Shadow's Dream

by Jami Gray

  Tala studied him, her face still. “Do those whispers include why a Magi would set your alpha against me? Or what my house could possibly gain from selling the land in question?”

  “Just the normal—power and revenge.” He sighed. “Look, I’m not willing to give you the names of the ones sharing. Not without some concrete evidence.”

  Reading between his unspoken lines, Cheveyo wondered who their main focus was on. For Toby to phrase things in such a vague way could mean a number of things, including the fact that they didn’t want to tip their hand because whoever they were looking at could be close to Tala. If that was the case, how close became Cheveyo’s biggest worry.

  Will, who hadn’t risen from his position, added, “Which we are in the processing of collecting.”

  Toby spoke over him as he slid a telling glance at Cheveyo, “Especially, considering recently shared theories.”

  Proving he wasn’t slow on the uptake, Wyatt’s gaze went from Toby to Cheveyo as he cut in, “What theories?”

  Taking his cue, Cheveyo rose. “That the Southwest is being manipulated.”

  A snort of disbelief brought all eyes to Hadley, who stood there rubbing her brow. Seeing she was the center of attention, she dropped her hand and waved it. “Let me guess. You’re going to tell us we’re being played by the big, bad Council.”

  In answer, Cheveyo crossed his arms over his chest and waited, curious to where she was going with this.

  Her gaze skated over the group, her amused disbelief morphing into exasperation as she registered everyone’s expressions. “Don’t get me wrong, the Council is not a bunch of fluffy kittens, but there is no reason for them to mess with us.” She made her way over to stand next to Wyatt and face Cheveyo. “Now you and yours, that’s another story. Especially considering all that’s happened lately in your neck of the woods. Then there are the rumors that whenever Natasha and Leo are in the same room, the chances of the next ice age appearing rise drastically. But the Southwest has nothing to do with whatever is going on between those two, and I, for one, would like to keep it that way.”

  Surprised by a flash of unexpected anger at Hadley’s flippant attitude, Cheveyo didn’t try to hide it, and his voice came out cold, “Which is why Natasha’s message wasn’t for you alone.”

  Embarrassment and offended pride fought for dominance on her face, leaving her flushed. Tala interrupted before Hadley could respond. “Whether it’s the Council or someone acting under their own misguided opinions, we still need to figure out who is trying to sow dissension among our people. Then, and only, then will we consider Natasha’s request.”

  “Which is what?” Wyatt pushed.

  “To choose,” Toby answered. “Stay hidden from the humans or take our place in the world.”

  Wyatt studied the shifter, then slowly turned to Tala. “Have you given Cheveyo your decision yet?”

  Undaunted, she shook her head. “I can’t. Not until we can clear up what’s happening here.”

  Wyatt turned away and shared a long look with Hadley and Teagan. Whatever passed between them, it was Hadley who finally spoke, her words directed at Tala. “Prove who’s betraying us and the shifters. Once we have that answer, we’ll go from there.”

  Tala dipped her head in acknowledgement and turned to Toby. “What can we do to help?”

  A little over an hour later, Cheveyo was back behind the wheel of the SUV, Tala riding shotgun and Chay in the backseat. Surprisingly it was Teagan who offered to take Ash back to Tala’s so the three could head down to Phoenix to see Rory. Wyatt and Leticia followed behind in Wyatt’s silver truck. Toby and Will were off hunting down their end of the rumors, while Hadley returned to her position as a paralegal, promising to use her expertise to look into the BLM contract from the Magi’s end.

  As if it wasn’t challenging enough to try to unearth who could be working against the houses, they were also up against a deadline. Toby explained that when he found out about the contract, he sicced one of the pack’s lawyers on it. The lawyer noted the looming deadline set by the BLM, which bought them a week to figure out how to break it.

  “Dammit,” Tala muttered, laying her head on the headrest, her eyes closed. “A week isn’t nearly long enough.”

  “It’s better than nothing,” Chay said. “And considering both the Shifters and Magi are sniffing around, I don’t think your mole is going to stay secret for much longer.”

  “I’m more concerned with who Toby targeted.” Cheveyo switched over to the carpool land and set the cruise control.

