Dream Magic

by Michelle Mankin

  And why it had to be by my hand.

  The moon in the starry night sky reminded me of her eyes. My toes curling deeper around the cold concrete of the ledge, I surveyed the narrow quiet side street below. Barely mindful of the bicycles leaning against white washed buildings, or the window of the upstairs apartment across the way open to receive the crisp air, I wandered lost in my thoughts. I had for hours, ever since I checked into the top floor of the rental. Gaze ever watchful, I stared out at the sea of slate rooftops spread out before me and tried to make sense of what had happened earlier with Cecilia.

  Just one glimpse, one meeting, and my world had been completely overturned. I couldn’t get her out of my head. I was here to find Thyme, yet possibilities for the future rattled around inside of me threatening to divert me from that critical task.

  I was a soldier of fortune. She was a seer and a slave.

  The outlaw and the oracle.

  Impossible.

  Yet the magic had chosen us for each other.

  Had chosen for me a woman like no other.

  Those expressive moonlit eyes. Her husky melodic voice. Her unique hair reminded me of the dreamscape sky and had felt soft as stardust in my hands. My fingers flexed feeling bereft without her smooth creamy skin to trace. My arms felt cold without her warmth. My soul felt more restless than it had ever been before knowing that she was so near and yet so far. That she had sent me away. Had Thyme been so opposed to Billy in the beginning? I couldn’t fathom it.

  Yet, I had managed to walk away from her. Past a slumbering guard, I had ducked into an empty room, opened a set of balcony doors and flown from the castle reaching the lift just in time to catch the last elevator to the ground. But it had taken every ounce of my will to do so. The magic and my falcon instinct screamed in protest the entire time. They assailed me still. Go. Make your way back through the mist. Take what is yours. Fly away with her.

  But it wasn’t that simple.

  My primary mission remained to find Thyme. Once I did, I would need to deal with Phoebus. A Progeny. Favored of Zeus. On the Council. Untouchable. Not to mention his legions of guards.

  Cecilia had said my presence endangered her.

  She was probably right.

  A bevy of crossbow wielding elves each with multiple facial slashes marking the number of their kills had surrounded me as soon as I had exited the lift. They had let me know in no uncertain terms that their monarch had noticed my defiance in his court, that my future day passes had been voided. I wiggled my broken jaw, a souvenir of their persuasion, but mending quickly because of my immortal nature. Other avenues to regain reentry to the Sun City, to get back to Cecilia, to find the answers we sought regarding Thyme would have to be explored.

  “Morpheus.”

  “Billy.” I jumped down from the ledge and met him halfway. He had arrived sooner than I had expected. We clasped our hands together. I was glad to see him, but I felt guilty thinking about Cecilia when his hand was ice cold and he was in such bad shape. Pale, pupils dilated, features strained, he had lost considerable weight in the short amount of time we had been separated. While I noted those disturbing changes, he wobbled on feet that had been so stable just days before.

  “Arla.” Dragging my gaze from Billy, I acknowledged the god of wine with a quick glance. He crossed the main living room of the loft apartment stepped through the French doors and joined us outside on the balcony. Standing beside Billy he looked worlds healthier, yet fatigued also, his brow heavily creased. I didn’t think it had smoothed once since his daughter had disappeared. He leaned across the space that separated us and grasped my shoulder in greeting.

  “Did you meet her today?” Billy studied me expectantly. “The oracle?”

  I nodded.

  “What did you learn?” He frowned as he studied me, noting the bruise on my jaw.

  “Nothing as of yet.” I shook my head somberly. “Let us go inside. I will recount everything. But you look as though you need to sit down.” He was too unsteady to be standing near the edge of a three story building with no railing, and we didn’t need to be discussing anything outside where we could easily be overheard.

  I stepped through the doors first, gauzy curtains fluttering as I passed. The living room of the three-bedroom rental was tiny but charming in a way common to much of Paris. I gestured for Billy and Arla to take a seat on the modern beige coach while I sank into the too-small-for-my-frame-chrome accented upholstered chair opposite them.

