Forged in Flame

by Rabe, Michelle

  “What the hell was that?” Morgan demanded, walking toward her mentor. As she moved, her clothes morphed from the restrictive dress to modern casual jeans and a form-fitting V-neck T-shirt. She stopped a few feet from Richard and stood… one fist on her hip, her eyebrows raised, waiting.

  The sorcerer smiled and strolled, circling his pupil. “You lost focus, lost concentration, lost control. Do you have any idea where we are?” His blue eyes held an edge of genuine malice.

  Morgan tried to understand the situation and her surroundings. When she finally did, a surprised gasp escaped her lips. In the spaces between the columns were different scenes, from the vast expanse of star-speckled heavens to the tiny self-contained miracle of an atom.

  “Well, do you have any guesses?” The impatience in his voice verified his foul mood. Her mind wandered, deciphering if it had more to do with his brother than with her.

  She shook her head and shrugged. “I’ve never encountered this place in my travels.”

  “That is because this place does not exist beyond my dreams.” He paused and shook his head. “After all this time, you still cannot keep me from your dream because you get distracted. Let’s start from the beginning. Come tell me where you made mistakes and what you can do to improve upon your performance.”

  “I assumed the dream was real, giving up my power to shape and mold the landscape to my desires.” Morgan’s list of mistakes and oversights were verbalized the way a Catholic repeats Hail Marys in the hopes of earning the Saint’s Grace. Before her mentor had the chance to respond, she continued. “I did not make use of my abilities or question the dream because I took it at face value that it was mine.”

  “It was yours,” Richard said as he leaned against one of the pillars and folded his arms across his chest.

  “What?” She frowned and concentrated on manipulating the landscape to something more to her liking, but, no matter how hard she tried, the dream did not bend to her will.

  “This is not your dream. I have pulled you from yours into mine.” He pushed away from the pillar and approached her with the easy rolling gait of a predator on the hunt.

  “When?” she asked before she could stop herself. She already knew the answer; it had been staring her in the face, but she hadn’t seen it before. “The fall.” Her voice became barely a whisper, the level of conviction it held, unmistakable.

  Richard smiled and answered with a nod, “The fall.” Their view of the landscape shifted again. The amphitheater melted away, leaving a modern classroom in its place, complete with two small desk chair combos and a whiteboard in place of the traditional chalk. Richard’s clothes changed and his image appeared more like Joshua than himself. “Now, once you’ve been pulled into another dream, you lose control over your situation. However, you’re not powerless. The possibility of escape always exists.”

  “How do I go about doing that?”

  “The first step is realizing you are indeed in another’s dream. Once you have done that, it is a matter of finding and exploiting the other dreamer’s weakness.”

  “Finding and exploiting weaknesses?” She chuckled and smiled. “You make it sound a lot like some huge game of chess.”

  “In a lot of ways, it is.” He shrugged and smiled. “Why do you think the Conclave still teaches all of their initiates to play?”

  “I suck at chess.” Morgan rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  Richard chuckled. “We’ll add it to your studies.”

  “Oh, that’s just lovely.” Her response dripped with sarcasm. Morgan took a deep breath and decided to curb her natural tendencies. “So, you mentioned finding and exploiting weaknesses in the other dreamer?”

  “Yes. It is the only way to break free of another dream, short of the dreamer waking or expelling you from it.”

  “So, I need to force them to wake or kick me out?”

  Richard smiled, in what Morgan had come to think of as his patient teacher way. “It’s not that simple, but on the surface that’s close.” He shrugged as a section of the world fell away behind him, crumbling into the darkness, disappearing as though it had never existed.

  “What was that?” Morgan asked, fighting to keep her emotions in check. The dream world contains a lot of dangers. I’m not sure I want to find out what happens if I ever get trapped in that realm.

  “That was me losing focus. Not enough proper sleep.” He yawned. “Too much time teaching a vampire how to control her abilities.”

  Morgan stuck her tongue out at him and made a sour looking face.

