Dream Under the Hill (Oberon Book 8)

by P. G. Forte

  Cara looked up in surprise. “Me? Why shouldn’t I be? I’m not claustrophobic,” Then, abruptly, her expression altered. She looked startled for an instant. Something flickered in her eyes for a moment; something anguished. She shrugged. “Well, maybe I am, a little. But, only sometimes.”

  “You must have a home or a family, don’t you? Some place else you should be?”

  “You’d think,” she answered absently, still doodling.

  “So, why aren’t you there?”

  She glanced up at him, eyes flashing. “Because. There isn’t any there. Okay?” Then she shrugged. “Besides, why should I leave? I like it here.”

  “Oh, come on,” Liam murmured in disbelief. “How could you like it here with all these old people? There’s no one here even close to your age for you to talk to.”

  “Well, now there’s you,” she blurted, and then turned red. “I mean, you know, you’re not that old.”

  “Thanks,” Liam said, trying hard not to laugh at the look of embarrassment on her face.

  “Anyway, I don’t care about that. I get to do what I want here. And no one bugs me.” She rolled her eyes. “Except like now, when I’m trying to study.”

  Liam knew a hint when he heard one, but what else did he have to do tonight, except talk to her? Climb the walls? Wear a trench in the floor? Grind his teeth down to nubs? No, thanks. Bugging Cara was far more appealing. For that matter, everything about her was appealing. Other than her relationship with Gregg, which was just plain wrong.

  “So, what is it you’re studying?” he asked, coming around behind the table to lean over her shoulder. Close enough that he could smell the sweet vanilla-musk fragrance wafting from her creamy skin. Close enough that his breath could almost fan the fine whorls of hair at the nape of her neck. Close enough to whisper in her ear, to touch her face…. Too close, you idiot. But, still, he didn’t move away.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed out an impatient sigh. “Schoolwork. What else?”

  School? Liam wrenched his gaze from her face. He glanced at the books, and then at her again; brows furrowing. “You’re kidding right? This is like high school stuff.”

  She glanced up at him. “No shit? Hunh. I wonder why.”

  Ah, crap. He took a hasty step back. “You’re in high school? How the fuck old are you, anyway?”

  Cara’s eyebrows rose. “Seventeen. I’ll be eighteen in June. Why? You takin’ a poll or something?”

  Seventeen. The same as Amy. They were kids—the two of them. Just kids. Liam tried to picture his sister, with her dark gray eyes and the dusting of freckles on her nose... after all this time, she’d be grown up, too, wouldn’t she? What would she look like now? He contemplated the thought of Amy, perched on some pervert’s lap, like Cara had been the other night, for as long as he could stomach it: less than half a minute. Goddamned pedophiles.

  “Why do you stay with him?” he whispered, his throat too tight for normal speech. “Why do you let him do that to you?”

  A wary look crept into Cara’s eyes. “Do... what?”

  “He’s using you. Can’t you see that? He’s using you, he’s using Lauren, he’s... ” he’s using me. Liam paused. He had to struggle to retain his composure. Self loathing writhed inside him like a clutch of nestling snakes; as it had every night this week and for most of his childhood.

  Cara shrugged. “Well, what’s the big deal? Everybody uses everybody, don’t they? That’s just the way life is. Get over it.”

  “Oh, get over yourself.” Liam glared at her, enraged by her air of nonchalance. It was a put-on, it had to be. No one could be touched by evil and not feel pain. It was like thrusting your hand into a fire; whether or not you chose to admit it, you were still gonna burn. “Yeah, that’s one hell of an act you’ve got going on,” he snapped. “But I’m not buying it. You’re too young to be that jaded.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, you’re too... you’re too old to be so immature.”

  “I’m immature? You’re a kid!”

  “Well, then you’re naïve. Or, something. Besides, I am not a kid. So there.”

  So there? “Yeah, you’re real grown up” he jeered. He wasn’t naïve, damn it He hadn’t been naïve in far too long; something he usually managed to avoid thinking about. He felt himself scowling at her again. “You’re just a regular ray of sunshine, aren’t you?”

