Stolen Dreams

by Christine Amsden

  “You’re also intelligent, capable, and brave,” Alexander said.

  He was starting to sound like one of his speeches, which I tried to point out as a way to break the tension, but those eyes held me. That’s when I realized it didn’t matter what he said–he didn’t know mind magic the way the Blairs did, but he knew something, and he had charisma. I had a sudden memory of Alexander facing off with Matthew Blair at Hodge Mill the first time I had ever met him. It had been a draw, and that was saying something.

  Of course, I had beaten Matthew. I could beat this, too.

  Alexander kept talking, probably extolling my virtues as well as the wisdom of an alliance between us. I’m pretty sure he didn’t say he loved me; I can give him that much credit, although he came close.

  He didn’t give me an opening to speak for a long time. Instead, he anticipated my arguments and countered them. The fact that he was older than my father hardly mattered, since he was still in fine shape, attractive, and fertile. I’m sure there was more to his argument than that, but that’s what I heard. He was trying to tell me, both through words and whatever hypnosis he had going on, that he could give me children and that he wouldn’t be hard to look at while we made them.

  The fact that I didn’t love him–yet–didn’t matter, either. He knew I would be strong, committed, and faithful, and that I would grow to love him. Love grew out of mutual respect, after all.

  I kept looking for more arguments, but every time I did, he anticipated and countered, leaving me feeling as if he had scored a victory on the point whether he had or not.

  Then he made a mistake. He anticipated an argument I would never have made: He told me all about how important I would be as his wife, a leader in my own right. I didn’t want to be a politician. Or a politician’s wife.

  It didn’t break the hypnosis entirely, but it gave me clarity enough to recognize my one way out of a proposal which was, with the exception of Matthew’s, the hardest of all to break.

  I would have to lie.

  “Cassandra,” Alexander said, finally coming to a conclusion. “Will you marry me?”

  I should make it clear that at this point, I could have said no. He didn’t have such control over my mind and heart that I had no choice but to accept him. Oh, he had done something to me to make it difficult to refuse him, between the fluttery feeling in my belly and the hypnosis, but so far my voice was my own. My will was, more or less, my own.

  “Yes,” I told him, clearly and firmly, not because I had to, but because if I didn’t, he would not have let me leave the next morning–ostensibly, to share the good news with my family over the Thanksgiving holiday.

  There was the faintest glimmer of something in his eyes at my easy acceptance. Disappointment, I thought. He had wanted a greater challenge, even expected it. So be it, because the next day I escaped (though my family found this idea melodramatic), and only then did I send him an e-mail telling him what I really thought of his offer.

  His electronic response came within fifteen minutes, and the message contained two words: Well played.

  3

  THE HOLIDAYS PASSED WITH LITTLE TO show for my efforts–either to stop the feud or recall any of my dreams. Across the county battle lines were being drawn, with some families, like the Eagles, who were related to both the Blackwoods and the Scots by marriage, caught in the middle. I won’t go into each and every incident, but I will say it reached into every facet of life, from school to work to strolls down the street. I suppose the castle was safe for me and my family, warded as it was, but Amanda attacked Juliana on her way home from school one day, dealing out serious retribution for her captivity. If there was a way to counter the baldness spell Amanda laid upon her, none of us had found it. I tried, as her big sister, to feel sympathy for her plight, but she had been the one to attack first, lashing out at a fellow student who may or may not have had anything to do with the car explosion.

  A lot of the damage doled out during that time was like the baldness spell. I called it snipping, although Juliana strongly disagreed with my assessment. None of the damage was both serious and permanent (though some qualified as one or the other), but it was mean-spirited and fed upon itself. Worse, it had lost sight of the original issue, which I didn’t think had as much to do with me and Evan as it had to do with Victor and my father.

  At least, that was the excuse I gave Abigail when she suggested, time and again, that I speak with her grandson to try to work out our issues. She would agree that my father and Victor also had issues they needed to work out, then let it go until she caught me in an inconsistency–usually my assertion that all Evan had to do to end things was return the magic.

