Dream Under the Hill (Oberon Book 8)

by P. G. Forte

  Gregg sat up slowly, sighing in annoyance. Lauren was quickly becoming a pain in the ass. If Liam thought he was going to involve himself with her problems, too, then... oh, hell, maybe he should just let him. They were both pains in the ass, come to think of it. Liam had developed this nasty, unpredictable heroic streak – as unexpected as it was unwelcome. And Lauren was taking too damn long to go through withdrawal – far longer than it had taken Cara to deal with the same process last Fall.

  He felt a faint, unaccustomed stirring at the thought. A sense of pride, almost. He glanced at Cara, still splayed face down on the bed, cradling her arm. “Sit up. Tell me the rest.”

  Cara gazed at him warily, but she did as she was told, reluctantly pushing herself into a seated position, and then scooting right away to the very edge of the bed. He had raise both eyebrows and glance pointedly at the empty space beside him before she sidled closer; close enough for him to wrap an arm around her shoulders; close enough for her to rest her head against his chest.

  Gregg leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes in contentment. “Talk.”

  “Lauren was real sick,” Cara began, speaking softly.

  Gregg nodded. “I know.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation. “No, I mean really. Sick like, like, I thought she was gonna die.”

  He sighed. “She’s not gonna die.”

  Cara shook her head. “You don’t know, Gregg. She looked really bad. She could hardly stand up and, and she wasn’t making any kind of sense.”

  “She’s not going to die,” he repeated, then added, “So what did you do for her?”

  “Do?” Cara’s voice wavered. “Well,” She stopped to draw breath and then, “I, I mean we... Liam took her to the hospital.”

  “He did what?” Gregg’s eyes shot open. The hospital? He grabbed hold of Cara’s hair and yanked, pulling her head back so he could see her face. She knew she’d done wrong. She knew it! The knowledge was there in her eyes, plain to see. Along with fear and guilt and the clear awareness that he was going to make her pay for her crimes. And he would. Starting now.

  He hauled off and slapped her; one blow to the face that he knew she could feel since it left his hand stinging. Her head thudded against his chest. He tugged on her hair, forcing her to face him again, setting her up for the next blow, smacking her hands out of the way when she raised them to deflect him.

  “I should have let her die,” she wailed, cringing, trying to dodge his hand. “I should’ve. Then the police would have come out here and, and–”

  “Police? Do you think I give a fuck about that?” he asked, slipping in under her guard to land a punch to her mouth, just grazing her nose. Her head snapped back. The police could suck his dick. Lauren dead couldn’t hurt him. Lauren alive, in the hospital with drugs still polluting her system, that was a different story. The thought of his carefully crafted illusion being exposed as the lie it was, of his alibi going up in smoke, made him see red. As red as the blood that had begun to seep from the cut beneath Cara’s nose. Gregg stilled, mesmerized by the sight and the scent. He licked his lips.

  “They’d have taken me away,” Cara said between sobs. “They wouldn’t have let me stay here. They’d, they’d–”

  True. Gregg blinked in surprise. Is that what was worrying her? Is that why she’d done it? Because she didn’t want to leave him? He laughed delightedly as he cradled her against his chest and stroked her hair. She sobbed brokenly. “Shh, don’t cry,” he murmured. “You’re not going anywhere, pet. I’m going to keep you forever.”

  He blinked again. Forever? Where had that come from? What would forever with her be like? “I said stop crying,” he snapped as he patted her shoulder absently, considering the idea. It was oddly appealing.

  “When’s Liam supposed to get back?” he asked after a moment.

  A shudder ran through Cara’s frame. “I- I don’t know.”

  Gregg sighed. “Well, I hope it’s soon. I really need that psychic.”

  Once he had his psychic, once he had her here where she couldn’t get away, it didn’t matter if Lauren blabbed. This place was a fortress. With the gates locked, no one could get in or out, without his say so. He could hold the cops off for days. He could take his time milking every ounce of psychic energy he could from the bitch. And then, if worst came to worst, he’d escape. He’d sneak out through the tunnel, leave everyone behind, except maybe Cara, and blow the place up as he left.