  She opened her mouth to say... something, and then abruptly shut it again, at the sound of a throat being cleared.

  They both looked toward the door. Four men stood clustered in the doorway, unspeaking, unmoving, watching them with closed expressions and vacant eyes. Like fucking zombies, Liam thought, already irritated beyond bearing; and how pathetic is that? Bunch of losers. And, yet…he could feel his senses tingling. The losers were up to something. He could scent trouble in the making. Maybe it was the look in their eyes, a subtle decrease in blankness when they gazed at Cara, a trace of heat. Was it just imagination, Liam wondered, or was he not the only one Gregg had gifted with a little fantasy fuck involving the girl?

  His eyes narrowed as he folded his arms across his chest and shifted subtly closer to her chair. He was twenty-three, and that was bad enough, considering. These other guys were old.

  “Whazzup, guys?” Cara asked, sounding faintly uneasy.

  One of the men – obviously the leader, Liam surmised – took a step forward. “Cara-ma, we need you to unlock the gate. We have a mission off-grounds tonight.”

  Cara’s voice betrayed her surprise. “You do? But, where’s Gregg? Isn’t he going with you?”

  “No. He is…occupied,” Steve replied, his eyes hooded as he gazed at her, and this time Liam was sure what he was seeing there. Greed. Anticipation. Desire.

  Liam scowled harder at the man. Think again, ass-wipe.

  Cara sighed. “Okay,” she said quietly. Her chair scraped against the floor as she got to her feet.

  Liam was standing so close she had to push him aside to move past him. At the touch of her hand on his arm, he felt his chest tighten again. Kid, or not…God, he wanted her. But he wasn’t going to have her. And neither are any of these other assholes. His eyebrows rose as she pulled a chain from around her neck, revealing two small, brass keys. Steve’s earlier words finally found their way into his brain. “You have keys to the gate?”

  Cara froze for a moment, glancing at him suspiciously; as though she distrusted his sudden interest. Smart girl. “Yeah. Sure,” she replied, a little too offhandedly. “It’s part of my job.”

  Liam felt his anger spike again. Her job? What the fuck was that? A combination housemaid, whore and lapdog? Nice career path, she had going. Someone needed to put her over his knee and… Never mind that, now, he instructed himself. He had other things to think about.

  He stayed close behind her as she headed for the locked control panel that he’d scoped out on his first day here; blocking the zombie guard from coming too close, studying every move she made. “So…where are they going?” he asked quietly, casually moving around until he was directly in front of her.

  He was standing between her and the panel now, forcing her to deal with him. Her eyes widened. “How should I know? Out somewhere. Why? It’s none of my business.”

  Maybe not, but it was his. “I want to go with them,” he told her, lowering his voice as he added, “Please. I just need to get out of here. Just for a little while. You can fix that for me, right?”

  Her face softened in compassion, and he knew a moment’s qualm at his deception. But, on the other hand, he could hardly tell her the truth. And what she didn’t know was less likely to hurt her, wasn’t it?

  She blew out a deep breath and shook her head. “Okay, you know, that’s a really bad idea. I mean, if Gregg finds out–”

  “Why would he? Are you gonna tell him?” He nodded his head at the zombie troop. “Are they?”

  She looked at him, searchingly. “Look, if I do let you go…shit…you’re not gonna do anything st
upid, right?”

  Well, that would depend, wouldn’t it? “Define stupid?”

  “I dunno, like, getting lost, maybe? Or, deciding not to come back, messing things up somehow, or, you know…stupid.”

  He shook his head. “Nothing stupid. I promise.”

  She hesitated for a moment longer while Liam held his breath; and then she shrugged. “Hey, Steve,” she called, addressing the leader. “This is Liam. He’s gonna ride with you guys, ‘kay?”

  Steve turned to gaze owlishly at them both. “But…that wasn’t a part of the plan?”

  Cara shrugged once again. “Yeah, well, plans can change, can’t they? Besides, he’s new. He needs to... I dunno... learn stuff. You guys are down with that, right?”

