“You didn’t call back.” A bright light shone to the left of her, and he thought he spotted a modern kitchen in the background. She must be at her home in New Orleans.
“Sorry, we had to walk to the hotel from the restaurant, and then Obadiah called.”
Nimue raised her eyebrows, the only sign of her surprise. “Then you must finish speaking to the Librarian.”
Malcolm waved her off. “No, he was finished. Tell me about my sample.”
Nimue scanned behind him. “Is it prudent to discuss this at the present moment?”
Debbie flipped the phone off where Nimue couldn’t see. Malcolm tucked in his lips to suppress the smile that threatened. “It’s fine, Nimue. She’s been to Cos.”
She squeezed her queenly lips in a thin line, but he couldn’t care much if she didn’t approve. “Fine. Where were we? Oh yes, the talisman factor. It appears to function as yet another password into the database. I’ve discussed this at length with Halek, and he assures me that the intricacies of the internet are just as vast and mysterious as the nucleus of a cell or a black hole. I’ve yet to understand it fully despite all my research, but if you don’t have this physical component, you cannot access our database.”
“Meaning a dream thief has to be accessing the files for the murdered targets.”
Nimue paused with her mouth open. Her iridescent eyes danced back and forth as she considered this implication. “Or whoever is accessing it has access to a large enough piece of a dream thief.”
Debbie grabbed his arm. “Aelia’s finger.” Her brown eyes went wide, and she covered her mouth as if she might be sick. “Oh god, you don’t think?”
“Again, too much presumption to tell, but yes, someone cutting bits and pieces off of Aelia to gain access to the database is a possibility.” Nimue shuddered. “Back to you. You still have the talisman factor, but it’s altered in minute ways.”
A rock fell into the pit of his stomach. “Which means?”
“You’re still a dream thief or enough of it to be able to interact with the database, but certainly unlike the rest of us. Like the difference in strong forces between electricity and magnetism. Now that being said, I’ve only tested myself, Halek, Makir, and now you. We each have some unique properties, but yours is the most different. I wish we had a sample from before your changes. Is it true? You can eat food?”
Malcolm ignored the flush in his cheeks, but she asked in the cold clinical way that a doctor would. “Yes, I can eat and drink anything. I have full human anatomy and function.”
“Elimination?”
Debbie giggled. “His might stink more than normal.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re hardly better.”
She grasped her chest as if she had been truly injured. “You dare say such a thing to a lady?”
“Are you two about done? I’m not getting any younger.” Nimue set her phone on some sort of prop and leaned back on a lush, expensive-looking couch, stretching.
“Oh, my word, was that a joke? My dear Nimue, are you getting soft in your old age?”
She raised her eyes upward and shook her head. “Hardly. I do think it prudent I get samples from all of us to further calculate the talisman factor and the differences between us. It’d be a good idea, and perhaps Halek can use it to add an extra layer of security to the Cos files.” Malcolm figured she’d stopped talking to him and was speculating out loud.
The phone beeped once again. Malcolm said his goodbyes and answered Makir. “Hi, where are you at?”
Strained panting met his ears. “Gab, they’re getting away!”
The unmistakable sound of gunshots followed.
20
“Makir! What’s going…?”
Panting, a fast thumping that he guessed might be her feet pounding on the ground, and a swish, swish, swish rumbled through the phone.
“What’s wrong?” Debbie asked.
He pushed the speaker button and jumped to his feet, pacing the floor. “Makir? Makir are you there?”
He relayed her words to Debbie who covered her face with her hands. “Oh god! Oh god! Oh god!”
More gunshots rang out through the phone. “Makir!” Debbie shouted.
“It’s okay. She can’t die.” Malcolm rubbed Debbie’s arm.
“What? Oh, right. Still.” The confusion on Debbie’s face left, but worry lingered around her eyes.
More gunshots rang out. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Makir shouted. “I missed!” The pounding of feet on the ground grew louder. “Damn it to hell. Gab, you still there?”
