Stolen Dreams

by Christine Amsden

  Sixty seconds? To decide on a bet that would change the rest of my life one way or another? On the one hand, on the only possible hand, I would get my magic back and be a full sorcerer like everyone else in my family. Maybe I could arrange an apprenticeship to really learn to use it so that one day I could do some real good.

  “Forty-five seconds,” Evan said.

  My heart leaped. On the other hand, what if he found some way to fix the results, or make me fall in love with him? That kiss of his was powerful. Temporary, but powerful.

  “Thirty seconds.”

  On the other hand, it wasn’t as if I didn’t have practice fending off advances. I’d done it dozens of times, and was now very good at throwing off most mind magic. If he thought going that route would win me over, then he was sorely underestimating me. Not that he hadn’t underestimated me before.

  “Fifteen seconds.”

  And what about my family? What would they think? We hadn’t even considered how our families might react to this agreement, when blood had been spilled on both sides.

  “Ten… nine….”

  I swallowed, convulsively. What was I afraid of? I didn’t love him, whatever his ego wanted to believe. Once, maybe, but now there were too many things standing between us, including the blood of my own father.

  “Five… four… three… two….”

  “All right. I accept.” The words spilled from my mouth as if I’d meant to say them all along, yet I had been undecided until the last second. It was rash and foolish and yet….

  I closed my eyes and held out my right hand to seal the deal. His large, firm hand encompassed mine, squeezing once before letting go.

  “Now what?” I asked, looking around. We were still in the tunnel, still enemies, and he still wanted something.

  “Now,” Evan said, looking a little sheepish, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to put you in an enchanted sleep.”

  “You won’t get what you came here for.” I stared defiantly into his crystalline blue eyes. “I might not be able to stop you, but these tunnels are a maze and even if you find the way inside, there will be people everywhere.”

  “I don’t need to get inside the castle. I already got what I came here for.”

  As the blue energy of the sleep spell formed in the palms of his hands, I realized what he must have meant; but before I had a chance to think about it, let alone protest, the world went black.

  12

  I WOKE, ALONE AND UNBOUND, ATOP A queen-sized bed decked out in the colors of the sunrise. Four posts surrounded it, and the rest of the room décor complemented the theme of the bed. The wall behind it boasted a large mural that captured the sun just overcoming the lake. Well-placed mirrors on the opposite wall reflected the colors. It was peaceful. Serene. Laura Blackwood had clearly had a hand here.

  I rolled out of bed and tried one of the two closed doors leading out of the room. It opened into a bathroom that had another door at the other side, indicating this room shared it with another bedroom, or the hallway. That door was locked.

  Retreating back into the room, I tried the other door, but wasn’t in the least bit surprised to find it locked as well. I was Evan’s prisoner.

  “This is really helping your case,” I muttered under my breath. Did he honestly think kidnapping me was the way to my heart? Hadn’t he ever heard of flowers?

  Moving across the room, I pulled back heavy drapes to reveal a breathtaking twilit view of the lake. I stared into the distance for a long time, trying not to let any thought more substantial than at least the bars are pretty cross through my mind. It was hard. I had a lot to think about, not the least of which was that bet I’d made with Evan. I should have felt thrilled at the imminent return of my magic, but I couldn’t manage the emotion. I still feared a trick. After all, Evan wouldn’t let his magic go without a fight.

  Evan came to collect me around six-thirty to usher me to dinner. I no longer had my potion belt, of course. I wouldn’t have been able to use it to escape if I had it, not here on Evan’s home turf, but at least our recent fight meant he now took me seriously enough to remove it.

  He had decorated since the last time I had visited. Every room now had immaculate furnishings, not to mention personality–Laura Blackwood’s personality. I didn’t like her, so I couldn’t say I liked the décor, no matter how technically and aesthetically perfect.

  Dinner, on the other hand, smelled wonderful, and I had no reservations at all about it based on the identity of the chef. Evan was almost as good a cook as me. (He might say otherwise.) I smelled the bacon first, and then the fresh bread, and finally put it together: homemade pizza. I had never tried his crust before, but I didn’t doubt his skill.

  “It seems,” Evan said when we were halfway down the curving staircase leading from the second story to the first, “that James Blair is not currently in Eagle Rock.”

  My heart beat faster. “Oh? Where is he?”

  “Pennsylvania,” Evan said.

  “At Alexander’s compound? Why?”

  “My guest may be able to answer that better than I can.”

  “What guest?” But I saw the answer for myself the instant I slipped into the dining room, an instant in which all the color drained from my face. The last time I had seen Matthew Blair he had been trying to find a way to force me into marrying him, even after I had thrown over his more subtle machinations.

  He and Evan had not exactly been on speaking terms back then, let alone coming-over-to-dinner terms. Now I felt trapped by not one, but two enemies.

  Matthew stood when I entered the dining room, his face impassive, though I knew he could hear every word in my mind. Good, I thought. You can go straight to hell.

  “I might,” he said, “but not for anything I’ve done to you.”

  Evan looked between the two of us, but if the exchange confused him he didn’t let it show. He led me to a seat directly across from Matthew, near the head of the long dining-room table. He took the head chair; I sat on his right, Matthew on his left.

