Dream Breakers, Oath Takers

by Jacqueline Jayne

  Why the hell hadn’t they landed? Why the hell hadn’t the pilot explained the reason they continued to circle the airport? And why the hell did the airline hire attendants more suited to bar bouncer than serving the elite?

  “Mr. Savard.” The attendant clamped a hand on Emil’s shoulder with enough force to intimate he’d drag him to his seat. “For the last time, passengers are not permitted in the cockpit.”

  Emil offered his profile while continuing to knock. “But I need to speak with the pilot. Immediately.”

  The young man dug his meaty fingers into Emil’s shoulder and guided him away from the door, and then pushed him back into the luxurious fuselage. Though not much taller than Emil, the attendant could have been twice as broad across the chest and far narrower in the hips. An imposing figure, stretching the confines of his dark dress shirt and gold vest.

  “Be. Warned.” Eyes bluer than squid blood shined beneath his heavily furrowed brow, and a wave of coal-black hair fell over his forehead. Undiluted Irish lineage, rare in the States where rich and poor alike cared little about preserving pure bloodlines. “If I find you at that door again, I won’t hesitate—”

  “Go ahead. I’d do it just to watch you be fired.” Emil glanced down at the name tag on the gold vest of his uniform. “Mundy. In fact, Mundy, one more word out of you and you won’t be employed by Friday.”

  The set of the attendant’s full mouth hardened. “Don’t threaten me. If you narrow my choices to losing my job because you breached the cockpit or losing my job for strapping you to that seat and shoving a gag half-way down your gullet, guess which one I’ll choose?”

  Smarter than Savard expected. He’d have to appeal to the young man’s baser needs. He raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. You win. But you could score a bigger victory if you help me. And by bigger victory, I mean monetary.”

  Mundy crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “I won’t take a bribe to open the cockpit. Not even for five years’ salary.” Obviously disgusted, the attendant returned to the front of the plane to stand guard.

  Fuck. The giant shithead possessed a self-righteous streak. Emil sat in the nearest white leather seat and popped a mild sedative. He closed his eyes and waited for it to kick in. Other than booking the last-minute flight, nothing had gone his way. No phone or internet service. No dedicated time to land. And no caviar in the catering cupboard.

  In a few minutes, his tension eased, but not so much he couldn’t think straight. Cooler-headed, he considered what he actually wanted. Yes, he wanted to land as soon as possible, mostly because he needed information and to arrange a ride out to the Gideon ranch. And a decent place to stay before tracking the oracle.

  Cell phone on, he tried logging onto the Internet again.

  Blank screen with that insipid frowny face in the center.

  Merde. Merde. Merde. Each expletive louder than the last.

  He glanced to Mundy and was met with a smug grin. Fucker enjoyed watching his frustration.

  Bet neither he nor the pilot would fly back to Paris or their next locale without rest. Unlike him, they surely hadn’t left Paris without arranging overnight accommodations.

  “Where are you staying?” he bluntly asked Mundy. “In Big Sky?”

  “You should book a room at the TrailBlazer. Not Paris fancy, but best place in these parts.” The attendant snorted. “Your phone should work,” he paused and grinned a little broader, “once we land.”

  In these parts? Mundy had used country vernacular and knew exactly what hotel would suit Emil the best. Maybe the arrogant shithead could be useful after all.

  “That where you’re staying?”

  Mundy didn’t reply.

  “What? This fancy airline doesn’t spring for decent accommodations?”

  “Don’t need to.” Mundy looked to his left, shuffled his feet, and loosened his arms enough for them to drop an inch. Relaxing.

  “Because…” he prompted the attendant to continue, and when he didn’t, tried a new tactic. “I’m merely making idle conversation while we hover. And I’m sorry for putting you in a bad position before. I was frustrated. Out of my head. I hate to fly, even private,” he said, lying. “I’ve since taken a mild sedative for my nerves.” He waited and then prompted again. “If you don’t stay at the TrailBlazer, where do you stay?”