  Okay, so I was all mixed up inside. Who wouldn’t be? Every time I tried to get to “the heart of the matter” I found myself hopelessly lost in its digestive tract.

  I almost wished I had never learned the truth. Or more precisely, I wished that Evan hadn’t. In the days before it had come out, he and I had been happy together. We had been heading toward spending our lives together. I had loved him; he might have had reservations, but I didn’t. Even now, knowing what I did, I knew I had loved him then. Love can end. It isn’t permanent by nature, whatever the weavers of fairy tales want to suggest. Forever takes hard work, and is destroyed by lies.

  Those lies would have come out, sooner or later. What if we hadn’t learned the truth then? What if it hadn’t come out until after we were married, or even–I shuddered to think–had children together?

  Which was why I only almost wished the truth hadn’t come out. You can’t hide from truth.

  I could, however, hide from Evan, and I had successfully done so since returning home. In fact, I hadn’t seen him at all since the conclave in September, when I had warned him of his impending arrest and given up my best shot at getting my magic back. No one knew of my role in that, and if they suspected, they didn’t tell me about it.

  What must he think of the wanted posters, in light of my rescue? Did he realize they were my father’s doing, and not mine? Would he care if he did? Did I care? And what would I do in the unlikely event that he was caught?

  February arrived, bringing more than snow that year. Aunt Sherry, who had always lived a couple of hours away in Arkansas, had decided to move closer to her sister and only remaining relative–my mother. She might have done so a long time ago, but Belinda Hewitt had always cornered the herbalism market in Eagle Rock, and Aunt Sherry was nonconfrontational to a fault.

  Belinda Hewitt was long dead by then, having finally slipped one of her love potions to the wrong person back in June–specifically, a vampire. Eagle Rock had been without a local herbalist since then, although this made little difference to my family, who had never bought anything from her. It was one of the few things my father and Victor had in common–their hatred for Belinda. She had, after all, toyed with both men in their youth. My father flatly denied it, but I often wondered if Belinda had more to do with their current enmity than they let on.

  Whatever the case, Belinda was gone, and Aunt Sherry was moving in. She had a shop on Main Street about a quarter of a mile from Kaitlin’s Diner, in what had been an antique shop before it went bankrupt. I spent the first week of February helping her move in. Mom might have helped, but the newborn twins had her too busy for much of anything else. Juliana helped out a little bit after school, but it was mostly the two of us, mucking the place out, repairing shelves, painting, and otherwise trying to make it look welcoming to customers.

  When I arrived that Friday, it was to an empty store; Aunt Sherry had gone out for more paint so we could finish that stage of the operation. Since she had given me a spare key, I let myself in, heading for the back room to change into an old sweat suit I used for painting. I had come straight from Abigail’s home, so I still wore my stonewashed jeans and pale pink sweater. The outfit had looked cute when I had bought it a few years earlier, but I had to admit the potion belt riding low on my hips was cramping my sense of style.
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br />   It’s worth it, I silently reaffirmed when I pushed open the door to the back room, fumbling for the light switch. The single bulb didn’t provide much illumination in that unloved space, but it clearly showed that the room contained a squatter.

  I didn’t recognize him at first, curled up in a corner of the room inside an old sleeping bag. In fact, it took me a minute or so to even realize what I was looking at. It’s not like Eagle Rock has a homeless population. Then, slowly, the form shifted and a head, supported by broad shoulders, rose from the tattered bundle.

  He was filthy, ragged, and he stank, but underneath all that I did recognize my cousin Jason, vampire-hunter turned vampire. Letting out a tiny squeak of surprise, I stepped backward, wondering why I hadn’t decided to wear a cross as part of my new powerhouse style. Or at least decided to add a vial of holy water to my belt.

  I didn’t make it out the door before hitting a brick wall of resistance. Jason, thanks to his supernatural speed, had gotten behind me. I felt the wind in the split second before I smacked against him.

