Edge of Dreams

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  He flung himself down into one of the two blue wingback chairs in the little seating area on the other side of the bed by a bay window. He slouched down so that he could tip his head back and watch me from between slitted lids, his long eyelashes hiding the furious glitter of his eyes.

  “You say you love me, but you don’t trust me, which is fucked up because I’m the one you call for help when you get yourself into deep shit. So you’re willing to let me save your life, but not let me inside it. I’m not interested in being a toy you pick up when you want to play and drop in the box when I’m not convenient.”

  I opened my mouth to ask if he’d rather I hadn’t called him, but before I could, he held up his hand to stop me.

  “I’d have ripped you a new one if you’d called anybody else, but that’s not my point.”

  I rubbed my forehead, trying to think. What had sparked this? What had I said? Then I realized. I’d told him I wouldn’t get any rest unless I went home. I’d thought I’d been making a joke, but I’d only been reminding him that he didn’t know where I lived. That I wouldn’t tell him. That I didn’t trust him enough to tell him. I wanted a place I could hide from him.

  I closed my eyes and rubbed my hands over my face. Six weeks ago I’d decided I had to protect myself from him. That sooner or later he’d decide I wasn’t the priority that his brother was. Now—I was surprised to find I didn’t believe it anymore. Maybe because when I needed him, he dropped everything and came without question. Maybe because he’d proved he was willing to fight for me. I needed to fix this. Whatever it took.

  I looked at him. He waited, his expression detached, almost like he didn’t care one way or another. The taut lines of his neck and the hard stillness of his body—like he was set for a blow—said otherwise.

  “Got a pen and paper?” I asked. If trusting was about choice, I was choosing Price. Maybe it would take my instincts time to get on board, but they would, even if I had to have my dreamer friend Cass go into my head and move things along. I froze. Had I really thought that? But I had, and that, more than anything else, convinced me that I wanted to do this.

  “What?” Price said, taken aback.

  “Paper. Pen. Do you have them?”

  “What for?”

  “Generally one takes the pen and writes on the paper.”

  “Now?”

  “Can’t think of a better time.” I smiled. He was so going to get revenge on me for this, but just saying I trusted him wasn’t going to be convincing. This would prove it beyond any doubt.

  He made a growling sound and dug in the top of the far nightstand. He pulled out a four-inch square of paper and a pen. He thrust them at me. “Are you going to write me a letter? Dear John, maybe?”

  What a high opinion he had of me. Deserved. I had to admit that. “You’ll see.” I went to the dresser and set the pad down. He stayed where he was. I glanced over my shoulder at him. “You can’t see from there.”

  He stared at me a long moment, then curiosity got the better of him. He walked over to me. “What?”

  I tapped the pen on the paper. “You know where the old Karnickey Burrows are? Up by the north wall?”

  He nodded. “I’ve been past. Nobody goes in there. It’s not safe.”

  “Safe enough. I live there.” I started sketching a map of just exactly how to get into my place.

  “What?” Price said, sounding hoarse.

  “I’m showing you I trust you.”

  He put a hand over mine. “Not if you aren’t ready.”

  I snorted and shook him off. “If you let me get away with running off, I might never be ready.”

  He took my hand, rubbing my palm with his thumb. “I’m serious, Riley. I want—I need—you to trust me. But I need it to be real, not just something you feel you have to do because I get a little bit pissed. I don’t want you to fake it.”

  I couldn’t help my lopsided grin. “I’ve never faked anything with you, I’ll have you know.”

  He didn’t smile. “No point starting now.”

  I scraped my teeth over my lower lip. “When my mom was murdered, my dad and I sort of went into hiding for awhile. We didn’t know who’d done it or why. Cops said it was random—stranger-on-stranger killing. Dad never believed it. He married Mel and had Taylor before Mom had been dead a year.”