  “What is this about?” I asked.

  Evan didn’t answer until he served us each a slice of pizza. For all the formality of the dining room he used paper plates and napkins, and we ate with our hands.

  “I brought you here because I want to hire you,” Evan said.

  It took nearly a full minute for his words to sink in. “To do what?”

  “To find out who killed your father,” he said in the same tone he might have used to comment on the weather.

  “I know who killed my father. He died in front of a dozen witnesses! Or is your father suggesting that someone used an illusion?”

  “No,” Evan said. “My father was there. He freely admits it.”

  “Then the case is closed.” I laughed, though I didn’t find anything funny. “We’ve got means, motive, opportunity, a street full of witnesses, and a confession! You don’t get much more airtight than that.”

  “Which is why,” Matthew said, “whoever did it was frankly brilliant.”

  I turned to him because he had spoken, and because I found it much easier to look him in the eyes. “Why would you buy into any of this? What’s your stake? I thought the Blairs were neutral on… well, everything.”

  “We won’t be for much longer.” He dabbed at his mouth with his paper napkin before continuing. “I’m sure you heard that my grandmother died a few months ago.”

  “Um, yes. I, um, I’m sorry for your loss.” That much was true, even if I hadn’t liked the old witch in the least.

  “Thanks,” Matthew said dryly. He had obviously caught my mental overtones. “She was pretty much the head of the family, looking out for our interests, but like all seers she couldn’t see past her own death. We’re on our own now, and my father and I have both decided it’s time to make changes. I don’t want to live under the radar any longer.”

  “You’re coming out of the closet?” I asked to clarify.

  “Pretty soon, yes. I’ve already resigned my st
ate senate seat, effective last November. Now I plan to move my political ambitions to the magical world.”

  It didn’t take me long to piece it together. “You want to usurp Alexander.” It wasn’t a question.

  “From what Evan has told me, you wouldn’t be too upset about it.”

  I didn’t know. My personal grudges against Alexander aside, I liked his ideas, and what he was trying to do for the country. Stereotypes held that all politicians were terrible people; the optimist in me didn’t want to believe it, but the realist in me knew that there were no perfect people. In Alexander’s case, the drive for power which made me dislike him might be the very thing that made him a good leader.

  “She needs convincing,” Evan said. “Tell her the rest.”

  “The rest is supposition,” Matthew said. “I don’t have any proof.”

  “Go on,” I said.

  “Do you remember in September, when I told you I didn’t think the way those church members acted was normal? My family had always been able to stop any real violence, but suddenly we couldn’t, almost like someone was trying to stop us.”

  “You’re not suggesting that…. You don’t think Alexander intentionally created a homicidal mob?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.” Matthew’s tone didn’t contain a hint of apology. “Look what he did. He took a disparate and independent community, and for a short time gave us a common enemy. Quite a coincidence that it happened right when he showed up, isn’t it?”

  It sounded like a crazy conspiracy theory to me, but one of those with just enough plausibility to create niggling doubts. “What does this have to do with my father? And your father’s trip to Pennsylvania?”

  “My father’s trip is a fact-finding mission. He’s going to pretend to join up for a while to see what he can find from the inside.”

  “And my father?” I asked.

  Matthew looked straight into my eyes. “Can you think of any reason that Alexander might want your father dead?”

  “No,” I said instantly.

  “Really? Because he’s sticking awfully close to your family, and some are placing wagers on the wedding date.”

  “Ugh! I am not going to marry him. And that’s not a reason for him to kill my father, anyway. My dad wasn’t stopping the match.”

  “But he wouldn’t have forced you,” Matthew said. “He might have been Alexander’s ally in words, but in actions, he was your staunch protector. Isn’t that why you came back to him?”

  “I don’t know, Matthew. He didn’t protect me from you.” My face reddened and I covered the moment by taking my first bite of pizza. It tasted just as good as it smelled, though I had some trouble appreciating it.

  “Your father owed me a big debt,” Matthew said. “He had no choice.”

  I took another bite of pizza, this time too upset to taste it at all, though the process of chewing and swallowing offered some comfort. Unfortunately, that’s why I had gained ten pounds since November, and could barely fit in my clothes.

  “You still haven’t convinced me that your father didn’t kill mine,” I said to Evan. “The rest of this is interesting, but irrelevant.”

  I tried but failed to look him in the eyes. There was too much emotion there, and his denials made it even worse.

  “My father didn’t want your father dead,” Evan said quietly.

  “All evidence to the contrary.”

  “Not at all.” Evan took a deep breath and set down his pizza slice half finished. “You have to understand that this fight was about the two of them more than it was about anything else. My dad didn’t want your dad dead; he wanted him to admit he was wrong. He wanted your dad to have to watch him win, and live with that for the rest of his life.”

  “That’s–” I tried to say crazy, but the word stuck in my throat. It wasn’t at all crazy. I hadn’t put it together in precisely those words, but I could see now that my father had felt the same way. If he hadn’t, he probably would have killed Victor long ago, instead of either throwing peripheral curses or sending fireballs he knew Victor could dodge.