  The four men glanced at one other, each shrugging in a determinedly non-committal fashion; each clearly unwilling to take responsibility for any deviation from Gregg’s order. Wuss zombies. Even more pathetic. Finally, Steve inclined his head. “That’s for you to decide, Cara-ma.”

  Cara grimaced. “Okay, then, I’ve decided. All right? Just don’t lose him.”

  She turned back toward the control panel, and Liam finally stepped aside; moving out of her way, but still eyeing her every more. “So, what’s with the Cara-ma stuff, anyway? Aren’t you taking this house mother thing a little far? You know these guys are old enough to be your father, don’t you?”

  Her cheeks red, she fumbled with the key. “It’s not like that, okay? It just means I’m in charge of stuff, that’s all.”

  “Hmph.” Liam replied, biting back the retort he wanted to make. In charge? Now who was the one being naïve? Not his problem. Believe what you like, cupcake, if that’s what makes you happy; if that’ll keep you bending rules to help me. Believe whatever damn thing you please.

  * * *

  Seth sat alone in the dark, his room illuminated only by the light of his computer screen, from which a scaled-to-fit photo of Deirdre’s face stared back at him. It all seemed so surreal. Once, he had stood in this very room with her. Now, he could barely recall the sound of her voice. Still, thoughts of her continued to haunt him.

  He scrolled through the list of entries on her blog, reading about her most recent triumphs and traumas. The tattoo she’d gotten in celebration of her eighteenth birthday. The essay contest she’d finaled in. Her new car. Her new kitten. Her trip to the dentist. Her plans for Spring Break.

  Nothing was more than a month or two old. If only she weren’t so damn efficient at keeping the page up-to-date. He would have liked to know more of what she’d been up to in the last couple of years.

  Once again he reached the last entry. Once again he read about the posthumous video she’d received from her birth mother.

  I was happy to get it, but it made me sad, too And, even now, I can’t stop crying. It was so weird to see her again, and to hear her voice, like she was right in the room with me, but not.

  It’s been so long since she died. Almost three years now. So, why, when I look at the tape, does it feel like no time at all has passed? Maybe because it hasn’t for her?

  I think time stops when you’re dead. That, maybe, you stay the same, while everyone else grows older.

  I’m still mad at her for dying. Is that wrong? It feels like it is, because it wasn’t her fault; she didn’t mean to die. But, that doesn’t change how I feel...

  I’m mad at her for lying to me, too. For not telling me the truth about my father, for making up all those stories about who he was. But, I guess I can understand it, too. Because, she didn’t really know who he was, and I was still a kid when she died. If she had told me the truth back then, I wouldn’t have understood it. So, she did what adults have always done, she told me a fairy tale. Not very different from Santa Claus, or The Tooth Fairy.

  So, I guess I feel relieved that she’s finally admitted it. And, even though it’s weird, because now I have a list of names, instead of just one. And, I still don’t know how to contact any of them, who I should start with, or what I should say. At the same time, I feel hopeful. For the first time in two years I maybe have a chance to find my real birth father.

  Once, I would have just said my real father, but now I know that there’s more to being a parent than simply passing on your genes... .

  Seth closed the weblog before he’d come to the end of the entry, and went back to staring at her photo. He didn’t want to read any more about her dead mother. He especially didn’t want to read about her search for her unknown father. Unless it brought her back here – but, would it?

  That’s what had brought her here in the first place. Her determination to find this man she’d never met, and her mistaken assumption that she knew who he was. Seth couldn’t imagine what would make her believe her mother was telling the truth now. Why? Just because the woman was dead? Well, she hadn’t been when she made the video, so what did that prove?

  It proved nothing.

  And if Deirdre did come back to Oberon, if he saw her again, talked to her again, what proof did he have that she wouldn’t stomp all over his heart, like she had the first time?

  None.

