Stolen Dreams

by Christine Amsden

  I didn’t believe her. My father couldn’t be dead. My father was too strong to die. He was just there, the rock-solid foundation of my family, stalwart and never changing. He was… Dad. He pissed me off and made me hate him, then he would turn around and melt away my animosity with proof that, behind it all, he had my best interests at heart. That was supposed to have been the next step.

  Dead. Dead? Dead! I repeated the word to myself so often and in so many different tones that it ceased to sound like a real word. Deaddeaddeddedededededed…. It couldn’t mean anything that bad, if it didn’t mean anything at all.

  I had nearly managed to convince myself of that truth when Nicolas called.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  Apparently, I was on the kitchen floor. I wasn’t at all sure how I had gotten there.

  “Cassie?” Nicolas demanded.

  “Kaitlin said the strangest thing….”

  Nicolas’s voice softened. “Didn’t Mom call you?”

  “No.”

  “I told her to. She’s falling apart. Everyone’s falling apart. We need you. Please.”

  The plea penetrated my fog of denial like nothing else could. It was suddenly all true. All real. I let out a high-pitched cry like some sort of keening child.

  Someone took the phone from my numb fingers, and I vaguely registered that Kaitlin remained nearby, even though I had told her I didn’t need her. She put the phone to her ear, assured Nicolas that she’d drive me out there safely, then she sat next to me on the kitchen floor. With her protruding belly, that was no easy feat. Then her arms went around me, and I cried on her shoulder.

  9

  THE NEXT FEW DAYS PASSED IN a blur of feelings and images. Sorrow. Anger. Pain. Remorse. Vengeance. There was my mother, seated on the sofa, staring straight ahead into nothingness. Then Juliana, pressing an infant to Mom’s breast, because Mom couldn’t do it herself. My brain stored a snapshot for each of my siblings, except for the twins, who were too young to understand what was going on.

  Alexander came, ostensibly to pay his respects, but that didn’t explain why he brought 21 men with him. Maybe he just felt a need for protection, what with Scots crying for Blackwood blood, and vice versa. I couldn’t blame him for that, but I feared more sinister intentions, especially because of the way he kept looking at me.

  And through all that, I remember my phone ringing. Endless ringing. And always, it was Evan. I didn’t listen to the messages he left, and I didn’t call him back, though a guilty part of me remembered the promise I had made to Abigail right before her death. Talk to him. At the time, it had seemed so reasonable, but now I didn’t know what good it would do.

  Three days later, we buried him. We held the funeral on the grounds outside the castle, and laid Dad to rest at the base of a new pine tree. He went directly into the ground, with no box to stand between him and his return to nature. A large rock was placed over the spot, with his initials carved upon it, the last testament to his existence.

  We held the wake at Hodge Mill because nobody wanted to leave the castle vulnerable to over a hundred guests. Instead, we rented the entire restaurant for the night, celebrating my father’s memory to the tune of $100 per guest. I didn’t really notice, but Kaitlin did. She was telling me about the better ways we could have spent the money when I excused myself, heading outside for some desperately-needed fresh air.

  The night was clear and crisp, the moon full and bright. Somewhere in the distance, I heard a wolf howl–or imagined I did. A pack of werewolves did run in a forest east of Eagle Rock, led by Scott Lee, a Blackwood by association. I’d never thought of him that way until I had come home to find his sister imprisoned in our guest room, but a lot had changed of late. Battle lines had been drawn. Families were taking sides, pulled in by even trace blood ties.

  I walked a few feet away from the bright light of the front door, leaning my back against the brick facade of the restaurant and inhaling, deeply. It was too cold for me to stay out long in the dark purple dress I wore, even with a coat buttoned to my throat. What is the point of knee-length dresses in the winter? I pondered fashion oddities with the heavens for a few minutes because it was easier than contemplating anything more important. Eventually, I decided I could face the crowd once again. I wouldn’t say I was ready to face them, only resigned. It was something I had to do.