  Richard responded in kind, laughing. “You have done more than I expected for an early lesson, Morgan. I believe it’s time to call it a day. We will speak again once each of us has had a chance to have a good day’s rest,” Richard said. After three years, it still seemed strange to swap day and night when he came to discussing sleeping habits.

  “Very well.” Morgan turned and started to take a step, but checked herself. Instead, she spun around to face her mentor flashing an innocent smile.

  “How do I get out of here?” she asked. Then, she realized he’d already gone. Morgan shook her head and closed her eyes, allowing herself to fall into the vast darkness.

  Morgan groaned and shifted, trying to find a comfortable position that would allow her to go back to sleep. After tossing and turning for what seemed more than an hour, a quick glance at the clock proved it had been a mere five minutes. She yawned, stretched, tossed back the covers and pushed herself into a sitting position, appreciating the well-appointed, familiar room. She frowned, catching sight of Nicholas’s side of the bed.

  Her husband hadn’t come to bed as he’d promised, and the stabbing pain in her chest coupled with fear as each sensation filled her mind. Despite the certainty that Nicholas was safe, Morgan couldn’t help herself. So many centuries of worry couldn’t be unlearned in a few years. She smiled and concentrated on him in an instant, hearing his heart beating out a counterpoint to her own. She took a moment to assess his mood and smiled. Feeling lighthearted, Morgan slipped out of bed and got ready to face the night.

  Ten minutes later, Morgan walked downstairs, not really paying attention to anything around her. She strolled into the kitchen and stopped in her tracks, surprised by what she saw. Nicholas stood at the stove, stirring something in a small saucepan. Christophe sat across the island from her husband. Her Blood Son smiled and waggled his eyebrows when she entered the room. Steam laced with a balanced blend of spicy and sweet with earthy undertones drifted up from the sauce pan the Nicholas stirred.

  “I thought you weren’t arriving for a few more days?” She directed the question at Christophe as she stepped to her husband’s side.

  “Nicholas called early yesterday and asked if I would be willing and able to come to town a few days early.” Christophe flashed his signature quick, easy smile.

  Morgan rose to the balls of her feet and kissed Nicholas’s cheek. “So, why did you decide on another babysitter for me?” She offered him a genuine smile, but her tone came off as pleasant with a hint of annoyance.

  Nicholas shook his head and lifted the saucepan off the stove as he poured the mixture into a waiting mug. “You do not need another babysitter, love. You’re strong and capable. I have faith in you.” He picked up a small dagger from the counter and pressed one sharp edge into the flesh of his palm. “However.” He drew the weapon down with a quick, sure stroke. “As we have previously established, I am an overprotective son of a bitch.” They all watched as his blood dripped into the mug in a small, steady stream. When he’d added the proper amount, Nicholas uncurled his fingers and turned his palm face up. Morgan reached out, caught his wrist and brought the wound to her mouth, sealing it with a long, slow swipe of her tongue.

  “I can leave the two of you to it if you like.” Christophe’s facial expression matched his teasing tone.

  “We’re good till morning.” Nicholas caught Morgan’s wrist and pressed the mug into her hand. “Drink, I know you didn’t sle
ep well.”

  “You’re one to talk,” she quipped, taking the warm brew from him and sipping. “So, I’m assuming that Christophe’s early arrival means you’re going to be monopolizing more of Eric’s time?”

  “That is exactly what it means. I spoke with Marcus last night and he can’t leave New Orleans at this time. So I thought I’d follow your suggestion and see what Eric’s expertise has to offer.”

  “I feel like I’m on lockdown here,” Morgan muttered into her mug.

  “You’re not,” Nicholas said with a hint of frustration in his own words.

  Because of their blood bond, they experienced each other’s emotions. So she recognized the buzzing at the back of her mind as a sign of Nicholas’s growing frustration. “I know. I understand the reasons and even agree to some extent, but don’t expect me to like it.” She sighed, knowing they’d had this same discussion and come to the same conclusion more than a dozen times during in the past three years.

