Dream Stalker: Talented: Book 1

by Hopkins, Amy

  I stayed for a short while, helping to sort some of Carmel's things into boxes. A few were Talent-made and Melanie was hesitant to touch them. Rightly so, as one of them was a warded box that would have knocked her out cold if she'd picked it up wrong. Harrod would know how to find out if Carmel had family to collect the belongings, but she'd never mentioned anyone to me. The Council were legally entitled to anything that was left unclaimed. Once I was satisfied there was nothing dangerous left for her to deal with, and that she was comfortable working with Pymb's help, I left for home. Despite it being broad daylight, I regretted leaving Lenny at home. I walked quickly through the streets and took a different way back than I had the night before.

  Saturday was our busiest day. Though Gibble was fairly reliable during quiet times, I dared not leave him long on a day like this. The afternoon passed with excruciating slowness and terrifying speed. I was eager to do something, anything to make myself safer, but I dreaded the oncoming night. Despite the wards that had worked well so far, my encounter on the streets had left me wondering if I'd ever be safe again. I worked the shop, serving customers while smiling mechanically, trying not to show how uneasy I felt. Finally, the clock hit two and the last idling customer left. I closed the doors and heaved a sigh.

  Gibble was at the counter, his back to me. I collapsed in one of the chairs and sat for a minute, Len immediately coming over to flop his giant body at my feet. Gibble brought a cup of tea over for me. I thanked him, surprised. He didn't usually take the initiative like that. It reminded me I hadn't bought him any new books lately. Though he was content to reread a single copy over and over, he loved getting new ones. He wouldn't accept money or chips, ever, but was always thrilled with a book.

  Gibble had given me a brew for restlessness and I sipped it slowly, trying to calm my mind. I was grateful that so far, I hadn't lost the plot. I was keeping it together, but only just. Last night had nearly undone me. I was tired, stressed and terrified. I had no idea why a killer was after me and the only people I could turn to for help were two strangers and a boggart. For the first time in years, I felt lonely.

  My father had always been there for me as a child, but he was the only one. My two Talented sisters - Aveline and Morwenna - hated me for my mixed blood and shunned me. They'd bullied, hurt and even tried to sell me once. After Father died, I was no longer welcome in his circles. The friends he'd had immediately lost interest in the novelty of his half-cast daughter, and without his power to keep me safe, I couldn't stay in England. I was shipped off to Australia, a country of liberation to some degree. There was less of a split between the Talented and the not, and half-bloods weren't quite as ostracised there. Still, I didn't feel at home. As soon as I was old enough I packed my bags and fled back to England. Though far from the elite circles of Talented I'd once been a part of, I'd found my place in society, that of the eccentric half-blood tea-maker. I'd made a network of friends, some mortal, some half-blood and some Other. I knew a few of the Talented who lived outside the City walls - these were the ones who'd either shunned the society or were on self-imposed humanitarian missions, slumming it with the less powerful.

  I settled back in my chair, wondering what to do next. Was there anything I could do? Martin and Harrod were off following their own leads but I had none of my own. I'd done what I'd promised in getting a list of Talented in the area, though most seemed unperturbed by the warning.

  My head spun and I pressed a hand to my eyes. Perhaps I should still lodge that complaint with the guard... I'd do it now. I needed the paperwork. Where had I left it? That's right, in my study. I stood and headed in that direction.

  Crack.

  My eyes jerked open. My head rang and I felt like someone had lobbed a bag of rocks at me. I groaned, tried to work out what on earth had just happened and why I was sprawled on the floor. What? I'd been... that's right, I was about to leave on an errand, I couldn't remember what. Now, I was lying on the floor downstairs with a rather apologetic looking boggart dusting himself off above me. My head hurt, I was in pain and I felt ill, so I stayed down. "Sorry Lady. You should not be sleeping without the wardings. You did be walking out the door and I did think you did not be knowing."

  I sure as hell not be knowing. I hadn't fallen asleep, had I? I moved then cried out as searing pain shot through my hand. I realised the knife had gone through it. Sickened, I put my head back down. I pinned my hand to the floor. Don't vomit. I rolled towards the hand carefully, then pried the dagger out of the floor. The tip had only just bitten in but it was enough that it made removing the dagger especially painful. It came out and I pulled my arm across my chest, cradling it. Gibble helped me back into the chair. I was weak and disoriented - probably more from the sight of the wound than the injury itself. I looked at it to assess the damage. There was a deep slit in my hand, perfectly clean and bloodless. Now the knife was gone, the wound gaped a little and blood finally started to well. I swallowed, willing myself not to throw up.

  Blood ran steadily down my arm. Gibble brought me a towel and I pressed it to my hand, shaking. He then collected the pristine knife off the floor where it had fallen. He looked at it for a moment, then rammed it into the counter top. It sank deeply - it wouldn't be coming out easily. My reeling mind cursed him silently for ruining my bench.

  My hand would need healing. I didn't have the focus to do it myself and the blood was running steadily now. A regular hospital was out. If they gave me any kind of painkiller or sedative, it would leave me open to another attack. My only other option was Deirdre, a minor Talent with a healing gift. She'd moved to the outside to help the untalented, kind of a Mother Theresa with magic. I asked Gibble to try calling her.

