Dream Breakers, Oath Takers

by Jacqueline Jayne

  His heart lurched, but he nodded agreement.

  Delphine added a third finger to the other two. “No rules. That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve got plenty of rules. First one—don’t try to make me comfortable with all this. It can’t be done. Not even with your downhome charm and hollow promises.”

  “I don’t make hollow promises.” He resented her attack on his integrity.

  She lifted her eyebrows. “Time will tell.”

  “We don’t have a lot of that, Delphine.”

  “Then start teaching.” She pointed at him. “And if I feel the slightest hint I’m being manipulated, I’m gone. I’ll take the first flight out of Big Sky, and you won’t know where I went.”

  He nodded only because he knew she couldn’t make good on her threat. No taxis or buses in his neck of the state, and she couldn’t walk as far as the next ranch without being stopped. But his gut girded against heartache all the same.

  No doubt about it. Delphine would hate him by week’s end. He might as well get accustomed to her rejection.

  “Who’s going to help you help me?” she asked, her voice less demanding. “You said help lived back home.”

  It stirred his heart the way she’d said home, like Big Sky belonged to her too. Without hesitation, he switched into teacher-mode. A safer persona to don than rejected lover.

  “My godfather, George ‘Old Elk’ Costas. Like my dad, he used to belong to the Hell Runners Society, and his gifts are…decidedly singular.” Hesitating, he wondered how much to tell her right off. Details might scare her, but surprises would surely piss her off. He’d take a scared woman over an angry one any day. “He’s a shaman. Native American medicine man. Crow. Well, mostly, but he chose his main tribe as family.”

  “Why isn’t he or your dad in the Society anymore?”

  Not the question he’d expected after telling her George was a man of magic medicine.

  “Retired. In fact, most Runners retire early. The field burns you out.”

  “So this isn’t forever?”

  “Nah. Nearly every Runner turns their Plan B into Plan A at some point. Many lose their gifts after years of working. Others develop new ones. A few stay on to teach. The select are chosen for a Council seat. That’s forever.”

  “And your family…”

  “Are consultants when asked, or when I ask. Mostly they’re normal.” He left out the fact his father turned down the Council post Zane hoped to fill someday soon. “When I was a little kid, normal’s all I knew. At least until my gifts got really strong. We grew up on a little ranch Mom inherited. Dad’s renovated it over the years. They raise a few head of beef cattle and board horses. When he’s not doing chores, Dad likes to hunt and fish. Just like every other rancher out west.”

  “Normal.” The worry crease between her eyes almost disappeared.

  Almost. Everything about Delphine was almost. She clung to some deep-rooted trust issues that inhibited her ability to let go, an obvious fact any man with half a brain could decipher. Zane possessed an exceptional level of empathy, a gift he used in Hell to locate souls. But using his gift on the living was forbidden. Another punishable offense.

  She broke into his thoughts. “What about George?”

  “He ranches too. Doesn’t live on a reservation.”

  “I meant…” She pulled her lips in and licked them. With a full mouth, she couldn’t keep them thin for long. “What—how can he help me? I don’t like medicines, and I’ve never taken recreational drugs. I refuse to participate if it involves hallucinogenic pills or smoke or—”

  “George doesn’t do that.” He paused before continuing. She wasn’t going to like what he had to say, but she wasn’t in any position to storm out.

  “Then what does he do? What makes him special?”

  “Guess it’s pointless to put it off.” Zane looked her square in the eyes. “He dream breaks and if needed, soul taps. I know it sounds ominous, but—”

  Her brows furrowed. She held up a hand, and he understood right off she meant he needed to shut his pie-hole. Fingers moving rapidly, she tapped the keys on her phone. After a few minutes, her gaze returned to his, full of venom.

  “You’re bullshitting me. I don’t appreciate it.”

  “Whoa. I am not bullshitting you.”