  “B-b-but th-there are lots of, of other ps-s-sychics around, aren’t there?” Cara stammered. “What’s so sp-special about th-that one?”

  He looked at her, curious. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Cara’s eyes grew wide. She shook her head. “N-n-nothing, Gregg, r-really. I-I just thought... well, I know lots of people who can do weird shit like that. M-maybe you’d want one of them, instead?”

  “What kind of weird stuff?”

  “Like... walk through walls, and, and–”

  “You know someone who can walk though walls? Who?” He frowned in disbelief. “And did you see them do it? Or is that just what they told you?”

  “It was my friend Seth,” she replied as her tongue flicked out to staunch the trickle of blood where his ring had caught her lip. “He was with me that night in the playground. You know, last Halloween? When you, when we... met?”

  Gregg nodded, trying hard to remember if he’d noticed anything... unusual... about Cara’s friend. Other than the fact that he hadn’t stuck around too long. He obviously had better instincts than she did.

  “And, and it wasn’t a wall, exactly,” Cara continued timidly. “But there was this door, right? This heavy, locked door and, and I saw it, Gregg. He made it disappear. He went right through it like it wasn’t there.”

  Gregg’s eyebrows rose. “And you saw this happen?”

  Cara swallowed hard and nodded; brown eyes widening even more, begging him to believe her.

  Power like she’d just described didn’t come along every day, Gregg knew that for a fact, and he knew he’d put up with a lot to get his hands on someone who had it. He thought for a bit, considering his options. This Seth was a pretty big kid, as he recalled. And if he didn’t want to play– How the hell did you hold onto someone who could walk through walls? Well, drugs ought to do it. Or some kind of psychological hold, like a threat to a loved one. He eyed Cara once again, thoughtfully. Just what kind of friends were they?

  “How come you never mentioned this before?” he asked, at last, eyes narrowing.

  She shrugged. “I dunno. I didn’t think of it.”

  He gazed into her eyes for a long, long moment. If she was lying, if she was setting him up and feeding him bullshit, he’d have to hit her again. She had to know that, right? If she was lying... no, lying was too big for a simple beating. He’d have to really hurt her.

  But if she was telling the truth...

  “All right, Schaherazade,” he said as he released his hold on her and pushed her toward the door. “You’ve earned yourself another chance. Now go and get your boyfriend in here.”

  She scrambled off the bed, and then turned, frowning. “Boyfriend? What are you talking about?”

  Gregg smiled. “You know, Seth? Mr. Houdini? The kid we were just talking about? I want to see for myself what he can do.”

  An odd, vexed look crossed Cara’s face. “He’s not my boyfriend, Gregg. I told you that last year.”

  “And who is your boyfriend?” he asked, smiling wider.

  Cara’s mouth tightened. She swallowed again. For a moment, it appeared she was going to start crying all over again. “You are,” she mumbled. “Aren’t you?”

  Gregg nodded. “That’s right. I am. Now get going.” He watched contentedly as she hurried from the room.

  “That’s right,” he repeated softly as the door closed behind her. “And don’t you forget it.”

  * * *

  The bakery was bustling Wednesday morning. At ten minutes ‘til opening time,
Chenoa hurried back to the kitchen for a final tray. She paused in the doorway to run a practiced eye around the kitchen, pleased with the smooth efficiency of her staff. Suddenly, her eyes widened as she caught sight of a familiar, tall, bronzed figure pulling a tray of fresh rolls from one of the ovens. “Chay? What are you doing here?”

  Her brother slid the tray smoothly onto the waiting rack, turned to her and smiled. “Hey there, sis. A little bird told me you could use some extra help around here this week. And seeing as I had some time off, I figured I’d volunteer.”

  Chenoa all but gaped. “A little bird? Who?” Could it have been Liam? He must have been really worried if he went to Chay about her. She was touched by his concern, but just the same, she couldn’t help wincing as she imagined how that conversation might have gone.

  “Ruth,” Chay answered.