  My heart began pounding, but I did everything in my power to remain outwardly calm. Show no fear. It had been my motto for some time now, and had been particularly useful against the attempts to manipulate me into marrying a slew of troglodytes. It might not be so useful here, but I knew that cool reason always prevailed over panic. He hadn’t killed me yet, that was something. He could easily have snapped my neck as he sped behind me. The thought wasn’t even close to comforting, but it did help me to keep a clear head.

  He pushed me, hard, into the room. I stumbled, just saving myself from the fall. I let the graceless tumble cover my next movement–my hand going for the water gun at my right side. It was the electric shock potion, which I imagined would work about as well as the fire potion against a vampire. That is to say, not at all.

  I spun and fired in the same motion, but Jason moved too quickly and the potion splashed harmlessly against the door frame. The next thing I knew, he was wrenching the gun from my hand, nearly twisting my wrist off in the process.

  “Keep still,” Jason said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  He didn’t? “What are you doing here?”

  “Hiding.”

  “From who?”

  “Everyone.” He let go of my wrist and pushed me away. This time I didn’t fall, and didn’t go for my remaining water gun.

  “Does your mom know you’re here?” I dared a look into his eyes, which weren’t the feral yellow of a vampire on the hunt. They were blue, the same color they had been in life. They were his mother’s eyes. My mother’s eyes. My eyes. Looking into them made me want to believe he hadn’t turned into a monster, but I couldn’t afford such dangerous thoughts.

  “No. I overslept. Meant to be out before anyone came by.”

  He didn’t seem to be threatening me in any way. I didn’t want to trust that impression; but at the same time, as my mind eased away from the initial shock of discovering him here, I began to notice some serious problems with his being anywhere near Eagle Rock. It wasn’t just about him being in his mother’s shop–that might have been the safest place in the area for him because vamp or no, his mom wouldn’t turn him in. He had to know that. Her loyalty toward her son was the big reason Kaitlin hadn’t taken to her, despite Aunt Sherry’s many friendly overtures toward the mother of her first–and probably only–grandchild.

  No, the big question was what he was doing in Eagle Rock at all. A known community of sorcerers didn’t make a good hiding place for a vampire. Frank Lloyd might have done it for years before he was caught, but no one had known about him, and he had managed to keep the secret until Belinda had gotten in the way. Everyone knew Jason was a vampire. Unless he went around in disguise, he would get caught here. He would die.

  I started to ask what he was doing there once again, when I recalled his answer. He was hiding… from everyone. Rumors had him in the company of a two-centuries-old vampire named Xavier, the most wanted bloodsucker in the United States. I had made it a point to study Xavier’s wanted poster when rumors about Jason first surfaced. On a superficial level, the old vampire looked like anyone else, well capable of blending in with a crowd–brown hair, brown eyes, a round, almost cherubic face, and a moderate build. But beneath all that, he was a hunter. A killer. And so powerful that he had taken out seven linked vampire hunters working together against him. Jason had been a part of that group. Had he turned traitor, as everyone supposed, or been overcome? Many wanted to believe the former, because to believe the latter would put Xavier in a danger class all his own.

  “Are you going to tell anyone you saw me?” Jason asked.

  “Is that a trick question?” I mean, of course I was, but maybe he was offering me my life if I promised not to mention him to anyone. I’d make the promise in a heartbeat, but he and I both knew I wouldn’t keep it, making the question moot.

  “Please, don’t tell anyone.”

  It was the please that struck me, I think. Why beg? Why not simply rip my throat out and be done with it? Not that I wanted to die, of course, but he shouldn’t care if I died or not.

  “Are you a vampire?” I found myself asking.

  He shuddered. “Don’t you dare trust me.”

  “That didn’t really answer the question, did it?”

  “No, it didn’t.”

  “Where’s that vampire you were supposed to be with…. Xavier? Or are you hiding from him, too?”

  “Didn’t I say, ‘everyone’?’”