  “I visit with family.”

  Hourra. The tables finally turned for Emil Savard.

  “Please.” He indicated the big white seat beside him. “Chat with me. Tell me all you know about Big Sky and I’ll pay you twenty-five hundred dollars cash, all that’s in my wallet.”

  “We’re not supposed to fraternize with clients.”

  Savard forced a chuckle. “I think we’ve long past fraternization. Bet twenty-five hundred dollars would go a long way for a man like yourself. More than whatever overtime you earn while we circle.”

  The flicker of his heavy lashes told Savard he’d garnered Mundy’s interest. He reached into his jacket and removed his billfold. Always prepared for any emergency, he kept a healthy stash of American currency at his disposal. He tossed the entire packet of bills onto the seat beside him.

  Mundy took a hesitant step, stopped to look over his shoulder, and then crossed to Emil. He scooped up the wad of bills before sitting down.

  “What do you need to know?”

  “Are you acquainted with a family by the name of Gideon?”

  He snorted again. “Everyone knows the Gideons.”

  “Even traveling flight attendants?”

  “I grew up in Big Sky. Used to work construction before,” he spread his arms the width of his chest, money still clenched in one giant paw, “I chose a new career.”

  Cagnotte. Jackpot, as Chancellor Luckett would say.

  “Know where they live?” Before he allowed Mundy to answer, he sweetened the pot. “If you can take me to them, I’ll supply you with another twenty-five hundred dollars. After you drop me off.”

  “Which house?”

  “What do you mean, which house?”

  “The ranch or the one on the lake? It’ll cost you another five thousand for me to take you to the lake house.”

  The greedy deal he offered intrigued Emil. “Why the extreme differential?”

  “To cover expenses. Only one way to get to the lake house, and I don’t own a boat.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Evening in the woods cooled off enough that Delphine appreciated Maria stocking her bag with a lightweight zippered sweatshirt. She slipped it over her tank top and stepped onto the porch to join Zane.

  He stood at the top of the steps, leaning on a support post and staring across the lake. No wonder. The setting sun burnished the mountains to a lustrous rose gold, while a sheet of bronze shimmered over the water’s surface.

  For a change, he’d ditched his hat and his corn silk hair ruffled in the warm breeze.

  Postcard perfect.

  She wanted to stand in that spot forever, staring at the horizon.

  At him.

  But she was destined to ruin the moment.

  “Hey.” He called to her without turning around. “You ready?”

  Dammit. She didn’t want to be ready. Didn’t want to discuss what they’d learned in her dream break or rake or whatever it was.

  Her denial summoned the voice of the wolf, clear as if he stood before her again.

  Evil has been hunting you all of your life.

  In the pit of her soul, she knew he spoke the truth. Accepting the truth was a whole different matter.

  Zane turned. Hands stuffed into his front pockets and his chin lowered, his gaze sought hers. His blue eyes brimmed with calm. She needed that. His kind of calm. With his help, she could accept the truth even if she didn’t like it.

  “Yes.” Delphine wished she was saying yes to a night in bed and not a deep discussion. But she was the one that pulled intimacy out of the equation, and he complied without argument.

  “Good.” He ambled
toward her. “Beautiful night. How about we sit right here on the porch and talk?” Without waiting for an answer, he brushed her arm before taking a seat in the nearest rocker.

  Even through the fabric of her jacket, the stroke of his fingers stirred her to life, made her wish they met under any other circumstances.

  He nodded for her to take the rocker beside him.

  No point in putting off the inevitable. She stepped over his outstretched legs and settled in.

  Unlike at dinner, she decided to wade into their conversation instead of cannonballing into the deep end. “How do you ever leave here? The air’s so clean, it’s like a drug.”

  “The only good kind of drug. Does the opposite of messing with your head. Makes everything easier.” He reached over and gripped the arm of her rocker, starting her on a to-an-fro sway matching his own. “Relax. Let your mind drift for a spell. Release your worries. When you’re completely at peace, we’ll start.”

