she kept far away from, the same feeling in her gut that kept her away from anything that had to do with dreams. She didn’t want to know. So she’d be safe. The little kid on the bed, keeping her feet under the comforter, because the moment an ankle slipped free, the monster could reach up and grab.

Yeah, worked out well.

“Speaking of abilities…” Merc trailed off, his voice going quiet at the end. He chanced a quick glance at her, but in this dark there was no telling what he saw, and that was if he was looking for something physical. “I want to hear about your brother. You said everything you’re doing is for him, so I’m curious.”

His voice had a slight edge of hesitation, but it also held a warm curiosity, the way he would have spoken their first meeting on the beach. It was wanting information because of interest in who you were talking to, not information to use against someone.

Which was stupid to believe, given the circumstances. He was a mercenary and taking the Spellbook from him had marked her an enemy – or if not that, someone who could not be trusted. The way he kept her awake told of how that hadn’t changed.

But…
but but but…

Behind her eyelids all day had been the memory of his hand reaching for her sleeping form, the way his fingers shook as they stroked over her cheek and roamed downwards to feel the pulse at her neck. The way he had hesitated before he laid a finger on her, as if in fear of what he might discover.

The way his fingers curled into his palm, tightening down, as though pushing any remembered sensation deep.