by Dana Davis
The woman waved a hand. “Oh, that. Don’t apologize, dear. I understand. Really, I do. I didn’t believe it either, when I found out what I’d be doing the rest of my life.”
Connie’s introduction to her own powers might have been similar to Zoey’s. She was beginning to suspect her paranormal line held more than the healthy amount of paranoia. She returned the smile.
“Here you go.” Connie pushed the box into her hands. “In lieu of a birthday cake.”
She peered into the cellophane window. A dozen donuts. Chocolate covered, sprinkled, glazed, and cream filled. Saliva built in anticipation. “Thanks. I’ll take donuts over cake any day.”
“That’s what Jason said. And I thought you might need some sustenance. I always crave sugar after a bedroom workout.”
Zoey gave a bogus look of shock. “Why, Constance Dryden, I’ve never heard you talk like that.”
The older woman actually blushed. “Well, I don’t make a habit of it. But no one outside our family circle would understand how intense things can get between us.”
Understatement! Zoey couldn’t help but smile. “Sit down and I’ll get some plates.” She started for the kitchen, eager to fill her grumbling belly. “I hope you’ll help me eat these.” Though she secretly thought she could finish the entire box at one sitting without help.
“Oh, I could definitely use one or two.”
Zoey stopped and turned, brows climbing. She studied the woman’s face and tried to ignore the aura that danced around it. Oh, man, this is going to be really distracting. Lines crinkled the skin around Connie’s eyes when she took off her sunglasses and grinned. Zoey snickered and headed for the kitchen again. She was beginning to have a new respect for the older generation. A brief thought about her aunt and uncle’s bedroom escapades entered her mind, not in a creepy way, just a sudden understanding, and she shook her head. No wonder they sent me to Jason’s for Saturday play dates. Aunt Mena always had a yummy desert ready when she returned.
She glanced into the living area from the kitchen. Connie was sitting in a chair and gazing at the Catcher box. “Coffee’ll be ready in a minute. I hope that’s okay.” She headed to the couch with the sugary bounty on one of Aunt Mena’s favorite platters. “Unless you want water. I have to get to the grocery store.”
“Coffee’s fine, dear.”
She put the platter on the coffee table, offered Connie a cloth napkin and kept one for herself, then traipsed back to the kitchen for two smaller plates and headed for the couch. Zoey chose a donut with chocolate icing and bit into it, savoring the sweetness that melted in her mouth. It was the best thing she’d tasted in a long time. Probably because I’m starved! “Mmm. You’re a life-saver, Connie.”
The older woman mirrored her enthusiasm with a colorful sprinkle donut and smiled.
They ate in silence for a couple of minutes, until something beeped from the kitchen. Zoey took a quick swipe across her mouth with the napkin and stood. “Want anything in your coffee?”
“Black’s fine. I have enough sugar here.”
“M’kay. Be right back.” As she poured two cups of the black stuff and added sugar to hers, she wondered why Connie had stopped by. Surely, it wasn’t just to bring donuts. She delivered the coffee and sat on the couch again. After a couple of sips, she took up another donut and eyed the older woman. “Why didn’t Aunt Mena tell me about the box? She knew I was going to inherit it eventually.”
“Oh, honey, I think she hoped your mother would come to her senses if anything happened to her.” Connie shook her head and her short hair swung around her ears. It was as dark as Jason’s, with red highlights. And not a hint of gray, thanks to whatever coloring she used. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were supposed to start your apprenticeship today. Your aunt made me promise to look after you if anything happened to her.”
Zoey missed her aunt and uncle more than she ever thought possible. “You think she knew? What was coming?”
Connie studied her, brows knitted in concern. “I honestly don’t know.”
Zoey nodded and took a large bite of donut, followed by a sip of coffee.
“How’s it going with the box?”
She started to tell about the orphaned boy but something wrapped around her chest and gave a strong squeeze, causing her to stop what she was about to say. She couldn’t tell anyone about future wishes, those that hadn’t come true, yet. Mustn’t tamper with the future. Mustn’t? Where the hell did that word come from?