  She could say whatever she liked about how real parents were the ones who raised you, or about how much genes didn’t count; but he knew different. She was just like her mother. She’d lied, too, hadn’t she? And made up stories? She’d made him believe things that weren’t true – like that she cared about him. And that she wanted to be with him.

  Just thinking about that tied his insides into knots again, because, oh, yeah, she’d wanted to be with him, all right. But only until the next guy came along. He guessed that was another way she was like her mother, wasn’t it?

  Seth sighed in an effort to dislodge the rock that seemed to have gotten lodged in his chest, and so heavily that the dog at his feet looked up at him questioningly. He turned off the computer, fumbled his way through the darkness to collapse in his bed, and then lay staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

  Maybe he was a fool for still wanting to see her again, for hoping things could be different next time. For even thinking that there might be a next time. But, he couldn’t help it.

  There was a reason that, when people fell in love, they got married and joined each other’s families. Because, maybe you could choose your friends, but you really couldn’t choose your family. Just like you couldn’t choose who to love, or when to stop.

  * * *

  The zombie patrol wasn’t big on conversation. Liam figured that out pretty quick. It took him a little longer to figure out why that might be the case. When he did, he wanted to kick himself.

  The four men were all empaths. And since he hadn’t done a damn thing to try and hide or disguise his emotions from them, they were all justifiably suspicious and mistrustful of him.

  The night was foggy and cool. Visibility was nil. And Liam, riding bitch in the backseat, sandwiched between two of the largest and most imposing of the posse, had no way of knowing where they were headed until after they’d arrived at their destination.

  Even then, he wasn’t altogether certain.

  They were in one of the many parks that threaded through the area. The winding road on which they’d traveled, and the absence of street lights along the way, told him that. And, from the scents flowing in through the open windows – pine and ceonothus, rather than sage and chemise – he could guess that they were closer to the Totawka foothills than they were to the coast.

  Dampness wrapped around him like a shroud as he exited the vehicle. There was a serenade of tree frogs in the surrounding woods, a quiet gurgle of water, and a sponginess beneath his feet; all attesting to the presence of a creek somewhere close at hand.

  But that was all he could determine of their location.

  Moisture dripped from the overhanging branches, falling to the ground like doleful tears as Liam peered through the darkness, searching for landmarks. He could make out very little through the fog. Although there was no breeze to speak of, something stirred the hairs
at the back of his neck as he followed the others away from the trees, toward a clearing; toward a hollow he could somehow sense, lying just beyond the nearest rise.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered below his breath. Liam had heard plenty of talk about the Oberon vortices, the energy centers rumored to exist in the area, but he hadn’t been sure that he believed in them. And, he’d never expected to experience one firsthand. And, yet, here he was.

  He stopped, frozen in his tracks, unwilling – perhaps unable – to cross into the center of the hollow; or to move even one step closer to the invisible heart of the whirlpool. He was only vaguely aware of the other men, as they fanned out on either side of him, traveling around the circumference of the clearing, until they were, all five of them, evenly spaced around the circle.

  He felt the others open themselves to the energy within the clearing; feeding it, strengthening it. A shudder of breath escaped him as his solar plexus begin to pulse. A deep, tugging sensation pulled at his chakras, as the vortex in front of him started to spin, faster and faster. A curious brightness began to develop at its center, radiating outward.

  He was aware of a persistent humming, which seemed to arise from within the glade, or maybe from within his own head. Liam couldn’t tell, and didn’t care, because, along with the sound came flickering images, random thoughts and emotions, and the growing certainty that something within the glade was very wrong.

  There was an imbalance in the energy of the vortex, a disharmony. Something had occurred here, something huge. And although he couldn’t say exactly when, or what that something was, he knew that the normal flow of power in the area had been disrupted.

  The energy began to pull harder, and, suddenly, Liam rebelled. He took a single step backward, breaking his connection to the vortex. A ripple ran around the circle. The four men of the posse turned to look at him. Their eyes pierced through the darkness. Frowns formed on their brows. Liam knew he couldn’t see their expressions – not really, not with the dark, and the fog – and, yet... and yet, he could.