  Peeling myself away from the wall, I took two steps toward the front door. And stopped. There, standing in the shadows, stood someone I never thought I would see again–Wesley Blake, a.k.a. Evan Blackwood.

  The disguise he had so carefully manufactured so he could keep an eye on me last summer no longer fooled me in the least. I wondered that it ever could have, with his blue eyes so distinctly him.

  How I loathed those eyes.

  “You have no right to be here,” I said.

  “I’ve been trying to call you for days.”

  “You have no right to be here!” I ran forward, throwing the full force of my body into him, pounding his chest with my fists. He didn’t try to stop me, or fight back in any way; he just let me wale on him until my knuckles hurt. Which made me even angrier.

  “I hate you! I hate you! How can you come here today, of all days?”

  “I need to talk to you, Cassie. It’s important.” He sounded so calm, so self-possessed, and so reasonable. Then again, his father hadn’t died. His father had just killed mine.

  “My grandmother asked you to talk to me,” Evan said, playing his trump card. “It was her last request.”

  “My father is dead now.”

  “So’s my grandmother.”

  “And that makes it okay?”

  “No, nothing makes it okay, but do you want someone else to die?”

  “Yes,” I said, lifting my chin. “I want your father to die.” I meant it, too. With every ounce of my being, I wanted Victor Blackwood dead and buried. The man had caused nothing but misery since before I was even born, and now he had killed.

  “You don’t mean that. You’re just angry.”

  I did mean it, but I let the silence do the talking for me.

  “I know I shouldn’t have come here tonight,” Evan said, “but I was worried about you. Alexander’s in town, and the last time you saw him….”

  “The last time I saw him, I got away. I’ll do it again if I have to.” I started to walk away, but Evan grabbed my arm, pulling me against his chest, capturing me in an embrace that first surprised, then alarmed me. The familiar warmth and scent enveloped me, and for a moment–only a moment–they were a comfort. He didn’t hold me there with magic, but I didn’t struggle away; I pressed my cheek against his chest and breathed in, deeply.

  “You probably don’t believe me,” Evan said, “but I really am sorry about your father.”

  I pushed myself away from him, violently. “Don’t even talk about him. Just… don’t.”

  With that, I fled back to the dubious comfort of a wake.

  * * *

  Time passed. Gradually, I became more cognizant of its passage, and took more interest in the things going on around me. I was living at the castle now, at Alexander’s request, ostensibly so he could “keep the family safe in this dark time.” I wasn’t sure of his motives, but I couldn’t stand up to him when my family echoed his request for their own reasons. For them, I didn’t protest.

  They needed me. Well, that may sound self-important, because we all needed one another. The center of our family was gone, and none of us knew how to fill in the void left by his departure. Even two weeks after his death, Mom still couldn’t bring herself to do anything but nurse the babies. At least she started being able to do that by herself. Juliana took care of most of the rest of their needs, from diaper changes to burping. She actually surprised me in her willingness to step up; I wouldn’t have expected it of her. She seemed to grow up by years in those short weeks.

  Officially, Victor Blackwood was wanted for murder. Alexander even promised to hold the trial, with Tyler Lake
as presiding judge–if we could find him. Victor was elusive to say the least, and his family was helping to keep him hidden.

  A family of murderers, the lot of them. Including Evan. My resentment toward him grew more by the day, and it didn’t help that he continued to try to get in touch with me through both phone and e-mail.

  I made the mistake of responding once. I didn’t read his e-mail, but sent a reply in all capital letters, “LEAVE ME ALONE!” After that, he grew more determined.

  Alexander had a heptade of men protecting the house at all times. His 21 men took eight hour shifts in turn, staying at a nearby hotel while off duty. Alexander stayed with them, though he spent more time than was comfortable at the castle.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded of him one Wednesday morning. My family was all gone, mostly away at school. My mother would be back soon, after dropping off the younger kids, but for a few minutes it was only me and Alexander, chatting over tea and biscuits as if our history didn’t exist.