She’d seen enough sci-fi shows to know the hazards of future tampering. But her job would become quite a burden if she couldn’t share it with someone. She narrowed eyes on the box. When the pressure around her chest receded, she shoved another donut bite into her mouth. Damn, she was hungry.
How am I supposed to know which dreams have happened? She got no answer. Until she figured it out, she would have to keep everything to herself. Damn box.
Connie studied her. “From your expression, I’m guessing the box is communicating with you.”
Zoey nodded.
“It guided Mena too. In case you haven’t figured it out, yet, our auras, which I’m assuming you got a gander of when Jason was here, contain our strength. Our powers.”
Oh yeah, I got a gander all right. She took a drink to take her mind off Jason for the moment.
“Your aunt gave a little of herself each day to the box.”
Holy crap! That’s why I’m so damn tired and hungry.
Connie must’ve seen the alarm on her face. “You won’t be harmed, dear. But there’s something else you need to know. That Mena wanted you to know.” She hesitated a moment. “The wishes, the dreams you see in the box, don’t always turn out the way you expect. Or the way you would like them to. You must learn to accept the outcome. Your aunt stressed that part.”
The coffee suddenly felt harsh going down Zoey’s throat and she set the cup on a sandstone coaster. “What’re you not telling me?” Patience, Grasshopper. She doubted many in her age group would even get that reference. But holidays alone at boarding school made her watch the darndest things on TV. And, well, she’d already asked the question.
The older woman drew in a long breath. “Your father. You know how he died.”
“Plane crash.” Everyone in Zoey’s family knew how her father had died, so she wasn’t sure just where this was going.
“Yes.” Connie swallowed. “But what you don’t know is that he was flying the plane. A dream of his from boyhood.”
It didn’t take her long to catch up and the room grew cold. “Aunt Mena knew about his dream, didn’t she? She had to if she was the Catcher then.” The full horror slammed her in the stomach and the donuts she’d eaten threatened to make a return appearance. She swallowed hard.
“She couldn’t do anything that might influence his wishes. He had to live out his dreams in his own way.”
Blood drained from Zoey’s face and she felt faint. “Did she know he was going to die?”
“I don’t know. But believe me, she was tormented every day of her life that she couldn’t save him.”
No wonder Mom doesn’t want anything to do with the box. Or me.
Connie moved to her side and encircled her shoulders with strength that betrayed the gentle woman she appeared to be on the outside. “Even if she knew the outcome, she couldn’t interfere with his dreams, Zoey.”
“Why the hell not?”
“If a Catcher becomes soiled, using the box for her own selfish gains, it can refuse her. If that happens, if the box closes to her before another Dream Catcher is born—”
No more dreams. A world without hope. Pandora’s curse. She wasn’t sure if the words came from her own mind or the Catcher box but she caught the severity of them.
Connie pulled back. “You do understand, don’t you? The implications of tampering with dreams?”
“Yes.” Her voice was barely audible, even to her own ears. “What if I die tomorrow? In an accident.” Like my father. Like
Aunt Mena and Uncle Alex. “What then?”
As long as you protect the dreams, I will protect you. She eyed the box when that thought came into her head. It looked so innocent on her coffee table. But I can be hurt. An emphatic, yes, resounded in her head. So, if I want to get out of this damn Catcher destiny thing, my only choice is to let hope die? Which didn’t seem to be an option, considering that the world would become a living hell. The box was silent.
Not that she wanted hope to die. Quite the opposite. But the fact that she couldn’t even choose whether or not to take on this responsibility pissed her off. She wanted to hit something. Her boxing bag hung from the garage ceiling, just waiting to get smacked. Uncle Alex had enrolled her at a local dojo after learning of the fights she’d gotten into at boarding school. Her sensei had praised her right cross and her roundhouse kick and she wanted so much to use them now. She clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to calm her racing heart and still her anger.
She studied the box again, that silver, benign-looking box, and anger morphed into fear. “What if I can’t do this, Connie?”