  “Then tell me why I can’t find anything about dream breaks on the Internet.” She turned her phone screen so he could see she’d been investigating on a search engine.

  “I understand you want to keep me honest, but this is a secret society. You won’t find it easily, if at all. Information’s buried. Sort of.”

  “Buried? Why? If this is a Native American practice, the information should be available. Everything about this country’s indigenous people is precious and revered.”

  He glided forward, sitting on the edge of his seat to open the shiny wood storage compartment wedged between them. Since he had plenty of clothes back home, Zane’s only luggage was the bag containing his laptop. He removed the computer from the cushioned sleeve and set it on the flat surface atop the compartment. He spoke while setting it up.

  “Because, despite what people think, Native American philosophy is still being disregarded. Especially when it comes to mystical beliefs. Western culture refuses to embrace the value of tapping the inner sanctum. Maybe that’s lucky and why Hell Runners can work in secret. No one would believe what we do even if reported on every news station in the country. The power our brains and spirits possess is a scary resource to ninety percent of the population. The collective conscious prefers ignorance.”

  He glanced up at her, expecting to see fear. Instead, she stared intently at the screen waiting for it to boot up, so Zane continued. “But we’re capable of so much more than merely existing until we die.”

  “I agree with you on that at least.”

  “Good. Real good. You might be in the elite ten percent after all.”

  “Can’t help it. Didn’t ask for it.” She sounded peeved, but open if that was possible.

  Zane allowed himself a small grin and typed. In short order, George’s website popped up with the password box. “This is my godfather’s website, but it's only accessible to those in the loop.”

  “Not exactly the way to get exposure.” After entering his code, the screen filled with an extensive menu against a mural of wild animal drawings.

  “Not looking for exposure.”

  “Wow. Those are gorgeous sketches.” An artist through and through, Delphine focused in on the artwork and not the mysterious phrases that would scare the shit out of her. “Look at the detail. Did George do those?”

  Zane cleared his throat. “Nah. He conned someone else into doing the graphics. For free, I might add.” Using the touchpad, he scanned over the menu and clicked on dreams. “Here. Start with this.”

  The monitor filled with dense text.

  “I’m not reading that. I know about dreams. I have them, and I’ve read as much as I can stand on dream analysis. Back it up and click on dream rake. That’s what I need to know.”

  He sighed long and deep.

  “Don’t play the impatient teacher with me.”

  “Then don’t be the impatient student.”

  “You’re the one that keeps harping we don’t have much time.”

  Caught in the web of his own mantra, he did as she asked. Again, lots of text, but he knew below were depictions sure to make her wish she’d been given a parachute. The best way to control her reaction would be spoon feeding at his discretion. He began reading to her.

  “No way, Cowboy. I want quick answers. Why does his site call it raking and not breaking? It’s the same thing, right?”

  “Breaking comes after the raking. In this case, raking is defined as the gathering of extraneous thoughts or imagines and discarding them in order to focus on the true nature of the dream or vision. Like cleaning up the yard of dead leaves. Primarily, it’s about control. Not someone doing it to you but controlling yourself. A lot of people a
re under the impression that mysticism equates to foolish self-indulgence or wishful thinking. It’s really about focus. Once you conquer your fears of the gift, you will become rational and confident. Then you can control what and how you see it.”

  “All Hell Runners do this?”

  He nodded. “Part of the curriculum, though no one teaches it as well as George. I’m lucky. He’s my godfather and Dad’s best friend, so I had a jump on everyone else during training. I’ve since been qualified to perform the process.”

  “That sounds like you started pretty young.”

  “I was young. Only thirteen the first time a vision hit me. Thought it was simply a nightmare and ignored it. The older I got, the more frequent the visions became. But that’s my story. Gifts can manifest at any point in life.”

  “Weren’t you scared?”