  “What do you mean?” Alexander asked.

  “I mean, what are you still doing here? You came to pay your last respects to my father. Great. You’ve done that. Now go.”

  “And leave the good citizens of Eagle Rock in their time of need?” Alexander arched an ironic eyebrow. “How could I do that?”

  “So this is political? You still think you can gain their support?”

  “Maybe.” He took a sip of his tea. “It would be a coup if we could successfully capture and try Victor, but I doubt that will happen.”

  “It might if you made an effort. You didn’t exactly try to arrest his son, now did you?”

  “I thought you didn’t want me to.”

  “I didn’t. I don’t.” I took a sip of tea to give myself time to think. “But if you’re going to start something, shouldn’t you finish it? You announced to the world that I’m a drained woman, and then left me alone to deal with it.”

  “As I recall, I offered to keep you company for the rest of your life.”

  “I wouldn’t call it an ‘offer.’ More of a demand.”

  “We both remember that day differently, I suspect. But as for not following through, it would have been political suicide. Evan’s family rallied behind him in a way I didn’t predict or expect, and someone tipped him off in the first place.” Alexander’s eyes bore into me, making me squirm uncomfortably. “How do you suppose that happened?”

  “I couldn’t say.” I looked him straight in the eyes while I lied. I could do that sort of thing. It put most people off, but not Alexander.

  “Well, continue not to say if you like, but the roots of this conflict run deep, and there’s more to it than one simple injustice.”

  “That’s what I told you before you tried to go through with it.”

  “Well, you were right.”

  “And you were wrong?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” Alexander smiled. Always the politician. Never show weakness. Never admit you’re wrong. But he pretty much had, or come as close as he was likely to. Maybe I should have given him credit for that, but I didn’t.

  “You used me. Last fall, I didn’t get the hypocrisy of it, using me for political gain when you had no intention of righting the injustice you claimed was done. I also didn’t realize how bad things had gotten here. I came back to find we’ve taken prisoners, and still you didn’t get involved. So why step in now? Is murder over the line?”

  “Yes.”

  I didn’t believe him. It was too pat. He had another reason for being there; I had to figure out what it was, and hope it had nothing to do with me. I would have pursued the inquiry then, if the house hadn’t suddenly started shaking, violently.

  “What the hell?” Alexander stood and flipped open his cell phone almost before the call came in. “Report.” He listened for a second before saying. “Hold it as best you can. I’ll call in backup.”

  He was out the door when the house shook again, this time sending several large chunks of plaster falling from the ceiling above, dusting my hair. I brushed it off, grabbed my potion belt, and headed for an escape Alexander knew nothing about.

  The underground escape tunnel began in the basement, at the back of the tiny room that held the AC and water heater. I placed my palm against a certain brick, feeling the warmth when it recognized my clearance to go through that passage. The door slid open to the side, revealing a tunnel lit every few feet by magical orbs.

  The magic in the tunnel was a masterpiece, actually. Some of the orbs were failing, a sign that no one had been down here to reinforce the wards since my father’s death, but he had put enough magic into the system that it could go for a few weeks without a boost. No one could get into those tunnels without the proper clearance, and once inside, the tunnel itself was a safe haven. Its shielding consisted of reinforced runes set at intervals between the magical orbs that provided the light. The two systems fed off of one another somehow. I don’t entirely understand the dynamics of the energy flow, but it seemed pretty impressive to me.

  The tunnel door slid shut behind me when I ducked inside, then I ran for it. There wasn’t just one tunnel, but a system of tunnels, making a maze that the average person would have great difficulty navigating. If you made even a single wrong turn, paths began to shift, part of an elaborate security system.