  Thyme would have loved the quaint apartment and everything else about Paris. The architecture, the inviting sidewalk cafes and shops, the rich food, and the river that was similar to the one from her New Orleans’ home.

  But thinking about her and seeing Billy in his condition reminded me how desperate our situation was…as if I could forget. The god of wine noted my worry and gave Billy a reassuring pat on his jeaned knee. Billy didn’t really seem to notice. He was distracted, his eyes darting around the room looking for his center, like a compass that had lost its true north and was spinning out of control. Now that I had met Cecilia I had an even greater understanding of what he must be going through.

  Settling my wings behind me, I leaned forward my elbows on my knees. “The good tidings first.” Eyes brightening a bit, Billy focused on my face. “I met Cecilia.” My tongue caressed every syllable of my Fated’s name. “She has an amazing gift of foresight. I am certain she will be able to help us find Thyme.”

  “Why hasn’t she already?” Billy asked. “Because she wants us to go through the official channels?”

  “No, because she was forced to prophesize today. Against her will. Apparently she must have a period of recovery.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know, Billy. Not long I hope.” I was convinced that removing Cecilia from that place, from Phoebus’ influence, would hasten the process. The logistics would have to be worked out, but now I had an overarching goal, a conclusion I had reached while perched out on the ledge. Thyme and Cecilia. Find one while liberating the other…once I convinced my Fated to accept me. “The oracle is a slave to Phoebus. Her hands and ankles were bound when she was brought into the court. Every Dark Immortal in his city wears an obsidian collar fashioned with his emblem.”

  “An atrocity.” Arla shook his head. “I had heard rumors but nothing concrete. I will investigate for myself and report back to the Council. How many does he have under his control?”

  “I wasn’t able to ascertain that. I ran into some…unexpected trouble. Perhaps as many as two million if the City of Lights is as large as it seems and as densely populated as the mortal city of Paris below it.”

  Billy’s eyes widened with shock. Arla whistled low under his breath.

  “But I am not so certain. I think maybe that is what Phoebus desires the few who are allowed to visit to believe. Beyond his palace the population diminishes rapidly. The streets become deserted and I perceived a strange barrier that feels like some type of force field.”

  “Probably the limits of what he can project and maintain. Phoebus is old and powerful but I doan think even he is capable of hiding a forty square mile city and two million Sun Elves and Dark Immortals from the rest of his rivals in our world.”

  I nodded. That was the same conclusion I had reached. “I get the impression that he has as many slaves as he has Sun Elves for them to serve. Most of the elves appear to be civilians but a disturbing number of them are armed. The bigger difficulty beyond pinpointing their number will be determining who will aid us and who will oppose us if things get messy.” I leaned back, steepled my fingers and tapped them together under my chin as I sifted through our options. “I need to get back inside, Arla. But my passes were revoked. Do you have some strings you can pull?

  “Weh. Probably. But what happened?”

  “I irritated Phoebus during the court proceedings. Apparently his ego is too fragile to withstand even one Dark Immortal failing to bow and scrape before him.”

  Arla r
aised a brow but didn’t seem surprised by my explanation.

  “I think it will be better if you stay here,” I told Billy. “You’re in no shape to accompany me.”

  Billy didn’t protest at first. He seemed to be weighing the pros and cons of my suggestion. After a moment, he focused his bleary red-rimmed eyes on me. “No, Morpheus. I will go crazy if I sit here and do nothing. I promise I won’t compromise our efforts. I appreciate your concern. Your dedication to her. But Thyme is mine. If the oracle can tell me where she is, then I want to be right there close by when she does. I don’t want there to be any delay, not even one single moment, before we set out to retrieve her.”