“Jesus Christ, Mak, what the hell is going on?”
“I was at the cabin. I don’t know who we pissed off, but Tara was a professional hit. The stench of the cleaning chemicals almost overpowered me, but I caught scent of her blood on the front screened-in porch. No human CSI team is going to catch any of it. I went back to check drawers and the bathroom in particular when some asshole threw a brick through the window.”
Malcolm hadn’t stopped pacing the whole time she talked. He could already feel his breathing pick up, but Makir’s inhuman speed didn’t allow her to get winded. He knew without a doubt she couldn’t be hurt, but everything in him felt he should be there with her.
“A note was wrapped around the brick that said, ‘Mind your own business bitch.’ Well, I tore through the house and caught sight of two men getting into a nondescript Ford Escort off the road. Probably where the bastards parked when they snuck up on the poor girl. Well, they took off in the car, which is when I called you. I tried to shoot out their tires but missed. I jumped into hyper-speed, but I swear they turned onto the main road and I lost them.”
“You okay?” he asked Makir.
The sound of shoes skidding on the ground came through the phone. “Yeah, just pissed. I’m heading back to the cabin. Make sure I didn’t leave any evidence behind.”
“Well, do it at hyper-speed. The Librarian has ordered all dream thieves to stay with at least one other.”
Now he felt the command shift through him to her. It still didn’t hold the same pull as before, but he couldn’t deny he had not been granted full humanity. He reached out a hand and stroked Debbie’s cheek to calm her shaking.
“Okay. Why?”
“You know that finger? It belonged to Aelia.”
“Fuck.”
21
The radio blared some young girl singing a new-age, tech-filled song about partying all night. The bass vibrated the seat as Makir sang along at the top of her lungs, tapped her foot, and smacked her fingers on the steering wheel along with the beat.
Malcolm gripped the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, feeling a growing headache that had nothing to do with his power and everything to do with the blazing noise and stress. At a particularly shrill note, Malcolm pushed the speaker button, cutting the song off mid-scream, which didn’t stop Makir’s atrocious singing.
“You might be a hell of a fighter, but you’ll definitely never have a career in music.”
Makir grinned and stuck her tongue out at him.
“Seriously, I still don’t understand why you said that to James yesterday?” Malcolm found himself using Tara’s pet name for him.
“What? That you’re a medium?” Makir hummed along to the non-existent song, further grating on Malcolm’s ever-fraying nerves.
“Yes. Now he’ll never talk to us.”
Makir waved his concerns away. “It’s the truth, or at least a sanitized version of it. The only proof you have is what you saw in your vision from her memories and assumptions. You have nothing concrete that you can show him or the police to prove her death wasn’t an accident. In situations like these, I find the truth is much better than lies.”
Malcolm couldn’t believe her. “He thinks we’re crazy!”
At the stoplight, Makir dropped the visor to check her appearance and finger the short dark locks. She checked her teeth as if she’d ever have food stuck in them, and lipstick would’ve looked wrong on her lush re
d lips. As he thought of food, Debbie’s stomach growled from the backseat. Makir rolled her eyes, snapping the visor back up. “Right. You mortals need food again.” She took the next stop at a sharp turn. The wheels squealed in protest but entered the nearest fast food place and got in line. Without asking, she ordered them each a breakfast sandwich, hash browns, and coffee with cream and sugar. She took the liberty of ordering herself a sweet tea. She held out a hand when the young teenage boy told her the price. Malcolm scowled but reached into his wallet, retrieving the correct amount of dollars.
Makir raised an eyebrow. “What? Couldn’t be bothered with exact change?”
“Don’t push it.”
She laughed, happy as a lark to be a constant source of irritation. She popped her straw into her drink and sucked down half of the contents in three gulps. “Ahhhh,” she burped, “This is why I love the south! Perhaps I’ll move here next.”