  Tala’s lips curved, but she didn’t open her eyes. “Caught that, uh?”

  “Hard to miss,” he agreed. “Too bad he won’t share.”

  Chay shifted in his seat, resting his arm on the door. “You think it was one of the Triune?”

  Cheveyo shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “Not helpful, oh wise one,” Chay muttered.

  “It’s a waste of our time worrying about it since we have nothing to work with. Yet.” He tapped a finger on Tala’s knee. “Unless you have some ideas?”

  She opened her eyes and stared out the windshield with a small frown. “Like?”

  “Like any gossip about possible entanglements between the Magi and Shifters?”

  That earned him a snort. “It’s not as frequent as you think, but I’m sure we can rule out Wyatt.”

  “Why?” Genuine curiosity lay in Chay’s question.

  Tala shifted her position, twisting around to see him. “Because the magical majority in my house lies with the shaman, and they are not the biggest fans of wizards, for obvious reasons.”

  “Ahh.” It didn’t take long for Chay to understand. “Got it.”

  Unfortunately, the shaman were naturally wary of the wizards. Shifters were considered part of the natural world, and even the witches, who sometimes got a bad rap in many of the Nations’ oral traditions, were accepted, since they drew their magic from the earth. But the wizards, who relied heavily on spell work and potions were viewed with a jaundiced eye, as were the Amanusa house. This ingrained wariness carried over into hard to shake biases for some of the older traditionalists. While such prejudices were stronger in the older generation, there was hope in the more tolerant attitudes of the younger generations. It was the same issue he faced in his house, except his magical majority was more evenly composed of witches, wizards, and druids.

  Chay drummed his fingers absently against the armrest. “Is that why Danny’s not on the Triune?”

  That seemed to startle Tala. “No, in fact, Wyatt studied under him for a bit.” She explained further, “Danny’s personal beliefs don’t follow the norm. Maybe because he’s been around for so long, but he doesn’t share that particular viewpoint.”

  Cheveyo caught Chay’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Danny’s like our Cassandra.” Cassandra Miwa, an older witch, held the respect, not only of the Northwest Magi but every Northwest house. When she spoke, you listened.

  Chay’s face softened with genuine affection. “Yeah, I can see that.”

  “If it’s not Wyatt,” Cheveyo got the conversation back on track, “what about Hadley and Teagan?”

  Tala shook her head. “I just can’t see it.”

  Unfortunately, he could, but that might just be him. “Every time Hadley’s around you, her little green-eyed monster claws her bloody. And Teagan’s so angry, I’m surprised she hasn’t come after you yet.”

  “She won’t,” Tala said, sorrow and surety making her voice soft.

  “Why?”

  “Because that anger you see, it’s self-directed. She’s more inclined to hurt herself than me.”

  Maybe, maybe not, but until he could find that same certainty, he’d make sure not to leave Tala alone with her cousin. He moved to the next threat. “And Hadley?”

  “Seriously?” Arrogance mixed with skeptic humor. “Hadley’s all talk and no backbone. Always has been.”

  “Doesn’t mean she can’t be a threat.”

&
nbsp; She sighed. “Look, neither of them gains anything if I’m dead. Not power, not money, not a damn thing.”

  His hands tightened on the wheel as frustration roiled through him, and, despite Tala’s dismissal, he added Hadley’s name to list of who to watch. Determined to dig a little deeper, he pushed, “If you’re out of the picture, who takes over?”

  “For the Southwest Magi, it would be a toss-up between Amelia out of the Colorado coven or Joseph from New Mexico.”

  Chay leaned forward. “And for here?”

  Her jaw flexed. “Wyatt.”

  At her grudging answer, Cheveyo silently cursed and added a third name to his mental watch list.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cheveyo watched Tala lead Anne out of Rory’s hospital room in an attempt to give the worn-out young woman a break, before turning to Danny. “Any changes?”

  “No.” Exhaustion and silver scruff lined Danny’s face as he sprawled in the chair set to the far side of Rory’s bed and rubbed a hand over his face. He slumped farther down in the chair, until his head could rest against the top edge, and closed his eyes. “The doctors believe the longer he remains in a coma, the less likely he is to awake from it.” His if he awakes remained unspoken.