  That had hurt. He’d forgotten Mom so fast. It made me wonder if they’d really loved each other, especially with how much he seemed to love Mel. I wanted to believe he’d remarried because he wanted a mom for me, and a family. It took me a long time to realize that my distrust of the world had its seeds not just in Mom’s murder, but in Dad’s marriage so soon after. I doubted everybody, including the man I was supposed to love most in the world.

  I’d never lost that doubt. In time it grew into general distrust. I loved my stepmom, my sister, and my stepbrothers with all my heart, but I didn’t share myself with them. I kept myself apart. I kept secrets. When Dad disappeared, I’d practically become paranoid. The only person besides family that I kept close to was Patti, and that’s because she refused to let me vanish. But I didn’t tell her where I lived, either.

  Price was waiting for me to finish. I drew a breath and let it out slowly. “I stopped trusting people then. Everybody. I’m not entirely sure I even know how to, anymore. But I want to trust you. I think I do. I just need to break a really old habit. So let me.”

  I turned back to my map.

  Frank Karnickey had come to Diamond City at the beginning of the rush back in the early 1800s. He had no education and no money, but he was going to build an empire. He was a minor talent—supposedly he could calm animals like nobody’s business. In today’s world, he’d have been some sort of zoo whisperer. He’d staked a diamond claim, and then he’d built himself a compound to protect it. History said he’d had a rough charisma and he didn’t mind killing anybody who got in his way, but he’d do just about anything for the people who proved their loyalty.

  The Karnickey Burrows, as the place came to be known, was a ramshackle pile of buildings inside a box canyon that wriggled back into the mountain in a snakelike chute. Trees on the heights cut off most of the light. With heavy snows every winter, the community inside had been linked by covered passages and underground tunnels. It had been a safe and comfortable place for Karnickey’s employees, if dark and gloomy. That is, it had been safe right up until a rival for Karnickey’s mistress had unleashed a tinkered virus into the canyon in the dead of winter. It killed most everyone in the Burrows within a week. After that, Karnickey Burrows was abandoned. The place was said to be cursed. Eventually, it was all but forgotten. The buildings collapsed, and the place turned into a ghost town.

  A couple hundred years later, I moved in. With the help of my brothers, we’d built me a two-story house of rock and wood and a whole lot of scrap metal they’d used to hold it all together. Six different escape routes—above and underground—meant I’d never be trapped. A variety of turn-away spells made sure anyone who thought of investigating the Burrows changed their minds. If an intruder carried good enough nulls to get past those, he’d run into a gauntlet of briar magic that would lead him away and leave him disoriented and hurting, and telling the rest of the world the place was still cursed.

  I liked my place—it’s spare, but warm and comfortable. Thanks to magic and several cisterns, I had plenty of hot water. I got stolen electricity from lines run by my brothers, no problem for metal tinkers. I didn’t have cable or Wi-Fi, but then those could be tracked. I turned my cell off before I got anywhere near home and didn’t turn it on again until I was far away. What mail I got went to the diner, and I was always über careful about not taking the same routes home, nulling out my trace, and watching my back. And I never, ever, told anyone where I lived.

  Until now.

  I finished the drawin
g and shoved it at Price. “There you go,” I said.

  I waited until he’d looked the page over, then when he looked up at me, I snatched up the page and marched into the bathroom. I ran it under the water in the sink until the ink bled away, then I shredded the wet bits between my fingers and dropped them into the toilet bowl and flushed.

  “Overkill much?” Price asked from where he leaned in the doorway.

  I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. I put the seat down and washed my hands, drying them on a fluffy sea-green towel.

  “Habit,” I said, turning to face him. “Are we okay?”

  Silence spun out, too much silence. He didn’t seem all that happy. Was it too little, too late? What else could I do? Suddenly, I needed to retreat and think.

  “I haven’t showered in days. I itch and I can’t imagine how bad I must smell. So if you don’t mind shutting the door behind you, I’m going to get clean.” At least it didn’t have to be a cold shower. I was no longer ready to rip my clothes off and jump his bones.