Malcolm unwrapped the greasy sausage biscuit with egg and cheese, wondering what kind of meat was in the sausage, and took a bite. The eggs and cheese highlighted the taste of the greasy meat, and the salty hash browns quieted the yearning in his belly. He’d discovered filling those basic needs satisfying, despite it not being the healthiest of meals. He made quick work of the food, not talking until every bite had been eaten. Debbie finished it all too, and she liked to avoid meat as much as possible. Makir turned the radio on again while they ate, but at a reasonable level this time. The headache and unease that had built up lessened with the calories.
“Where are we going?” Malcolm asked, washing his mouth out with his coffee.
“We need to go to the lead detective. I suspect he’ll come looking for us sooner or later. Better to get it out of the way.” Makir finished her tea and gave a sideways glance to the remainder of Malcolm’s drink. He knew she wondered what it tasted like with cream. He shoved his empty cup into the brown bag the food had come in, not looking forward to what his body would do with the caffeine and hoped he wouldn’t have to use the bathroom in the police station. It was something he’d never had to worry about before.
“Why do you think the detective will come looking for us?” Debbie handed Malcolm her trash, which he shoved into the bag too.
“Because after your dismal antics at the Booths, I’m positive they have reached out to the detective by now. You stressed the dad out so much that I’m sure the first thing he did after we left, besides get a hefty drink of that single malt scotch in the back cabinet, was to call the detective on her case. If it were me and I’d received that call, I’d check the leads to see who else you’ve been talking to.”
Right on cue, Malcolm recognized the street Makir turned down. She flipped on the blinker and pulled into the police department.
“This ought to be fun,” Malcolm said as he unsnapped his seatbelt and exited the vehicle. Debbie grabbed his hand, and they made their way inside the police department. Makir stepped forward, extending a hand to the same Officer Johnson. “Hey there. I’m Detective Madison Asher, NYPD. I’m here to see Detective Robinson. Tell him that Malcolm Anderson and Debbie Jones are here to see him. I’m sure he’s dying to see us.”
Johnson lifted his eyebrows as if not quite sure what to think about the self-proclaimed NY detective looking more like a biker chick than law enforcement. “Uh, have a seat. I’ll try and reach him.”
Makir winked, popped a stick of gum in her mouth, and swished her behind with slow deliberate movements to draw as much attention to herself as she could. The older officer blushed as he picked up the phone receiver.
Malcolm leaned closer to her as she took her seat and asked, barely moving his lips, “What are you doing?”
“Trust me, big daddy. I got this.”
In less than two minutes, the dark-haired, blue-eyed Detective Robinson stared at them. His expression could cut through lead. “Mr. Anderson, if you’ll come with me to my office. We have things to discuss.”
Makir swept off the chair in one fluid movement, gliding toward the detective and showing off her chest, and she held her hand to him. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice. I’m Detective Madison Asher NYPD.” Her normal throaty, confident voice transformed into a breathless, purely feminine sound.
The ocean of his singularity rippled inside him at the sound, but he couldn’t pinpoint if it was at the sight of the detective or his long-time friend’s odd reaction. She could also be putting on yet another act. Of all the dream thieves, Makir’s motives remained a mystery.
Robinson’s gaze drifted up and down Makir, and Malcolm caught sight of his carotid artery beating fast on the side of his neck. “You’re with them?” He swallowed as his pupils widened. He had developed an instant attraction to Makir.
“Afraid so, but we can discuss this more in your private office. Yes?” Makir batted bedroom eyes at him.
Robinson nodded, waving at Malcolm without giving him a second glance. Makir laced her arm through the young detective’s, and the two stepped away from the door. Malcolm had to hurry to catch the door before it latched closed. The two walked arm in arm, their conversation lost to him amidst the chorus of ringing phones, police scanners, chatter of officers, and, he could’ve sworn, retching from somewhere unseen, probably in lockup.
Rows and rows of desks made up the back of the police station, some manned, others vacant. He admired the small touches of family pictures and sports memorabilia, and one person had a rather impressive troll doll collection. Doors led off to the sides and most were unlabeled. Malcolm guessed the detectives’ and chief of police’s offices were in the very back since Robinson headed there.