  Moving aside a crumpled scratchy blanket and thin pillow, Cheveyo settled on Anne’s abandoned chair. He studied the man lying so still in the bed, his left leg and arm held in place by rigging and casts. Soft chimes and beeps kept a rhythmic pattern as machines fought to help him breathe. The left side of his face was battered and heavily bruised. Various cuts and swelling marred the dark discoloration making it hard to identify distinguishing features.

  Where they shaved his head to get in to reduce the swelling on his brain was starkly pale against the bandages. It was a miracle Rory was still alive.

  Disinclined to break the hushed quiet, Cheveyo kept his voice low. “Are you sure you want me to do this, Danny?”

  “Yes,” the older man answered, without opening his eyes or moving. “As much as I respect the doctors here, this isn’t entirely natural.”

  Cheveyo cut him a sharp look. “You said there were no traces of magic.”

  “There aren’t.” Danny opened one eye. “But—”

  “But it’s bugging you.” Leaning forward, Cheveyo braced his arms on his knees and studied the floor. There were many ways to hide magic, some dating back centuries, well before Danny took his first breath. However, Danny wasn’t a lightweight when it came to identifying the unusual powers the Kyn could wield. “You’re sure he’s awake?” He didn’t want to deny Danny, especially if there was a chance to help, but dream walking held its own inherent dangers, especially if one of the parties wasn’t able to be an active participant. Dangers that would piss Chay way the hell off, Cheveyo acknowledged with a small flash of amusement.

  Danny sighed and sat up, drawing Cheveyo’s gaze. “Rory’s in there. He just can’t find his way out. He’s like an exhausted fish, too tired to continue forward, instead slowly sinking to riverbed.” There was no doubt in his eyes. “You need to show him the way, give him a line to follow.”

  “If you’re wrong—”

  “I’m not.” Danny’s gaze went to Rory, and he patted his hand. “Something’s just not right about this, but I can’t quite see it.”

  The underlying worry in his voice did more to convince Cheveyo than anything else, and he nodded. “Okay.” He gave silent thanks the number of visitors allowed was limited. It kept Chay out in the waiting room with Wyatt, because there was no way he’d let Cheveyo go through with this. Not on Danny’s word alone.

  Not about to waste time, he sat back in the chair, resting his arms on the thinly padded arms, and let his body sprawl until his head could rest against the back. If anyone should come in, he’d appear to be napping, albeit uncomfortably, but enough to be left alone. Plus Danny could run interference if needed. With his eyes closed, Cheveyo moved into a meditative breathing, slowly letting the distraction of the hospital room fade as he transitioned from the mortal to magical plane with relative ease.

  Unlike his connection with Raine, there was nothing familiar to build on, so he used the two most important images of Rory’s life he could think of—Anne and Pax—to create a bridge. As it began to take shape, he sent his magic out ahead like a wave, testing for a shore. Finding purchase, he slowly started out across the mental construct, careful of his footing. Initially the planks were awkwardly spaced, the bridge resembling the frayed rope-rotten board types found in bad action flicks.

  The first hint that he was on the right track came with his receding tide of power that now carried the touch of earth magic, the primitive kind unique to druidic workings. Then the space between boards shrank, the questionable rope railing became tough vines, then thickened into carved wood to match the solid pieces underfoot. The bridge lengthened and began to curve to a mist shrouded shore, anchored by the two magics—his and Rory’s. The trip could’ve taken a minute or an hour, hard to tell in this space between worlds, but, finally, Cheveyo stepped off the bridge and onto shore.

  Trees, the kind Cheveyo recalled from decades ago in a land far from here, gathered together while mist danced above the grass covered ground. The air carried the bite of sea and wind, instead of sand and heat, and the sun shone through the leaves. He continued forward, following the instinctive tug of magic. When he looked down, he discovered he was on a hunting trail. As the path took him farther away from the bridge, the sound of rushing water gained strength. The trees gave way, revealing a crystalline river tumbling over eon-aged stones. The power drawing him forward slowed, then stopped. Heeding the magical indicator, he stopped at the river’s edge and looked around.