  Something was very, very wrong. I could sense it, and I longed to help, but I also sensed that Jason would bolt in a second if spooked. I had my doubts about whether or not he was a vampire, but at the moment, it was beside the point.

  “If you’re in trouble,” I began, “I can help. My family can help.”

  He laughed, a hollow sound followed closely by a series of coughs. He wasn’t in good health.

  Vampires didn’t have health.

  “Don’t you think I tried?” Jason asked. “Uncle Edward nearly killed me before I had a chance to ask, and then….”

  “And then?” I prompted.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.”

  “You won’t convince your father to help me,” Jason said. “He’ll just believe I hypnotized you or thralled you.”

  That was true enough, but I didn’t have to go to my father for help. “I can help you.”

  This time when he laughed, it was with unflattering disdain.

  “You obviously want something from me,” I said, “or you wouldn’t still be here. What’s wrong? What’s going on with you? Are you a vampire, and if not, why does everyone think you are?”

  “It’s safer that way,” Jason said. “Xavier….”

  “What about Xavier?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Nothing. It’s not about him anyway.”

  “Who’s it about?”

  “My father.”

  “Your father?” The last time he had mentioned his father, the man had just been some nameless, faceless sperm donor to me and, I imagined, to him too. Now I knew the man had destroyed both of our mothers–killing their sister, stealing their magic, selling my mother as breeding stock, and raping his. I sucked in a breath at that last thought, and the implications.

  “You know,” Jason said.

  I nodded.

  “I shouldn’t even exist,” he said.

  “No!” I took a step forward, reaching out a hand, perhaps to comfort him, but he danced away.

  “You have no idea. My father’s a bigger monster than anyone knows. If he thought I wasn’t dead already–”

  The bell over the door at the front of the store jingled, bringing us both up short. Jason stood frozen for half a heartbeat, and then in a blur of movement he was gone, taking his ratty sleeping bag with him.

  “Jason, wait!” I started after him even though I knew it was hopeless. I had to know what else he was going to say. I had to find a way to
help him. He was no vampire, but something in our conversation made me want to add a yet to the end of that sentiment. He was in terrible trouble, the kind that made my own concerns pale in comparison.

  With that in mind I started to run out of the shop; but for the second time in less than fifteen minutes, I saw something to stop my heart before sending it racing again: Evan Blackwood.

  4

  HE STOOD THERE, FRAMED IN THE doorway of Aunt Sherry’s shop, blocking both the exit and, it seemed, all the sunlight. Of course someone had opened the door, sounding the bell and keeping Jason from saying whatever he had been about to say. I had only assumed it was Aunt Sherry.

  He looked terrible, which isn’t the same thing as saying he was unattractive. I could never think of him that way, though I wished I could. Looking at him, with hollow eyes, two day’s growth of stubble on his chin, and his once luxurious hair shorn off into a sort of military buzz cut, I shouldn’t have felt the tiniest twinge of attraction. But I did.

  He wore a long black trench coat during the winter months, making him look a bit like a washed-out cliché. I tried to focus on that fact as he strode toward me, instead of the palpable thrum of stolen magic in the air around him. Okay, so it was probably my imagination, since I couldn’t detect the tiniest whiff of magic, but whose fault was that? The answer was walking past half-finished shelves with a menace in his eyes that somehow managed to put the blame squarely on me.

  I had imagined this moment for months, trying to figure out what I would say or do when I came face to face with Evan again. It had to happen sooner or later, unless one of us left town, which wasn’t likely. Now here he was, and I couldn’t remember any of it. I just stood there like an idiot, hands dangling at my side, watching and waiting for him to make the first move.

  He’s the enemy, said a small voice at the back of my mind. How many curses had flown back and forth between his family and mine during a chance meeting like this? None had been aimed my way, and if that was strange, it hadn’t occurred to me until the moment Evan strode toward me, his face a perfect, impenetrable mask. His eyes never wavered from mine. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was hypnotizing me.