  “I’ve brought our costumes for the masquerade that Zachary has cleverly trapped us into attending with the threat of an—” he cut off his own thought for a moment before finishing, “—invitation.” A smile curled her Blood Son’s lips, and for a moment his eyebrows seemed to have a mind of their own.

  Morgan laughed and took another sip from her brew before turning to Nicholas with a smile. “So what did Marcus say when you asked him to come watch over me?”

  “He told me to bugger off for a couple more weeks, at least.” He paused as Morgan set the empty mug down. She gave him a look he knew all too well. It that meant she knew he was hiding something she didn’t like. He sighed and answered her unvoiced query. “He said, and I quote, not before Thanksgiving, Assassin.”

  “I warned you,” she chided in a gentle tone.

  “Yes, you did, my love.” He chuckled and took the mug, walking back into the kitchen with it. “Now, if you’re done with the I told you so portion of this conversation, I need to get started on my evening.”

  “I’m done,” she replied with a grin.

  “Then, I will see you in the morning.” Nicholas leaned in and gave her a chaste kiss.

  “Be careful,” she said, feeling the tension in their bond growing.

  “Always, my love,” Nicholas called back over his shoulder as he headed over to meet Eric at the door to the garage.

  Morgan started making her way to the stairs when a loud sniffling sound drew her attention back to her Blood Son. Morgan raised an eyebrow and turned to face Christophe.

  “What?” She couldn’t hold back a soft laugh when he wiped away a fake tear.

  “They grow up so fast.” He dabbed at the corner of his eye again.

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  He shrugged, “So, what’s on our agenda for this evening?” His arms rested on the bar and he leaned forward, waiting.

  “Well, I do have a meeting. The board is giving me crap about a few things I need to handle.”

  “Oh, lovely. It sounds perfectly dull and boring.” He yawned.

  “Well, once we’re done, we can go to some of the local nomad hangouts and do some more discreet rabble-rousing.”

  “Oh?” Christophe’s eyes widened and his lavender eyes shone with excitement. “I do love a good round of rabble-rousing.” He flashed Morgan a charming smile as she stepped out from behind the island.

  “I’ll go finish getting ready,” she said before heading upstairs.

  25 - San Francisco, CA - October 24, 2012

  Grace left the station, walking the half block to the garage where she parked her car, before starting her commute out of the city. She made her way into the alley to the pedestrian access and through the shadowy passage. Her senses on alert. When the elevator door slid open, she started to relax and stepped into the empty space. She tapped her toe and glanced at her watch while waiting for the ancient thing to start moving. A loud clang and rattling filled the silence as the door started to close, and she wondered how many tourists taking this ride had been convinced they were experiencing an earthquake.

  The inspector let out a long, deep sigh and smiled. At least the building management had seen fit to forego the usual elevator music, which annoyed her. Not that music would have done any good, considering it sounded like it could die at any second. Someone should put it out of its misery.

  On any other night, she hated this part of her commute, but everything else had gone wrong. The little bit of the mundane creeping in was a welcome respite. As the elevator reached her floor and the rattling door moved, she fished her key out of her purse and took long strides toward her car. A shadow moved across her field of vision. A deeper darkness in the shadows cast by the poor lighting.

  It’s just your imagination, Grace. Keep moving.

  Something fell, the crash echoing throughout the barren parking structure. Grace tried to dismiss it as nothing, maybe an animal had knocked something over, but a terrified scream reached her ears. She could lie to herself about a lot of things, but when she heard screaming, she couldn’t look the other way.

  Instincts kicked in, and she reached for her phone with one hand as her other drew the service revolver she wore at her hip. Grace eased away from her car and stepped toward the noise. Her phone seemed to appear in her hand, but a quick glance at the screen showed the battery had died.

  “Shit.” She swore under her breath and stuffed the useless piece of technology back into her pocket before deciding to throw it across the parking structure. The detective’s heartbeat kicked up a notch as her hand tightened on the grip of her weapon.