  “That’s what?” Evan prompted.

  “It doesn’t matter what he meant to do,” I said. “He killed my father. That’s what he did do.”

  “Your father should have been able to block,” Evan rushed on, probably seeing a sign of weakness he could exploit. “My father expected him to block.”

  “So?”

  “So,” Evan said, “what did you expect to happen to me when you sprayed me with fire-starting potion this morning?”

  “Touché.” I wanted to argue that I had never doubted for a moment that Evan would survive the potion spray but of course, that was the point. He could have died. I could have killed him. The thought made me feel suddenly nauseous. I put down the slice of pizza.

  “So, why didn’t he block?” Evan asked.

  I sorted through details in my mind, though it pained me to reexamine them. “He messed up. He used his gift instead. It is instinctive, after all.”

  “Did he mess up? Or did his attempt to shield himself fail?”

  I stared at Evan, searching for a denial, but his words made a strange sort of sense. Was my father likely to have messed up like that?

  Evan pressed his advantage. “Someone interfered. Whoever did that is the one who killed him.”

  “How do I know your father didn’t cause it to happen? He is the most likely suspect, isn’t he?”

  “I think he’s innocent,” Evan said.

  “Do you think he’s innocent?” I asked Matthew, more to buy time than because I cared about his answer.

  “Yes.” He didn’t sound sure though. “Well, maybe innocent isn’t the right word. I just don’t think he’s guilty of intentionally killing your father.”

  “First degree murder vs. manslaughter?” I offered.

  “Something like that,” Matthew said, “but it’s a big distinction.”

  Silence fell across the table, the men eating with gusto as I fell into pensive silence. It had to have been Victor, even if his methods hadn’t been as straightforward as I had first believed. But there was that niggling doubt, and if someone else had helped to kill my father, didn’t I owe it to him to learn the truth?

  “If I look into this,” I began, still not looking directly at Evan, “then your father turns himself in for trial.”

  Evan hesitated. “Would it be a fair trial? Everyone’s already made up their minds.”

  “I’ll convince them of the truth, whatever it is, but he has to stand trial, one way or the other.”

  Evan took a deep breath. “I’ll make him turn himself in after you learn the truth. Who knows how long it might take; I won’t have him executed in the meantime.”

  “Fine,” I said, “but your father may be guilty. You have to accept that, and be willing to turn him in if that’s what I find.”

  “We,” Evan said. “You and I will be working together on this.” I started to protest but he cut me off. “There’s no other way to make sure this is impartial, Cassie. You know you’re biased.”

  “So are you.”

  “Which is why you’re here. Is it a deal?”

  I closed my eyes, trying to picture the two of us working together again like we had done so many times before. It wouldn’t be the same this time; we weren’t friends, and never would be again. I didn’t want to spend any time with him, but I couldn’t think of a single good argument for us not working together. So I held out my hand to seal an unwise pact for the second time in one day.

  13

  EVAN HAD NO INTENTION OF LETTING me go home, even after we struck our deal. “I don’t trust Alexander,” he said, “and I got the impression he wasn’t letting you out.”

  “Aren’t there enough problems between our families?” I asked. “Do you want someone else to get hurt?”

  “I’ve got it covered.”

  I just stared at him. “You can’t protect everyone.”

  “I can, and I did.
Your family would be hard-pressed to find a third cousin of mine they could use against me.”

  I shook my head. I had a bad feeling about this, but with him looking so self-assured, I didn’t know how to convince him.

  “You can at least let me call Kaitlin, and have her drop off some clothes. And my dream journal.”

  Evan got a strained, distant look on his face. “My grandmother was teaching you dreaming?”

  “Um, yeah. I know it’s kind of hokey, but Abigail actually had some–”

  “It’s not hokey. Your….” Evan looked away, took a deep breath, and then plunged forward. “Your father doesn’t know everything.”

  “I don’t think he does. Did.” I still had trouble thinking of him as gone. Sometimes I would start to call him, before remembering.

  “How’s it going?” Evan asked. “You never used to remember your dreams.”

  “I still don’t, unless I use a dream catcher. Actually, I haven’t used it since my father died. She didn’t want me to do it that way, so I keep trying without, but I can’t remember anything. Sometimes I remember feelings; she told me to write those down, if that’s all I could remember.”

  “I have a dream catcher, if you want to use it.” Evan lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Just don’t tell my grand….” His voice drifted off and he looked away. I wasn’t the only one who hadn’t fully accepted a recent death.

  Tentatively, I reached out my hand, laying it on Evan’s forearm. The shock of contact nearly made me draw away, but I held firm. “I’ve done the same thing. Think he’s still alive. Afterward, it’s like losing him all over again.”

  Evan swallowed. “We have to find a way to stop this, or more people are going to die.”

  He’d said the same thing at Dad’s funeral, but I hadn’t been ready to listen at the time. The pain had been too fresh. Now, perhaps I could.

  * * *

  Evan’s room doesn’t look like I remember from that long-ago time when he was my hero. Then I awoke to a sparsely decorated room with a bed and little else. I also woke weakened and in pain, a stark contrast to how I feel now–energized and alive.