A sympathetic smile formed on the woman’s lips and creased the skin around her eyes and mouth. “You wouldn’t have been chosen if you couldn’t handle it. You’re a descendant of one of the most powerful paranormal families in history. You won’t let your Aunt Mena down. You certainly won’t let down generations of Catchers, your own ancestors who fought for your dreams.” Connie’s hand rested on Zoey’s knee a moment. “I know you’ll do the right thing, honey. It’s your destiny.” She said that as though she wholeheartedly believed in destiny.
Zoey, on the other hand, had a bazillion doubts. Wait! Ancestors? Her aunt’s note had said the box was passed down from generation to generation. How long? The petroglyphs on the box pre-dated writing and were far older than the Greek stories about Pandora. And I thought I’d get a comb or necklace, a normal heirloom. Silly me. She decided right then and there that she would call her cousin Daisy. The witch kept copies of the family genealogy. Maybe she could answer some questions.
Connie leaned closer and her voice grew soft. “There’s more, Zoey. Something very important you must know.”
More? What the fuck more can there be? The face looking back at her had gone pale. “What is it? You’re scaring me, Connie.”
“Might be wise to be scared about this. There’s someone Mena called the Anguisher.”
Zoey fought the urge to laugh. Sounded like a bad showbiz name, a Vegas performer. And now, please put your hands together for The Anguisher! That jolliness morphed into instant soberness as she remembered her aunt’s letter. “Wait. Aunt Mena mentioned the Anguisher in her note to me.” P. S. Beware the Anguisher. “Who is he?”
“Well, from what Mena told me, he’s a proponent of despair and fuels hopelessness in those who’ve already given up their dreams. But before she died, she said he was trying to take people’s dreams away and bring more despair to the world.”
Too much despair can lead to violent, dark times. Where did that thought come from? Me or the box? No answer. She rubbed at her arms. The news did seem more violent and dark. More wars breaking out across the globe. Terrorists around every corner. Child abusers in places children ought to be safe. Financial disasters caused by greed. She used to think it was just her imagination. Or the fact that she was no longer a kid and actually watched more than the entertainment news now.
But I’m no savior. I’m just a student. I want to go to school, get my degree and start a career. Like everyone my age. Hard as she tried to ignore the feeling, there was definitely something volatile in the air around her. And it pricked at her skin. She rubbed her arms again, trying to quell the unpleasant sensation.
Zoey studied her boyfriend’s mother a moment and a shiver danced up her spine. “Connie?” Her voice quivered and she fought to keep it steady. “What really happened to them? They weren’t killed in any car accident, were they?”
“Yes, they were.”
“But it wasn’t an accident.”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Was it—was it the Anguisher?” Fear and anger fought for dominance and his name was no longer funny.
“I don’t have those answers for you, darling. I’m sorry.”
She thought long and hard about that and was certain he’d been involved somehow. “I have to keep hope alive.” It was no longer a question. “I don’t have a choice.” Pandora’s curse.
Connie gave her a sympathetic smile. “It’s a noble profession, honey.”
She felt anything but noble just now. In fact, she wanted to stomp around the room in a tantrum, shouting, “I don’t want this fucking job!” She might have done that as a child. But she was grown now, and responsibilities came with getting older. Growing up really does suck sometimes. “How dangerous is he? This Anguisher?”
The older woman took in a long breath and blew it out between immaculate teeth only an orthodontist and several whitening treatments could create. Zoey saw fear in those hazel eyes.
Dangerous enough. There must be something I can do to head this off. Can’t I talk to him? He must know what’ll happen if hope is lost. That seemed innocent and childish, like the unicorn in her bedroom. Of course he knows. He feeds on misery.
She leveled a gaze on Connie. “If this Anguisher is so bad, maybe I should just find a way to get rid of him.” The thought of killing him didn’t sound so difficult if he’d murdered her aunt and uncle. “Life would be much better without despair.” Maybe even downright joyous. Despite the seriousness of the conversation, she almost laughed when an image of everyone prancing around like a Brady Bunch musical number popped into her head.
“You mean to create a paradise?”
Zoey nodded. “Sure. I guess.”
“In theory, that’d be very nice. But the world needs balance.”