  At peace? Hard to imagine she could achieve such a state, but she wanted to try. Delphine closed her eyes and opened to all her other senses. She focused on the steady motion of the rocker, on the wind drifting across the porch and the earthy fragrance it carried. And on Zane’s low hum, barely audible but distinctive from the rustle of leaves and the twitter of distant birds. In contrast to Seth’s chant, somewhere in his baritone a melody emerged. Not a lullaby. More like the chorus from a power ballad. Familiar, yet not. Like everything else in Montana.

  Hard to say how long she drifted without speaking, but in short order her mounting concerns quieted as if waiting for further instruction.

  Instruction from Zane.

  He wielded a kind of power over her. Power not rooted in domination, but ruled by a kind heart. He encouraged her to be strong, to feel confident and in control.

  If she ever needed control, the time was now.

  Thanks to him, she possessed the courage to begin.

  “You heard the wolf speak,” she said, opening her eyes. She turned her head to monitor his reaction as much as hear his reply. “Swift is their secondary purpose. My secondary purpose. What do you make of it?”

  He didn’t reply right away. His expression reflected deep contemplation. When she thought she couldn’t stand the wait any longer, he spoke.

  “Can’t answer honestly without more information.” His voice dropped to a lower register, deeper yet softer, blending with the music of the wind and creatures of the forest. “You willing to answer some questions?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “There’s always a choice. Followed by the consequences.” The porch roof cast shadows over his face, but a shaft of light from the sunset brushed a stroke of gold across his chest, seeming to wrap around him in a magical embrace.

  Consequences. How she longed for a moment without consequences. A moment where she too could hold him as close as the rays of the waning sun. A moment where she could allow his kiss to set her body on fire. A moment where she slept in the crook of his arm, secure in the knowledge he wanted to belong to her. With or without her ugly gift.

  Zane gripped the arms of the rocker and got to his feet, breaking the hazy spell over her. He bent at the waist, and with the rocker lifted behind him, skirted around until he settled down in front of her. Butt perched on the edge of the curved wooden slats, he gathered both her hands and enveloped them in a gentle knot of fingers and calloused palms, resting them on her bare knees.

  How she longed for his hands on her body in a less comforting gesture.

  “They’re going to be hard questions, Delphine. And you have to answer honestly, or I can’t help you.”

  “I know. Trust.” She rolled her hand under his until they connected palm to palm, the magical link that drew him into her meditation. “You have it.”

  He entwined his fingers with hers, his gaze not lifting until he started to speak. “You’ve been having these nightmares most of your life, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When did they get worse? To the point you’re at now.”

  “They’ve never been consistent.” She stole a deep breath of the mountain air and sighed while thinking back. “I guess the best place to start is the last year of high school, right before Mom went into the institution for good. Her episodes of crazy talk escalated in severity and frequency until she babbled incoherent conversations to herself every day.”

  “In English? French? Or neither?”

  She shrugged. “Mostly sounded made up to me, like something from a fantasy story. A language that doesn’t exist. Why?”

  “Because it’s possible she was speaking another language. The question is what language? Any phrases sound coherent? Even a word or two?”

  “No.”

  “Did you try to communicate with her? Tell her about your nightmares?”

  Delphine chortled, humorless and sad. “I couldn’t talk to her about buying groceries let alone my nightmares. That year, her expression turned—blank. The doctors loaded her up on antidepressants, then lithium. Instead of getting better, she drove deeper inside. Farther away from me.

  “Then one morning she changed. A complete one-eighty. I got up early for school, and she was in the kitchen drinking coffee. Her face was clean and her hair brushed. She asked why I’d gotten up in the night and drawn all over the walls. It hadn’t been the first time, but the first time she’d seen it before I cleaned up. So I told her. The whole truth while she stood in silence. The next words out of her mouth—stay away from me. She left the room, called her psychiatrist, and committed herself to an institution. Once she went in, that was that. I’m barred from visiting her. Or calling. Or sending a freaking card. To my own mother.”