  The surrounding trees shimmered, as if viewed through a watery lens, distorting his ability to gauge how deep they ran. The leaves danced, their movement adding to the confusion, and he could feel the breeze, but there was no rush of air, no sound at all. Instead, a heavy silence lay over the surreal scene, as if waiting for something or someone.

  Turning in a slow circle, he searched his surroundings and seeing no one, called out, “Rory? Rory Ellis?”

  Unexpectedly, his voice echoed, the eerie returns gaining strength and depth until the actual words became low, reverberating rumbles. The sun dimmed the sky—what could be seen overhead—and began to darken into a threatening gray, light dancing high above the branches.

  The heavy silence broke with a thunderous crack that left Cheveyo’s ears ringing and his teeth clenched. Energy, laced with the sting of defensive power, scraped over Cheveyo’s skin, leaving a sharp pain in its wake. Looked like his presence was triggering a protective ward. Great.

  Knowing time was short before the ward gained strength and became a hell of a lot more detrimental, he adjusted his magic, and sent it out to meet the rising storm head on. His power hit the air, igniting a stunning multi-colored light show as the two energies collided. Not wanting to rip apart the ward and have the magic rebound on Rory, Cheveyo maintained a defensive stance only. Then he sank more power into his voice, “Rory Ellis, answer me.”

  His command cut through the deafening storm like a warning bell and left a ringing silence in its wake. The scene around him shimmered, broke, and reformed, as if it was a reflection caught in a rippling pond.

  When it settled somewhat, Cheveyo frowned.

  The trees reached for the sky with endless branches, elongated and curved. The river now flowed above him, providing a watery barrier between him and the forest, as if he stood in the river’s bed looking up. Sunlight hit like diamonds in blinding bursts of lights. Even the stones hung perilously above his head, as if, with the slightest flick of a feather, they would bury him in an abstract collapse.

  “Who are you?” The question came from behind him.

  Cheveyo went to turn only to discover sand held his feet in a sure grip. Forgoing comfort for visual confirmation, he torqued his head until he could see the speaker. At first, they were hard to make out. Light and
shadows created a camouflaging mosaic. Instead of fighting the seizure-inducing light show, Cheveyo adjusted his perception. As the one who instigated this dream, the control of it remained his, so long as he could hold it. He exerted his will, and the light show stopped, then winked out, leaving behind a barefoot man dressed simply in jeans and a T-shirt.

  Some of his apprehension about this quest slipped away. Looked like he found his missing druid. With another flex of will, Cheveyo forced the sand to release him and stepped free from the riverbed’s hold before turning to face Rory “My name’s Cheveyo, Danny Ayze sent me.”

  “Cheveyo?” Rory frowned as he scratched the side of his nose. “I know that name, I’ve heard it before.”

  Nice to know his reputation preceded him. “I’m the Northwest Magi.”

  That widened Rory’s eyes. “Why did Danny send you?” Then comprehension dawned, and he answered his own question. “You’re a Dream Walker.”

  Cheveyo nodded.

  “Well, damn,” Rory muttered, his gaze going to his feet. “Danny called in the big guns?”

  Not sure how he felt about being considered a “big gun,” Cheveyo answered anyway, “Yes.”

  “How bad is it?”

  With that one question, Cheveyo knew Rory understood what was happening, so he didn’t mince words. “Bad.”

  Pain—emotional, not physical—swept over Rory’s face, the intensity of it causing Cheveyo’s heart to wince. The druid ran a hand through his hair, no sign of the damage his physical body bore evident, and half turned away, his attention on the river running overhead. “Anne and Pax?”

  “Anne’s here, Pax is staying with Sara.”

  “I want to go back.” He looked back to Cheveyo, anger and frustration a mask for his underlying fear, his hand fisting at his side. “I’ve tried, but I can’t get through. Why?”

  “We’re not sure, but we can’t detect any magic involved, which means it’s natural.” While not completely sure what he just said was true, it was a small comfort he could offer Rory. At least until they could discover what was keeping him here. “Hopefully, between the two of us, we can figure this out.”