The Dream Crafter (4 page)

Amana’s gut said screw fight, flight now. A glance at her female companions showed Laire looking between her watch and the men responsible for the commotion, her body shifting in a series of tics and jerks, a frown marring her face. Fallon though… Her gaze was locked on the scene, and something in the forward tilt of her body told Amana they weren’t leaving yet.

“Inara,” Fallon called, and as though Inara had been waiting just out of eyesight, the curly-haired woman was making her way to the table, her swinging hip walk unhurried even though five big men were terrorizing one of her wait staff in the corner. As soon as she was in earshot, Fallon said, “Regulars?”

“The last few weeks some of the werewolves seem to be taking complete jackassery to a ten.” Exasperation and disgust were served in equal measure in Inara’s voice, punctuated by rolling of eyes and the waving of her expressive hands. “It’s getting to the point Rhaum is considering banning them from all the clubs.”

Fallon was halfway out of her chair when Laire’s voice rose. “Oh no. You are not going to ruin tonight for me. I have a special appointment with Mr. Grok that I’ve been looking forward to for four months, and you swore I’d make it there.”

“Mr. Grok?” Inara’s voice held awe, and she scuttled past Fallon to sidle next to Laire. “How did you get an appointment?”

Laire growled, the sound surprisingly deep for someone whose extraordinary amount of makeup doubled her overall weight. “He found out about my family connections.”

“Impressive. It took Rhaum years to suss that out.”

“Rhaum’s a rank amateur. Everyone knows the best and juiciest gossip is always told to the hairdresser.

Fallon now stood, tall for a woman, but what had Amana shivering, rubbing the back of her neck to smooth the raised hairs on her nape, was the pure power and menace the woman projected. The werewolves? Schoolboy hijinks in comparison. Fallon said, “Inara, the anti-shift spell still up and running?”

Ignoring Laire’s groan, Inara smiled. “Of course. You know Rhaum wouldn’t let that spell lapse. Unless those furballs are somehow special–” All three women took a long look at the pack of young men and in seconds shook their heads over that possibility, “–then it’s strictly dealing with them in human form.”

“My appointment,” Laire warned.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll get there.” Fallon started her way down the steps. Laire stayed put, and looked put out, crossing her arms and mumbling words of doom.

From their seats, they had a perfect view as the redhead put herself in front of the brunette girl, who turned and scurried away, relief etched into her face. Fallon was tall but the werewolves were all her height or taller, and they were certainly wider. They gave lecherous looks and wide grins at the redhead in their midst.

As if sensing things were about to happen, the crowd quieted, people moving away from the bad vibes which were building around the werewolves. Fallon gave a fake pleasant smile at the surrounding males. “Wolfboys, think you can keep both volume and property destruction to a small roar, and please don’t bother the serving staff?”

The leader of the group gave an open up-and-down leer. “The only way I’d call you a bouncer is because of your chest. Do you want to play with the bad wolf, eh, Red?” His companions added their own loud howls of laughter to bolster the leader’s courage.

The smile stayed in place as Fallon leaned a little closer. “I don’t think you have anything interesting enough to play with, and quit fucking up everyone else’s night.”

The laughter turned to growls, and anything sexual was replaced by pure aggression. “Little girls who get mouthy get put in their place real quick.”

Fallon put her hands in the pockets of her pants.

Laire jumped up and pointed at Fallon while yelling, “No you don’t! Mr. Grok! Four months! Get your ass back here now!”

“She put her hands in her pockets. I better call Rhaum,” said Inara, and from somewhere in the impossibly tight clothes she was wearing, Inara produced a phone and began talking on it.

These women were offering her dreams by destroying her peace, and she was sure she was going to grow to hate them, but Amana didn’t want to see Fallon hurt because she was trying to save the waitress. “They’re gearing up to attack. Can you use your magic to help out? Because if Fallon doesn’t get back here, there’s going to be a fight.”

The look Laire gave her was
duh
personified. “Why do you think her ass is down there? She’s nuts enough to enjoy that type of thing, not giving a thought to
friend’s appointments
.” The last couple words were said in a louder tone, but the narrowed eyes and small huffs of breath told the story that Laire was resigned to being late or missing her appointment and was now active in thinking of retributory acts.

“She doesn’t have a weapon, and her hands are in her pockets.”

Laire shrugged it off, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she watched. “Granted, if they could shift she might need to grab something pointy, but they’re only in human form. And she always pulls that crap with the pockets.”

“Why?”

Laire’s voice lost any humor or outrage. It was stark, full of bitter remembrance. “Because if someone takes a swing at a woman who is not in any position to defend herself, they deserve whatever happens to them.”

The leader of the group threw a punch.

He was laughing as his arm glided through the air, expecting to knock out the woman in front of him without putting any effort into it. In short order he was brought down by a heelstrike against his ankle, a boot to the side of his knee, a knee to the underside of his jaw, and a stomp on his face, which left him with a bloody mess of a nose, and to the windpipe, which left him gasping for breath and turning an ugly purplish shade.

And Fallon’s hands were still in her pockets.

By the time their friend turned a sickly shade of puce, the others were clued in this wasn’t an easy target and they joined the fight. Fallon ducked and sidestepped, which allowed two of them to crash together before she leaned forward and kicked back into the stomach of the third, which caused him to double over, an overloud
ooff
escaping him.

And with that, it turned into a
brawl
. The hands were now out of the pants, and Fallon used everything within grabbing or kicking distance to damage the men who surrounded her. But through the punches and the jumps and kicking a barstool so it flew through the air to hit a wolf on the side of his head, what kept Amana’s attention was the semi-feral smile on the redhead’s mouth, the way her eyes seemed lit from within as she leapt across the room and tackled one of the wolves so he landed back-first on the bar, after which she brought her fist down on his chest.