  “Very well.” I nodded with admiration of his resolve tightening my chest. “But be forewarned. We proceed at great peril. Phoebus rules by intimidation.” He wasn’t all that different from Apollyon. “His subjects and his slaves alike fear him.” Except for Cecilia apparently. “He metes out punishments for the slightest show of offenses. He executes indiscriminately. He is the sole judge. There is no jury or appeal. It would be folly to expect any quarter from him.”

  When midnight struck I was still awake on my bed, regulating my breathing, inhaling and exhaling deeply as I prepared to enter the dreamscape.

  First to search for clues to Thyme’s present location.

  Secondly, and no less importantly, to try to reach out to Cecilia.

  I leapt the gap to the other plane between one blink of my eyes and the next. The dreamscape was lunar, grey, barren and dusty, pocked with craters and littered with scattered rock formations here and there. Only the dreams supplied color and texture. The sparkling sky cast its illumination over them as they drifted like clouds over the surface of the dreamscape. Wings outstretched to catch and sift through them, the colorful moving images were as drawn to me as the shades were to Billy when he played his harmonica.

  He had his legacy from our father the god of night, and I had mine.

  I sorted through them quickly using my wings to sweep aside the ones I didn’t want. The first time I had entered the dreamscape the myriad of hopes, imaginings and nightmares had overwhelmed me. But time and experience had transformed that fear to joy. The soft touches of the dreams were as familiar to me as my own feathers, their colors reflecting their tone: pink for a young crush, red for hot passion, black for nightmares. I tried to avoid the darkest ones unless I was influencing them for my own purposes.

  After searching for a couple of hours, I located those of Apollyon’s spell caster. Amid flashes of lightning within the black storm cloud of her dreams, her sleeping form was visible, but she had erected some kind of invisible barrier like the force field in Apollyon’s realm that I couldn’t penetrate. If she dreamed clues about Thyme’s whereabouts, they were invisible to me.

  I moved on flying through the dreamscape searching hour upon hour until the night was nearly spent, only to have my heart grow heavier and heavier with disappointment.

  Where was my sweet friend?

  By the time I finally admitted defeat my wings were as weary as my eyes. I would have to return to reality soon. I needed to sleep. But before I left, I had to see Cecilia. An image of her pretty face filled my mind. A moment later I found her sleeping form, a sexy hourglass shape on the other side of a pink tinged cloud.

  Stretching my wings wide, I honed my focus on her.

  She moaned in her sleep and her shapely legs moved restlessly beneath her covers.

  “Cecilia,” I called in my mind. “Let me in. Show me your dreams.”

  Her sleeping body remained but her ethereal form lifted from the bed. She opened her eyes and looked right at me. Shocked, I didn’t quite know what to do. No one had ever interacted with me on the dreamscape before.

  “Falcon,” she acknowledged, completely coherent. Usually I had to direct the scattered thoughts of dreamers. She frowned. “I tried to block you.” She glanced back at her sleeping form. “Why didn’t it work?”

  I suspected it had something to do with our magical connection but I remained silent. Soon I would tell her if she did not already realize it herself what we were to each other. But not tonight.

  “Why shield yourself?” I stalked closer to her. “I mean you no harm. I just want to talk with you for a while.”

  “Talk is dangerous.” Her eyes seemed to reflect the moon though there was none here, just a black canvas painted with the glittering lights of a million distant stars.

  “Why is that?” I asked. “Surely there are much worse things.” I thought of what Phoebus had done to her. She said he didn’t force her but how could that be true when she had seemed so relieved to be freed. It infuriated me that he hurt her. It sickened me that such a sadistic bastard could truly be my kin. But though we were related, I knew my mother’s twin would throw me into the eternal fire with no more thought than he would have given to condemning my father or my mother from his seat on the Council.

  “Words reveal secrets that can be used against you.” She lifted her chin. Her proud nose and the fierce strength shining from her gaze made her appear to be the one who was royalty, not Phoebus. I had a theory as to why Phoebus kept her bound. She challenged him when few probably could or would. He sought to break her spirit, but he was a fool. Strength like hers was to be celebrated and encouraged not chained and constrained.