  I probably shouldn’t have been disappointed when he turned and closed the door. The only reason my eyes started watering was because I stunk so bad.

  With a sigh, I opened the linen cupboard and grabbed a couple of towels and a washcloth. On one shelf was a collection of soaps, shampoos, conditioners, and lotions. By the time I reached for a bottle of honey-jasmine shampoo, I’d gone from wanting to retreat to a kind of wild desperation. I had to find a way to fix this with Price. How epically ironic. I hadn’t trusted him, and now he couldn’t trust I’d had a change of heart.

  I swung open the door, then stumbled back a step when I found him standing right outside, his hands braced on the doorjamb.

  He looked at me, his eyes turbulent pools. “I’ve missed you so damned much,” he grated. “Don’t run. Don’t go finding a new place to live. I won’t trespass; I won’t tell anyone. Promise me.”

  At this last, the starch went out of my legs, and I sagged against the wall to hold myself up. I put my fingers over his lips to stop whatever he might say next. Every word was a knife in my heart. He wasn’t the sort of man to beg, not from anyone, not for anything. Yet I’d made him do that. Me and my paranoia and my all-about-me attitude. It had been a miracle he’d even fallen in love with me. It was a bigger miracle that he was still in love with me.

  I needed to fix this before I broke both our hearts. Exactly how to do that was the big question. So I said the first insane thing that popped into my head. “Want to move in with me?”

  His head jerked back. “That’s not funny, Riley.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to be funny. It’s a bona fide offer. If you think you can stand to live with me, that is. I’m fairly house-trained, though I only have a queen-sized bed and you’ll be moving way down on the style and luxury ladder. I don’t cook and cleaning is mostly doing laundry and occasionally—”

  His lips swallowed the rest of my chatter. He engulfed me, lifting me and pushing me against the wall. His hands slid down my sides to my hips to hold me. I wrapped my legs around him. We fit together like a lock and key. Bubbles spiraled through my chest. I tightened my legs, putting my arms around his neck and pulling myself tighter against him. He smelled so good.

  His tongue was velvet on mine, dancing and tasting. He devoured me, twisting his head to delve deeper. I made encouraging sounds as I flexed my legs and undulated my hips up and down. Curls of aching delight rolled through my belly as I rubbed my soft heat against his hard shaft. He groaned and thrust against me, then stilled, pinning me so that I couldn’t move. He tore his lips from mine and held me there. Both of us were panting raggedly. I was barely coherent. My body was an inferno. My hair practically crackled with the flames. His breath puffed across my neck in short, hot bursts.

  “I swear, you’re going to kill me,” he whispered, when he finally found his voice.

  “Does that mean you’re saying no to moving in with me?” Despite the heat of his kiss, I still doubted.

  “Fuck no. That’s a yes. Yes.” He kissed me again, hard and deep, then lifted his head and pressed his forehead against mine. “Much as I want to celebrate properly”—he rocked his cock against me, and I gasped—“neither of our brothers is going to wait much longer. Go shower. There are clothes for you in the closet.”

  “You could join me,” I suggested, sliding my fingers under his shirt. His skin was hot silk.

  He groaned and kissed me once more and eased away. “Don’t tempt me. You still need to recover.”

  “I feel fine.” I reluctantly let my feet drop to the floor.

  He rested his hands on my hips and brushed his lips against mine, flicking his tongue out like he couldn’t resist one more taste. “I love you.”

  “Do your best to remember that later.”

  He scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I widened my eyes and blinked and did my best to look innocent. “Just what it sounded like. You might get distracted and forget that you love me. Try not to.”

  “Why would I forget?” he asked, his voice turning dangerous as he enunciated each word with careful precision.

  “Because I hear that happens when a person goes homicidal.”

  “I think I’m going to strangle you,” he said, looking up at the ceiling like a divine light of patience would suddenly pour down over him. No such luck.