Balance huh? Light and darkness. Yin and yang. Good and evil. Matter and anti-matter. I can’t destroy the Anguisher without destroying myself. And he can’t destroy me without threatening his own existence. That’s why he’s going after the dreams. He’s trying to tip the balance in his favor. Enough that he can change the outcome of dreams and limit my powers. Make the world a dark and violent place. Dark ages. Witch hunts. Black plague. World Wars. Sound familiar, Zoey Vega? Tipping of power. In the Anguisher’s favor.
She didn’t need the box’s assurance to know this was the truth. His ancestral line had probably created those dark historic times, or at least been a catalyst. Like now. She fought a shudder and her face fell into a deep frown. It would be a long, hard fight to regain her power if she lost it. And I don’t even know my limits yet. Damnit, I’m too new at this.
“Don’t let despair get to you,” Connie said in a firm voice. Zoey snapped her head to the woman, shock showing on her face. Connie offered a slight smile. “I believe in you. You’re the Dream Catcher.”
That’s supposed to be a comfort? I don’t know shit about being a Catcher. “Do you know who he is?”
Connie shook her head. “No. And I don’t plan to if I can help it. He exists in the underworld.”
Well, hell. “You mean there actually is an underworld?”
“Of course.” Connie sounded shocked that she even questioned it.
What other juicy little secrets did Mom and Aunt Mena keep from me? She wondered about her family tree again. Not in a genealogist way. Too boring. But about her Catcher line and the powers that were kept hidden from her. She focused on the other woman again. “This underworld. Is it hell?”
“I’m no medium, so I can’t say.”
Maybe I’ll contact a medium. Couldn’t hurt. A chill, like a frigid finger, laced up her spine and she shivered. What the hell kinda family was I born into?
Chapter 8
The Trouble She’s Seen
Daisy brought Perky in through the patio slider and strode into the office to finish setting up her auctions for the week. She had just sat down when the phone rang, causing Perky to
yip. Smiling, she snatched it up and pressed the talk button. “Hello.”
“Hi, Daisy. It’s Maria Running-Bear.”
“Oh, hi Maria. How are you? How’s the family?” The Native woman, a professor and psychic dreamer, had warned her about the skinwalker all those months ago and had since become a friend as well as an ally. She had a young daughter to protect but she gave important dream messages to Daisy when she could.
“Oh, we’re all fine. Joe says hello. Listen, I don’t know if this will mean anything to you or not but I’ve had a vision dream.”
“Oh? About what?”
A noisy breath from the other line. “You. And some mysterious figure. A male. The vision wasn’t clear so I can’t tell you much more. Other than he’s dangerous.”
Simon. Had to be. Daisy glanced at the computer clock. That idiot should be back on his island right about now. On the way to Sky Harbor Airport, Bridgette had reminded Simon of the disease spells she would inflict on him if he didn’t go straight home and stay there. That was two days ago. Surely, he would obey their orders and stay put for a while. He’d be stupid not to. She told Maria about the siren.
“This isn’t a siren, Daisy. He’s much more dangerous than that.”
Not again. She fidgeted with the turquoise ring on her right hand as her heart picked up its pace. Several days after her terrifying confrontation with the evil skinwalker—she prayed to every god and goddess that she never had to face such an evil again—she’d gone back to the museum and bought three turquoise rings from Paul Manny. Protection. One for herself, one for Noah, and one for Bridgette. Each blessed by a tribal elder. She’d even paid extra for them, hoping to ease some of Paul’s irritation over his lost Kachina doll, which now guarded the Superstition Mountains.
Disturbing images she’d been trying to forget flooded her mind. After her blood spell had ripped the ancient skinwalker from Wil’s body, the Kachina coalesced with the mountain itself. It waited just long enough for her, Noah and Bridgette to escape before destroying the old mine. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t remember the location of the mine afterwards. The Kachina no doubt had worked a bit of magickal amnesia in that regard, and the police believed the cave-in was just an unfortunate accident. A few days later, the local section of the paper had read: Mine Collapse Takes Life of Outstanding Elderly Citizen.