  “Shitless. Boone and I waited a long time before ’fessing up. Years. At sixteen I couldn’t ignore them anymore. Dad and George walked me through everything. Real quick, I learned the visions were not only harmless to me but helpful to the souls that needed saving. In the end, I chose running into Hell and saving souls over becoming an oracle. Once I made that choice, the visions disappeared.”

  “Wait. You’re saying the visions can stop? Entirely? Through the dream break.”

  Zane nodded “Yeah, but like I said before, it takes control. Before you can escape the visions, you’ll have to face them head-on. Take possession of your inner power.”

  She picked up her water bottle and took a long swig. Maybe she was thirsty, but he got the impression Delphine was stalling while processing the information. “How long did it take you? To get control and get rid of the visions?”

  “Two years.”

  “Two years?” She sprung to her feet. “I don’t want to have the dreams for another day, let alone six hundred more.” Flushed, she paced to the bar.

  “It may not take you that long. Everyone is different.”

  Pulling the stopper out of a crystal bottle, she poured three fingers of amber liquid into a highball glass. Far too much alcohol for someone upset.

  He eased out of his seat and approached her with the same gentle authority as he would a skittish colt he wanted to lasso. With both hands, he wrapped them around the short tumbler. “I know you think you need this. But you don’t. You need a clear head more.” Hardly exerting any pressure, he slipped the glass out of her grip.

  Cheeks pale and her mouth turned down, she searched his face with her expressive eyes. “I don’t like being different. Even before this, I stood out. The kid with the crazy mom.”

  “You have free will, Delphine. Once you get enough training, the choice to use your gift or give it up is yours. And the best part of the guidance is you’re not alone.” He put an arm around her, and she let him pull her against his shoulder. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

  Her warm sigh skittered across his chest, penetrating his shirt all the way into his muscles. “All right.” She pushed off him. “Tell me what I need to know about raking up my dreams.”

  “Ever practice meditation?”

  “No.”

  “Then that’s second on the list for today’s lesson. To enter the dream rake, you’ll start by meditating, then slip into a state of hypnosis.”

  “No drugs?”

  “Not unless you count a shot of whiskey.”

  “You just took it from me.” She nodded. “If that’s second on my next step of training, what’s first?”

  “The fun part.” Zane grinned and returned to the seat next to his laptop.

  “There’s a fun part?” She sat cross-legged in her chair again and leaned toward the screen.

  “You bet. We need to find your spirit animal.” He backed out of the rake screen, glad to avoid showing her the depictions of Hell at the bottom and clicked on the spirit animal link.

  “How do we do that?”

  “This is what I love about George. He’s a mix of old world and the future. See?” He turned the monitor so she could see and type. “He created an algorithm designed to find a compatible match. All you do is answer the questions.”

  “Like a dating site?”

  “Yeah, only you’re looking for the metaphorical animal you. Not a roll in the hay.”

  “I don’t roll in the hay.” She tried to give him the stink eye, but one corner of her mouth turned up.

  “Damn shame. You’ll be on a ranch full of it.”

  “I told you no charm.”

  “No hay. No charm. I’m already sensing your spirit animal is a vicious carnivore.”

  “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

  “Nope. Charm oozes out of me. It’s up to you to resist.”

  “Fine. I like a challenge.” She tapped keys, but he noticed the color return to her finely hewn face and the sparkle to her eyes.

  For the next three hours, he talked her through every step he’d experienced in the state of dream rake.

  Only one part he left out.

  It had been the scariest experience of his life.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Wait for it.” Zane nodded toward the windshield of his father’s SUV, his voice full of restrained excitement.

  The heavy line of pine trees along both sides of the road whirred by so fast, she deduced Rush Gideon drove with the accelerator flat under his big-booted foot. Either he was accustomed to outrunning the law, or he was more than a little glad to have his son back, no matter the circumstances.

  The not-so-distant mountains seemed to trundle toward them as they burst into the clearing. Blue sky and miles of pasture dotted with cattle and horses rolled out a magnificent show.