  There were two exits. I took the one that involved staying to the left at all but the first turn. I couldn’t hear much, thanks to the magical buffering, so I had no idea what was going on in the outside world. At least, not until I emerged into full daylight.

  The tunnel exited in the face of a rock in the middle of a clearing in the woods across the street from our house. This time of year, the trees were still sleeping, the only faint hint of life in the forest coming from the occasional evergreen. The ground beneath my feet was covered with decaying leaves, leftovers from the fall season. They were slightly damp, so they made very little noise when I trod upon them.

  It took my eyes a minute to adjust to all that. The bigger picture filled in first–the familiar landscape my mind expected to see. Only then did I take in the rest of the scene, and it nearly made my heart stop.

  Evan stood with his back against the rock, a few feet to my left. He held a shield in place, disrupted at intervals as he fired spells left and right, but beyond him and through the trees, I could see that he was outnumbered seven to one. An entire heptade had cornered him, and not even Evan could withstand that kind of force.

  10

  THEY WERE GOING TO KILL HIM. I could see it in their eyes and feel it in the spells they cast, which only by some strange miracle had not yet destroyed Evan’s shields.

  I had no time to think or formulate a plan. With only two or three seconds to take in the situation and act, I had to rely on instinct rather than reason.

  It seemed my instincts would not let Evan die, no matter the cost. It didn’t make sense on a logical level. It wasn’t as if I even wanted him in my life again, and now that each of our families had drawn blood, the odds of us ever bridging the chasm between us had shrunken considerably. Maybe it was desire for the return of my magic at play. I still longed for it, though I didn’t believe I would ever get it. If he died, that magic died with him.

  If part of me reeled at the idea of a world without Evan in it, then that was simply an afterimage, the remnants of fifteen years of friendship–and nearly something more–that had been impressed on my mind so deeply that they could not simply be erased. Hatred only covered up those things at first, before it gradually ate them away.

  Whatever the reason, I made my decision, and that decision was to place myself between Evan and danger.

  “Cassie, no!” Evan cried.

  “Hold your fire!” shouted the commander of the heptade.

  Three spells went off before they could comply: two missed, but the third slammed into my rune-powered shield, weakening it substantially. I didn’t exactly have an attached computer to tell me what percent of my shi
elds remained, but I knew I couldn’t take many more direct hits.

  “Use me as a hostage,” I hissed in a voice I hoped only Evan could hear.

  “No.”

  “Cassie, move aside!” called the commander.

  “They’re going to kill you,” I said.

  “How do you know they won’t kill you?” Evan asked.

  “Alexander would never forgive them, and they know it.”

  A change in the air pressure told me someone had put up a veil of silence. The members of the heptade were busily arguing with one another, but not a word reached my ears.

  “On the count of three,” I said, “make a run for the tunnel.”

  “Can they follow us inside?” he asked.

  “Not unless I have a long-lost twin sister in the group. Entrance is keyed to DNA.”

  “That’s why I couldn’t get in,” Evan muttered.

  “How did you know-?” I began, but shook off the question. It didn’t matter right now. “Oh, forget it. Three!”

  We both dashed for the tunnel. I tried to keep myself between him and the attackers, but Evan pushed me through the tunnel ahead of him. The alert soldiers managed to get several more spells off before Evan rushed in behind me. The force of the blows made him stagger, falling heavily on top of me.

  “Get off!” I said. “I’ve got to close the door.”

  With a groan of pain, he did so, rolling to the side. I rose to my feet in a flash, slamming my palm against the rune-carved panel by the door just as another spell came through the entryway, missing my head by millimeters.

  The magic sealed the rock wall in place, trapping us inside.

  “Are you hurt?” Evan asked.

  “No.” I did slump against the wall, breathing deeply, but only to steady my nerves.

  “Madison told me about the tunnels,” Evan offered.

  “Is that what you forced out of her?” I could feel my blood pressure rising. “She couldn’t remember.”

  “Scott told her to forget.”