One tried to blindside her, but Fallon kicked back high into his head, bringing him down to one knee. She then jumped on him and used that momentum to get on top of the billiards table, where she proceeded to kick another two surrounding her before leaping back to the ground. Her goal seemed to be to leave them in as bloody of a heap as possible. She twirled and ducked, used elbows and knees and feet and hands to bring them down, and breaking of bone and long shouts of pain were all that could be heard in the otherwise silent club, where everyone who wasn’t involved in the fight made the wise choice of moving as far away as possible, even as they looked on in horrified fascination.

“Now she’s just showing off,” Laire complained as Fallon, sensing the wolf behind her, sidestepped enough that his punch missed connecting with her, and instead reached out to the side and dug her fingers into the back of his head, slamming his face down into the pool table so hard both table and skull cracked under the impact.

The fight was winding down, only one left standing, and at the last moment he bolted from the club, pushing past people to escape the redheaded warrior.

Fallon didn’t chase him. Instead, she shook her head in disgust and headed over to the brunette waitress, bending over the girl to have a quiet, intimate conversation with her. The Fallon with the young woman was so different than the one who had sat at this table. Not in the warrior – that had been obvious from the first – but in the woman who expressed concern by the way her body enveloped the smaller female, the gentle way Fallon took the girl’s hand in hers, the compassionate way Fallon held the girl’s gaze, saying something and waiting until the girl gave a teary nod in agreement, tears of relief and gratitude.

A prickle teased at Amana’s senses, the kind that warned you of being watched, and Amana turned her head to find Laire studying her, the woman’s gaze as direct as Fallon’s had ever been during their conversation.

Laire took a quick glance back to Fallon, then sighed, settling into herself, as if the words she was about to say had to be pushed out by force. “Stop thinking that way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I see what you’re thinking. I’ve seen that look too many times not to.” Laire didn’t look at toward Amana as she spoke, but Amana felt the crushing weight of Laire’s attention just the same. “Don’t romanticize us. Don’t you dare let this little display here make you think what Fallon told you earlier isn’t true, that no matter what you decide we’ll get your brother out because it’s the right thing. We won’t. You say no, we’ll let your brother rot, and we won’t even lose sleep over it.”

Physical binds couldn’t tighten Amana’s chest more than the force of Laire’s words. Breathing hurt, moving hurt, everything in her stopped and shut down, and in her mind, the picture of her brother the last time she had seen him, wild-eyed but trying with the full force of his will not to let it show to his little sister.

“Don’t get me wrong. I think you should tell us to fuck off, but I think family ties are overrated, so maybe I’m not the right person to ask for an opinion.” Laire’s voice was too calm for someone ordering a death sentence. “But no matter what you decide, I want you to decide based on truth. Considering all the crap you’re going to have to deal with, that’s the least I can offer you.”

And now there was movement, as both Fallon came bounding up the stairs and Inara was moving back from the side, her phone no longer in her hands. Before Fallon had settled next to Laire, Inara came over to them and said, “Rhaum says the drinks are free since you were defending Des. He’ll send the bill for property damage to Kyo.”

Fallon graced Inara with a smirky smile, in it an obvious wish to taunt the woman. “My, that’s awful
big
of him.”

Inara returned the grin, giving a playful finger point to the redhead. “I see what you did there.”

“I try.” Fallon turned to Laire. “Let’s go to your appointment.”

The seriousness of the earlier conversation was gone from Laire’s tone and body language. “He never takes late clients. I’m going to be banned because you had to play with the furballs. Couldn’t you have messed with Wulver when we got back instead?”

Fallon closed her hand over Laire’s forearm and started leading the magic user to the front door. “I promise he’ll see you.”

“And how can you promise that?”

“I’m charming. People respond to me.”

“They only respond because you pull out Tenro at regular intervals.”

“It works, doesn’t it?”

And they were gone. Whatever was showing on Amana’s face had Inara touching her arm, saying, “Honey, let’s get you a drink. Come to the office.”

Inara led her into a typical office, the supple leather of the chairs and the quality of the artwork on the walls the only hints of luxury that told of the club’s success. With a whiskey neat in her hand, Amana finally spoke. “Everything they said was true, wasn’t it?”

Inara’s expression was pure sympathy. Whether it was an act or not, in this moment, Amana was grateful for it. “Whatever they want from you, you’ll come out on top. You have that look about you. So decide if you’re willing to pay their price, and go get what you want.”

Pay the price? Of course she was going to pay the price. They had her. Damn it, nothing mattered, details were just words. She was theirs and though they left without getting her answer, they knew it. “Yes, I’m going to get what I want.”

‡

A
mana had never
directed herself into someone’s dream.

All her wanderings were accidental, random things. Pure chance. The one and only time there had been any type of influence was all wrapped around outside magic. It wasn’t that she directed herself somewhere. More, it was like there were random flashing neon signs that caught her attention and caused her to wander over and look. She had never gone to sleep with the desire to find someone specific.

There had been so many of those chance meetings over the years. Across the spectrum of races and abilities. She shied away anytime she felt magic, but except for that one restriction, she enjoyed herself, making connections in dreams that held deeper meaning for her than any of the real life people she’d interacted with.

The one constant was she only ever entered someone’s dreams once. Beyond the fact that she never wanted to acknowledge her power in any way, which meant she never tried to push her limits or discover what could and couldn’t be done, the plain truth was there was never any reason to revisit anyone, no matter how much she enjoyed the meeting. There was always someone new to meet, and in a dream, time was immaterial. Days, weeks, months, all of it lived in the few precious hours of slumber. One dream with someone was enough to curb her curiosity and have her moving forward.