  She sucked in a breath and leaned forward.

  “I love when city folk get an eyeful for the first time.” Rush chuckled, deep and satisfied, and then let off the gas.

  Having spent all of her life in New York City, she’d never seen so much untouched land. So much sky and clean air.

  Zane jutted his arm out across her face to point. “There it is.” His tone turned as reverent as the final note of a hymn. “Home.”

  It wasn’t his warm breath teasing the rim of her ear that shuddered her to her shoes, though his close proximity couldn’t be discounted.

  Home—in that single syllable she heard a lifetime of laughter and hugs, of Merry Christmases and Happy Birthdays, of graduations and sad good-byes. All the things she’d sorely missed as the only child of a mentally-ill mother.

  A small tendril of jealousy tried to take root, but they rounded a deep bend, and another breathtaking vista exploded into view. All unhappy thoughts surrendered.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered into the racing wind buffeting her face.

  Like the endless sky above and the jagged mountains jutting into the perfect blue, the Gideon Ranch house sprawled over what must have been close to an acre all on its own. Red cedar logs stacked three stories high glowed warm as fire in the waning sun of late evening. Wall-sized windows on the first floor gleamed and reflected the two dozen horses grazing in the fenced field that stretched along the front of the house.

  “I thought you said you lived in a log cabin?” She turned her head just enough to see the shadow of Zane’s right dimple.

  “It is.”

  “Technically, true.” She rested an arm along the open window ledge and leaned to get a better view of the extraordinary house. “But this is Abe Lincoln gone wild.”

  Rush Gideon busted out with a hearty laugh. “I like that description. Gonna try it out on George.”

  “He designed the house,” Zane added quickly and then spoke to the back of his father’s head. “Brags so often, he might as well burn it on the front door.”

  “I thought we left the smart-ass son in Paris.” Without slowing down, Rush turned into the driveway.

  Delphine gripped the door handle to keep from falling onto Zane. All the while she beamed, delighting in the banter. Father and son had been busting on each other from
the moment he’d picked them up at the airport. The constant exchange of comedic comebacks diluted the tension she’d been unable to shake.

  A giant of a man, Rush Gideon silently commanded adherence to his wishes, all with a wink and a grin. From the moment the big man swallowed her in an unexpected bear hug at baggage claim to his complaint about the number of bags she’d brought. There were only two, but he had her smiling despite exhaustion and underlying fear. She hadn’t expected to feel good at any point of her sabbatical, let alone want to laugh.

  She hadn’t laughed in so long.

  “Sorry I never met Boone.”

  “I’m not.” Zane leaned back, stretching his arms across the top of the bench seat. The tips of his fingers brushed her bare shoulder, and a pleasant shiver skittered over her skin.

  “Why?”

  “Because Zane inherited his mother’s serious intellect,” Rush spoke over the rumble of tires treading over gravel. “And his brother inherited my sweet art of bullshit.”

  “No offense, Mr. Gideon,” she adjusted her safety belt and turned in her seat to face Zane, “but why is that bad?”

  “Boone gets all the girls,” his father piped up. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “This one scares them off with his fancy degrees and smart talk.” Though he faced forward, she could see his one cheek plump from a wicked smile she could only imagine. “That is until today.”

  “Dad.” Zane caught his father’s gaze in the rearview, aiming a sober, smile-free stare at him. “So not cool.”

  “Sorry.” His eyes, the color of his son’s, flashed her way in the mirror, then back to the road. “I know I’m making light of the circumstances, but that’s the Gideon way. And it’s a good way. Keep calm. Keep smiling. Keep the faith. Nothing wrong with being strong and witty. Not to mention devilishly handsome.”

  Zane ignored the bait his dad dangled. Instead, he chose to get down to business. “We got a good base of training completed on the flight.” His fingers brushed her arm again, and a thrill she wished would go away shot through her body. Reflexively, she glanced up at him.