  “Oh.” Chenoa blinked and nodded, readjusting her thoughts. Well, that was better. Or, was it? She’d kind of liked the idea that Liam would care enough about her that he’d seek Chay out on her behalf. Even if it would have been embarrassing to all three of them. But, Ruth... well, to tell the truth, she felt a little let down about that.

  Ruth was old enough to be her mother, and she and Chay been raised to respect their elders. So, of course Chay would do as Ruth asked.

  “Well, thanks, bro,” she said, grabbing the tray her brother had been handling, and preparing to beat a speedy retreat – back to the storefront, where, hopefully, she wouldn’t be subjected to any embarrassing questions. “I appreciate it.”

  She should have known it would not be that easy.

  “Not so fast,” Chay said, falling into step behind her. “Ruth says you’re not doing any healings. She said you’ve been turning people away, refusing to help. What’s got into you, anyway?”

  What got into her? Great choice of words – not! Chenoa felt her cheeks start to burn as she thought about that. “Forget it, Chay,” she muttered as she pushed through the doors that led to the bakery. “I don’t want to talk about it. Especially not with you.”

  “What?” Her brother stared at her, obviously shocked. “Well, why the hell not?”

  She just shook her head. Not answering. Hoping against hope that she could just wear him down, like she thought she had with Ruth. And look how well that worked out!

  He frowned at her suspiciously for a moment, then his eyes widened. “Oh.” He tossed the pot holder he was still carrying down on the counter and shook his head. He looked disgusted, disappointed, resigned. “Well, fuck.”

  “How very succinct,” Chenoa murmured, raising her eyes toward heaven and wondering how much longer she’d have to endure this particular trial.

  There was silence for a moment, as Chay helped himself to a cup of coffee. Chenoa busied herself with last minute details.

  “So, who was it?” Chay asked, leaning back against the counter and sipping his drink. “No, wait. I can guess. It was him, wasn’t it? That cop? Liam? Shit, I told you to stay away from him, didn’t I? I knew he was trouble. Knew it the minute I laid eyes on him.”

  Chenoa sighed. “He’s not a cop anymore, but, yes. Yes, it was Liam. And, yes, you told me to stay away from him – not that it was any of your business.”

  “Oh, he’s a cop, all right.” Chay snorted. “Guys like him? They’ll always be cops, badge or no badge. It’s in their blood. It’s in their souls. They have no choice. And, neither do you, come to think of it.”

  Chenoa felt her eyebrows rise. “No choice about what?”

  “You’re Medicine, Chen. You’re big Medicine. You know that as well as I do.”

  “Oh, please. I don’t know shit, Chay,” Chenoa replied angrily. “That’s the one thing I got out of this whole mess. The one lesson I learned. Discernment? That’s a joke. I don’t know anything about anything.”

  Chay looked at her pityingly. “Come on, Chen, why so surprised? You’re not stupid. You know it’s the Pipe that’s making you feel that way. You knew there’d be tests.”

  It really didn’t help to be reminded of her prior arrogance, Chenoa thought, feeling gloomier than ever. “Yeah. I knew. I just didn’t think they’d be like this, and I didn’t think I’d fail ‘em.”

  As lousy as she was feeling, it would have been nice if her brother offered her some comfort. A little sympathy. A hug, perhaps. Instead, he waved his free hand in a dismissive gesture. “Ah, that’s just ego talking. You didn’t fail anything yet.”

  Chenoa crossed her arms defensively. “What would you know about that?” Ego? What could Chay, who’d always had women lining up to bed him, possibly know how it felt to be her right now? She was sure her brother had never suffered this kind of wound to his ego in his whole, damn life.

  “I know that you only fail if you refuse to learn from your mistakes. If you don’t recognize the lessons for what they are. And if you let it stop you from doing what you know you’re supposed to do.”

  “What I’m supposed to do?” Chenoa repeated, mockingly. “Maybe I’m not supposed to do anything, Chay, other than run this bakery.”

  Chay blew out an angry breath. “Cut it out, Chen. This whole conversation is beneath you. Suck it up. You made a mistake. Deal with it.”