  Grace slinked around the corner at the edge of the second bank of elevators. All but one of the lights in the area were dark. She frowned and squinted, hoping to see better under the dim conditions. A large shadow loomed ahead about ten feet away near the corner. Grace took slow, deliberate breaths, calming her breathing when the sound of a woman’s soft cry met her ears. Glancing side to side, certain they were alone, she cleared her throat to get the attacker’s attention.

  The assailant stiffened, his body rigid as he swung his head around to face Grace. He smiled though it didn’t reach the cold pools of silver fire. When his eyes met hers, she heard a whisper in the back of her mind. Classic fight or flight response, and for the first time in decades it told her to flee. As the mugger’s smile grew, she saw the tips of long, sharp blood-covered fangs.

  Those aren’t real, she told herself even as she kept her weapon trained on him. She had cleared her throat a second time before she spoke. “Back away from the woman.” Her voice held the note of command every cop learned at the academy.

  The man chuckled, released the woman from his grip, and she slipped to the ground in a heap. The killer took several steps back, toward the half wall in front of the parked cars.

  “Stop right there.” Grace expected immediate compliance and shook her head when he didn’t.

  “How many stories up are we?” His voice held a hint of an eastern European accent and an air of assured superiority.

  In an instant, Grace made an assessment. The guy was confident completely self-assured as if he knew what the outcome of their meeting would be.

  “Shut up. Step away from the barrier. Put your hands behind your head. Fingers laced together. No sudden moves.”

  “I do not believe I will be complying with your order.”

  “What?” she asked, the strangeness of his language distracting her.

  “You heard me, Inspector. I am afraid that I cannot comply with your order. You see,” he glanced at the other woman. “She is quite dead, and I simply do not have time to answer all your questions. Seeing as how I have a prior engagement which I cannot miss. Therefore, I must take my leave of you now.”

  Before Grace could react, the man turned, took two steps, vaulted over the waist-high barrier and disappeared over the edge. Grace ran toward the precipice as fast as she could, a wordless howl of frustration escaping from her lips.

  When she reached the wall, she
braced her hands against it and peered over. She saw him falling. Grace cringed and closed her eyes at the moment of impact, opening them a second later. He should have sustained massive injuries. By all rights, he should be dead, but as Grace watched, he picked himself up and brushed dust off his impeccably tailored suit.

  The man caught a quick glance up and met her eyes. A smile curled his lips and he tipped an imaginary hat to her before strolling into the night whistling a jaunty tune. Seven stories up, she leaned against the wall, squinting at him over the edge to see where he went. Within seconds, he turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

  Grace approached the woman’s corpse and knelt beside it. She started to check for a pulse, but stopped short with a gasp when she got her first good look at the woman. The right side of her neck a mess of torn tissue. Frozen hazel eyes stared up at the concrete ceiling, her face stilled in a twisted expression of terror. Grace leaned closer to the body and examined the left side of the victim’s neck.

  Two small, neat puncture wounds were centered over the area of the carotid artery. She rocked back on her heels as Eric’s words from a few nights before tickled the edge of her memory. Closing her eyes, she tried to let the memory return, but it slipped back into the murky depths of her consciousness.

  Grace shivered and forced her knees to straighten as she pushed herself back to her feet. Turning away from the woman’s body, she stumbled her way to the elevator. With her phone out of commission, her only option to report the crime was using the emergency equipment in the elevator.

  Several hours later, Grace slammed her car door and stared up at the large house. She’d driven here without thinking, without a destination in mind. Being on the opposite side of an investigation, being the one who discovered the crime had tilted her world on its axis. Though the building stood on the corner in a high-end neighborhood, something about it put her on alert; she frowned and shook her head. “Just what have you gotten yourself into, Kincade?” she asked before climbing the steps to the front door. Ignoring the doorbell, she pounded on the wood, feeling a perverse sense of pleasure each time her hand struck the cold, smooth, unforgiving surface.