  He exhaled a long sigh through his nose. “Did the nightmares get worse? Even with her out of your life?”

  “No. In fact, the visions reduced to about once a month all through college. I tried to see Mom periodically. I’d get as far as her floor only to have a nurse turn me away. Caught glimpses of her a few times—”

  “Did the visions increase after seeing her?” he interrupted, completely clinical.

  “Not sure. But they started to get worse once I took a position at the hospital.”

  Fingers still linked together, he squeezed hers lightly. “So that’s where you teach art therapy? Is your mother one of your students?”

  “No, though I’ve seen her watching me through a window sometimes.”

  “And do the visions get worse after seeing her?”

  Irritated at his barrage of questions, she blurted, “What does seeing my mother or not seeing my mother have to do with my nightmares?”

  “The wolf said you’ve been hunted by evil your whole life.”

  She twisted her wrists until he loosened his grip and then yanked her hands away. “My mother isn’t evil. She’s troubled.”

  “Or connected to something torturing her.”

  “What?” She slammed both her feet to the floor and stood.

  He lifted his chin to meet her gaze. Those perfect eyes of his bled blue compassion. “It’s my understanding your mother didn’t start having visions until she’d become pregnant with you. Like your grandmother, I believe the visions belonged to you all along, even as an embryo, and through maternal transference, she channeled your dreams.”

  Delphine’s heart lurched. She couldn’t bear to think she’d actually been the cause of her mother’s insanity. Close to hyperventilating, or crying, or both, she stepped over Zane’s feet and rushed down the porch steps.

  Quick to react, he landed on the ground behind her with a thud and grabbed her by the shoulders. “You can’t run, Delphine. There’s no boat to take you back, and we can’t walk in the dark.” He crossed his sinuous arms around her body, not tight, but enough to anchor her in place.

  “I’m not running. I’m upset.” She squirmed until he loosened his hold enough for her to turn and face him. Unconsciously, she flattened her palms against his hard chest, and she stared up into his face. “I
want to cry and can’t. I want to scream and won’t. I can’t let go. I can’t hold on. I can’t—” She shook her head, her hair whisking around her face. “Understand. I don’t understand. Once she gave birth to me, why did she go crazy?”

  With one hand splayed over the middle of her back, he reached up with the other and smoothed strands of hair from her face. Though innocent, the stroke of his fingertips felt more intimate every time he touched her. “Because her mind wasn’t wired to handle the visions, she suffered damage. But you are hardwired for your gift. You can handle it.”

  “You call this handling?”

  “Like a pro, even without a single training session.” He skimmed his hands over her face again, sleeking back her hair, and then cradled her face in his palm, his long, gentle fingers molding to the contours of her cheeks and temple. “You seem to think that oracles are impervious to emotion.” He shook his head. “An oracle is emotion-centric, just proficient at restraint. You’ve had years of self-taught restraint.”

  “I didn’t have a choice.”

  He shook his head. “I said it before, you always have a choice. And you’re way ahead of the game, if you want to master your gift. I’ve done some of the training. Oracles practice pigeon-holing what they see in their minds eye from the physical world. In time, the visions shut down until an oracle taps into their deep well of empathy. Then boom. The rest of the time, life is normal. More normal than for Soul Savers, like me.” He grinned at her, his dimples indenting for not more than a second before his expression sobered. “I asked the questions about your mom because I believe that’s where your journey started.” He compressed well-defined lips and finished his thought. “And ends.”

  “Ends?” After his sales pitch, she’d thought he’d been trying to convince her to join the Society. At least he understood she wanted out. “How will it end?”

  “That’s up to you. The wolf told you denial is dangerous.”

  “He’s also blackmailing me. He said they’d help, but I must embrace my gift. Without embracing it, no help.” Anger-fueled resentment brewed hot in her chest. She pushed off of him.