  “I would not use your words against you. I only want a chance to get to know you better.”

  “I don’t believe you.” She looked away. “I can’t afford to. You don’t understand. I know who you are, Morpheus. And I know why you have come. You are the Dream Falcon. One of a kind. The fastest immortal on the planet. A mercenary for hire. Friend to the Piper who spit in Apollyon’s eye. I would have loved to see that,” she mumbled vehemently. “If it weren’t for him…” She trailed off as if the additional words beyond those seemed too difficult to say. When she glanced back at me, her eyes were even brighter than before. “You wish me to locate Thyme Bellerose for you, and I will, as soon as my strength returns. You have my word. All you need to do is send me an object that is important to her. But Phoebus cannot know that I do you this favor.” She spit the Sun God’s name out as if it were as foul to her as Apollyon’s. “He would have you pay too dear a price for the information. We’re near the cap for Zeus’ quota already for the year, and…” She closed her eyes and shook her head, glossy black and platinum hair I ached to touch again brushing her smooth cheeks. “It doesn’t matter. I will find a way to help you, but my head hurts and I grow weary. Leave me be. Stay out of my dreams. I will have someone contact you when I have the information you seek.” She was weary. Worse than weary, she sounded hollow. Where had the fiery passion gone that she had displayed earlier? What had extinguished it? Phoebus?

  I believed she would help us find Thyme. But I wouldn’t give her what she requested. I couldn’t leave her alone. Even if we weren’t Fated I would be drawn to her, would want to help her. I recognized in her a sense of isolation as familiar to me as my own. The system she had spoken of earlier. The one she said worked for her. It involved separating herself from others, keeping them at arm’s length, even the ones I had met today who seemed to genuinely care about her.

  Subject to the maniacal whims of one such Phoebus, it was dangerous for anyone to get too close to her. To aid her would only invite his rage. But that left her completely alone. A slave both to Phoebus and to her own self-imposed loneliness. Who could bear such burdens?

  I pulled the sides of the robe closer together over my chest. I pretended I couldn’t smell him on it. But I could. Not Phoebus. Not the dank suffocating stench of spent ashes.

  Morpheus.

  The Dream Falcon.

  His scent recalled orégano brujounder. The aromatic herb thrived in the wilder parts of the El Yunque rainforest. In another lifetime, I had run barefoot and free through fields of it under the stars of a tropical night sky.

  Swallowing hard, I blinked away the nostalgia and focused on the sun rising over the Sol Riv
er. The irony of the view was not lost on me. This was my reality. My life now. Phoebus my lord and master. The falcon was an anomaly, a blip on the radar. Fascinating as he was, arrogant yet vulnerable, wickedly strong yet unexpectedly tender, I had to put him out of my mind and out of my life as soon as possible.

  Gallant would be rescuers with gentle eyes and elegant wings deserved royal princesses like Fiori. Men like Morpheus weren’t for women like me, ones tainted by death, abuse and a consuming hunger for vengeance.

  “Good morning, Cecilia,” my gargoyle protector greeted in his familiar gravelly voice.

  “Buenos días, Stone.” I turned slowly. I hadn’t heard him enter my room. Over the years he had practiced and learned to move even more quietly. We both had. Obsidian bolts nicking your flesh made you a quick pupil. He came further into the room and placed the tray of food he carried on my nightstand. My gaze dipped to it. “Thank you.” I wasn’t hungry. In fact, looking at the scrambled eggs and toast made my stomach jump. Nausea and the headache from the night before tried to return but I quashed it. Clenching my jaw and tightening my fingers into stubborn fists, I crossed to my bed, leaned a hip on it and picked up the mug of coffee by the handle. I would start with the caffeine first. “Did you already have your grog this morning?” I peered at him through the rising steam of my coffee my brows pressing together with concern. He minimally attended to the necessities of living much as I did.