  “Likely,” I said. “If you don’t drown me or shoot me first.”

  “I swear to God you’re trying to drive me around the bend, over the edge, and out of my ever-loving mind. You’re damned good at it, too.”

  “Thank you. I think,” I said, putting my hands flat on his chest. “Seriously, though. I got into some trouble in the tunnels. I also learned something ugly. Really ugly. Just remember I’m out safe, and don’t dwell on that part, okay? Because I’m going to need you to be, well, you. Focused, sharp, relentless, and stone-cold.”

  He glared at me. “Why don’t you stop beating around the bush and tell me just what the hell happened?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to have to tell it twice, and your brother needs to hear it, too. Same with Madison and Leo. They don’t know the whole yet, either.” I remembered the fumigation. I wanted to be checked out to be sure there was no permanent damage from the SD. There was only one dreamer I trusted to go into my head and check. “Can you get Cass here?”

  Price’s brows rose. “Why?”

  “I might need her.”

  “God dammit, Riley. Are you going to explain or am I going to have to guess?”

  Would it have been asking too much of the universe at that point to have Touray come barging in and interrupt Price’s interrogation? Or maybe a squad of ninjas could have overrun the place. I glanced hopefully at the door, but it remained closed and unassailed. We were wasting more time arguing than not, so I gave in.

  “Fine. You win. Here is the nutshell version: Fact 1: Sparkle Dust can be made from the bodies of wraiths. Fact 2: I was exposed to SD. I think I nulled it out of my body, but I’m not sure. I’d like Cass to check me out. Fact 3: Whoever kidnapped me in dreamspace tried to make me think your brother killed my mother, which is really ridiculous, and why anybody would think I’d fall for that I don’t know—”

  “Stop.” Price’s face had gone pasty gray. He lifted his hand and ran his fingertips over my cheek. They trembled. “You were exposed to SD?”

  I nodded. “They call it fumigating. They put you in a chamber and pipe in an aerosol version of the drug. It turns you into an addict, but the process of becoming a wraith is slower. Makes you a loyal lapdog willing to do most anything in the hope you’ll get a fix.”

  “But you—nulled it out?” He scrutinized me, examining my eyes, skin, tongue, and teeth, searching for the telltale signs of becoming a wraith. Not that I would be turning yet. I di
dn’t think. “That’s not possible.”

  “That’s what I thought. I invoked the null when the fumes were just starting to infiltrate. There’s a magical component to SD. It makes sense that it could be nulled. Took a lot of power, though, and it hurt.” I shuddered at the memory. “I don’t know if I could have nulled it after it had a chance to take root in me. I don’t know if I’d have wanted to.”

  Price crushed me to him, burying his head in my neck. Just as quickly, he let go and spun away. His back and shoulders knotted as he pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead. Without another word, he strode away and out the door, shutting it hard behind him.

  I stared after him, my stomach sinking down into my feet. Fear etched away the warmth of his touch until I shivered with the cold. Price didn’t even know about Percy burning me, yet. Maybe I should duct-tape him down before I revealed that little bit of news. Otherwise, he might go off to wreak vengeance on his own.

  Unless . . . I glanced again at the door. Unless he was already on his way.

  Chapter 13

  The shower did a lot to revive me, though it did nothing for my anxiety about Price. I washed quickly and got out, hoping to track him down.

  I found jeans and long-sleeved shirts in the closet, all new, all in my size. There was pretty much an entire wardrobe for me in there, including bras, underwear, and socks. As I was dressing in the closet—which was also big enough to contain a sitting area with a love seat and a couple of chairs—I caught the divine scent of coffee. Where there was coffee, maybe there was Price. I hurriedly put on socks and followed the airy trail of nirvana.

  I went out the other side of the massive closet and through a pair of frosted glass double doors. On the other side was a spacious room containing all the comforts a guest might want, including a gas fireplace, an enormous television, fluffy couches and chairs, and most important of all, coffee.