  She stared at him, surprised by his harshness. Their eyes met, and she saw all the sympathy and understanding she’d been longing to see. But, she also saw anger. She also saw stern determination. Chay had warned her what could happen, but she hadn’t wanted to hear it. Now, he wasn’t going to let her get away with feeling sorry for herself. In fact, he wasn’t going to let her get away with much of anything at all.

  She dropped her gaze to the floor, feeling chastened. He was right, too, damn it, that was the worst part. This was a fine time for Chay to start acting like the sensible one.

  “Look, I don’t know exactly what went on with this guy. Whatever it was, I can see that he hurt you,” Chay said softly. “But you have to pull yourself together. You knew what you were getting yourself into when you signed up for this gig. You knew it would be hard at times, but you also knew you could handle it.”

  Chenoa sighed. “Yeah, but what if I was wrong, Chay? What if–”

  “You weren’t wrong. You just can’t let your personal feelings get in the way of your work, that’s all.”

  She nodded. “You’re right, I suppose.”

  “Good. Now, tell me you’ll start doing healings again, and I’ll ease up on you.”

  Healings? Chenoa hesitated, just the thought of putting her hands on someone again, of opening herself to another’s energy, made her feel slightly nauseated.

  Chay appeared not to notice. “Tell me we’re still on for this weekend, and I’ll get off your case entirely. At least for now.”

  Chenoa frowned at her brother, puzzled. “This weekend?”

  He arched a brow. “The vortex? Remember?”

  Oh, fuck. Chenoa felt her jaw drop. Private healings were hard enough to contemplate, at this point. Something like this– “Chay, I- I don’t know if I can do that.”

  He shook his head. “Sure you can. That’s just nerves. You’ll get over it. You have to.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she hedged.

  “Oh, you’ll do more than think about it,” Chay told her. He smiled suddenly. “But, hey, that’s good enough for now. In the meantime, what do you want me to do? D’you want me to go find the bastard and beat him up? Would that make you feel better?”

  “Do I what?” Chenoa stared at her brother, amazed by the question. “No, of course not.”

  Chay shrugged. “Okay. But, if you change your mind, just let me know.”

  Chenoa opened her mouth, ready to argue that she wasn’t going to change her mind, that the very concept of her brother fighting to defend her honor was antiquated and barbaric and completely unwarranted. Especially in this case. But their conversation was cut short by the jangling of bells over the bakery door that signaled the arrival of customers.

  She shook her head. “Look, Chay, if you
want to be helpful, why don’t you go back in the kitchen now, and let me get back to work.”

  “You got it,” Chay said, straightening away from the counter. He re-filled his coffee and headed toward the door. As he pulled the door open, he flashed her one last smile, one parting shot. “Helping you get back to work is exactly what I intend to do. Whether you like it, or not.”

  * * *

  The sky above was blue and cloudless as Seth drove through the winding roads that led out to TLV. The damn place was clear across town, not that far really, if you were a bird, but by car it seemed to take forever to get there. And it wasn’t like he didn’t other places he’d rather be, or other stuff he should be doing today, either. But Cara had made it sound urgent when she called and asked him if he could drop by, and when she hinted that the guy who ran the place was a spiritual healer, Seth knew he really had no choice.

  For the chance of getting some help for his cousin, Seth would try pretty much anything—he’d even drive out to the cuts to meet with some sketchy-ass minister. And, hell, he hadn’t even been on good terms with his cousin lately.

  Nick had always been almost as good as his father for getting on his ass and making him feel like shit, but still, the thought of him dying was... unacceptable. Seth felt wretched thinking about the way his cousin Kate had been crying herself to sleep every night this week. And Cole, he was too young to know what was going on; so young that, if Nick died now, what kind of memories would Cole have of his father? Jack shit, that was Seth’s guess.

  All the same, Seth really wished he were headed someplace else. The day was clear, the air was warm, he had the truck’s windows rolled down and the scent of cherry blossoms was making him hungry. But he knew the road he was traveling right now was the same route Nick must have taken the night he got hurt, and that was just too damn freaky. Where the hell had the guy been going, anyway? There wasn’t much out here, after all. Except some houses and parkland. And TLV – which was not at all the kind of thing Nick would be interested in.