Robinson paused in front of a wooden door and gestured for Makir to go on ahead. She entered, and Robinson followed her as if he’d forgotten Malcolm and Debbie, which suited the ex-dream thief just fine.
Robinson’s jaw set when Malcolm and Debbie followed, and he jutted out his chin toward the door. Malcolm took this as his cue to close the door. Makir and Debbie settled into the two seats facing the desk, leaving Malcolm to stand, once again, while Robinson sat down, grabbing a manila folder and sliding it toward himself. He opened the folder with a flourish.
“You all certainly have been busy. First, I get a report from Dr. Iverson telling me the most interesting theory you all have, corroborated with no evidence. Days later I get a second call about you from none other than Clancy Booth, your client, only, as you may have guessed, he tells me you suspect his daughter’s death wasn’t an accident.” Robinson flipped the folder closed, letting his gaze travel from one to the other. “You all care to tell me why you’re stirring up things which ought to be left alone, and why you need the aid of an attractive detective from New York.” He interlocked his fingers. “You all also harassed poor Dr. Fischer, as well. My, my how busy you all have been. Now, let’s cut the shit, shall we? Who the hell are you people and what the hell is up your ass over the death of Tara Booth?”
Makir leaned back, crossing one black leather-clad leg over the other. “Detective, you wouldn’t believe us if I told you.”
“Try me.” His eyes lost their appreciation as they hardened. “And if I give NYPD a call, will they have a Madison Asher working there?”
Makir removed her badge from the leather jacket pocket and tossed it over the desk. “Oh, I work there. You can check. Now, you sure you want the truth?”
Robinson held up a hand and rolled his eyes. “Let me guess. I can’t handle the truth?”
Makir shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out. My boy here,” she gestured with her head in Malcolm’s direction, “and I are immortals. Our duty is to prevent the destruction of humanity in one way or another. Several months back my partner changed Tara Booth’s destiny. Now someone has infiltrated our database and is going back and doing whatever they can to undo what we’ve done. Several of our past targets, like Tara Booth, have been murdered over the last months. We’re trying to get to the bottom of who it is and stop them.”
Robinson barked a laugh. “You
must be clinically insane or pulling my leg mighty hard.”
Makir leaned back, clasped her hands behind her head, and stuck her feet on the man’s desk. “Told you you wouldn’t believe me.”
The good detective’s lips turned up in a half-smile that he shook off right away. He nodded as if coming to some conclusion. He pressed a button on his desk. A minute later a woman’s disembodied voice said, “Yes, sir?”
“Can you get in touch with NYPD, Precinct…” He gestured toward Makir who rolled her eyes.
“Twenty-fourth.”
“Twenty-fourth. We need to inquire if a certain detective Madison Asher really works there.”
“Right away sir,” the disembodied voice said.
“While we’re waiting,” Makir moved her arms to her belly, after getting the chair to balance just right on two legs. “Tell me, did you not think it strange that a woman who grew up on the water and who was a strong athletic swimmer through high school and still swims almost daily would knowingly go swimming, alone, when there were reports of high rip currents making swimming extremely dangerous? Throw on top of all that the Sanibel River’s water quality has been rated poor. Tara Booth wasn’t a stupid woman. There’s absolutely no reason she would’ve been in that water.”
“All of that is well and good, but it is circumstantial evidence only. Nothing points to any foul play.”
Makir dropped her feet to the ground, leaned in, and stuck her arm on his desk. “You’re telling me that everything I just said doesn’t give you the least bit of doubt that her death wasn’t an accident? That isn’t enough to give you probable cause to reopen her case?”
Robinson opened his mouth, but then the buzzer beeped. “Yes.”
“I have Captain Hunter from NYPD precinct twenty-four on the line.”
Glee lit up the detective’s face. “Put him through.”
The telephone rang, and Robinson picked up the black receiver. “Hello, this is Detective Robinson of the Lee County Police Department in Florida.”
The Dream Awakened Page 12