  He swooped down and collected me into his arms. I clenched my teeth to keep my stomach from emptying. He deposited me into a chair and I used my good hand to pull my phone out and handed it to Gibble. He moved away and spoke to her, using his affected voice and as few words as he could to convey the message. I got the impression he didn't like her either - he seemed to have a thing against most full Talents.

  After he was done he sat next to me. He raised his eyebrows as if to ask if I needed anything else. I shook my head ever so gently and he settled into another chair, book out but closed on his lap.

  I sat, trying hard to regulate my breathing while I waited. It wasn't working - within about a minute; I was starting to hyperventilate. When someone rattle the doorknob, then rapped loudly I nearly stopped breathing all together. Gibble craned his head over his shoulder then lumbered to his feet. Martin's voice sounded from the doorway, asked to come in. I groaned. This was the very last thing I needed right now.

  Chapter Five

  Right then, nothing could have given me greater incentive to control my emotions than the arrival of Harrod and Martin. Though I'd come to like them both, I realised I was also a little intimidated - both by the sheer power of Talent I was coming to believe Harrod had, and Martin's cocky attitude and ability to adjust to any situation. I didn't know either of them well enough to let my guard down, and to let one of them see me in my current state would just be downright embarrassing.

  By the time they came in - I could have sworn Gibble was being deliberately slow - I'd recovered myself enough to save my dignity. My eyes were red and I was still a little shaky, but wasn't quite as close to falling in a quivering heap.

  Harrod turned white when he saw the blood. Martin just raised his eyebrows.

  "Rough day at work?" He asked. That was enough to allow me to finally clamp down on the last of my emotions.

  "Just a small accident."

  Gibble looked at me. If he’d had eyebrows, I'm sure they would have been raised.

  "I sat down for a bit and must have drifted off. Gibble saw me take off and tackled me. Unfortunately, I was holding the knife at the time."

  Harrod came over and held out his hand. In my pain-muddled state, it was a second before I realised his intention. Of course, he could heal it. Even with no particular a
ptitude for healing, a Talent as strong as he was should have no trouble patching it up. I reluctantly gave him my hand and waited for him to begin. He focused his concentration while I waited for the tell-tale chill that would alert me to the working he was doing. I felt it, or I thought I did. It was like it touched my skin, then slipped away. He frowned, staring at my hand.

  He stopped and looked me over. "Uhm... are you carrying a block?" he asked. Blocks were charms that would prevent another Talent working on the one who possessed it. They were very hard to find and were exhausted easily, meaning most Talents didn't bother with them.

  "What? No, I wouldn't even know where to get one." My hand throbbed. He started working again but it still didn't seem to be doing anything. He looked about to speak again but at that moment, Deirdre made her entrance. She had a flair for those.

  She swept in like a whirlwind, wearing an elegant shimmering dress that was more suited to a dinner party. She quickly spied me sitting on a chair in the corner and came over. She ignored the two men and took me by the shoulders.

  "Oh my dear, I'm so sorry I took so long. What on earth happened to you? Come now, show me what's wrong and we'll have it right in a moment." Martin looked somewhat taken aback by her appearance. Harrod simply sat and watched. I think he was trying not to smirk.

  Deirdre fussed over me like a mother hen. I was sure she meant well but I already regretted asking for her help. Wordlessly I gave her my hand and she examined it.

  "Oh dear. This looks terrible. Why hasn't it been tended? Even a light healing would stem the blood." She glanced at Harrod accusingly and he shrugged at her.

  She stopped talking long enough to channel into my hand. After a second her eyebrows knitted together and I felt her power touch me ever so briefly. I fought the urge to pull away from the slipping sensation that waved over my hand again and again. Martin and Harrod both watched closely and Harrod frowned. A few seconds later Deirdre dropped my hand. She looked at me in consternation. "My dear, are you blocked?" I shot a glance at Harrod.

  "Why do people keep asking me that?"

  Deirdre looked at me, exasperated.

  "Perhaps because it seems you are. I'm trying to heal you pet, and I can't do that if you're carrying a block. Not one this strong. I promise I mean you no harm."

  "I don't have a block! I've never had one. Anyway, would it even work against the two of you? You aren't exactly lightweights and those things are notoriously weak."

  "Clearly there's something stopping us. Show me everything you're wearing - don't forget hair pins dear." I sighed, but obliged her, taking off my bracelet, ring and three pins and an elastic from my hair.

  "This not be a thing of things. It be a thing of Lady." Gibble finally piped up as Deirdre eyed my dress. I hoped she wasn't about to ask me to take that off too. "Lady did resist the dream stalker, and another, but that be long time ago. This be Lady's doing. This be her gift."

  Silence filled the room as Harrod, Deirdre and I gaped at him.

  "Guys, I'm thinking you're all a little more excited about this than I am. Why is it important that Emma has a gift?" Martin said.

  "It's not that she has a gift, dear. A Talent who can block organically? It's unheard of. If she could block magic... well, that's a little like saying to a rich man, here's a person with a bottomless purse. Magic is power. Emma's gift would make that power irrelevant. How do you think a Talent or a Talent Lord would feel to be told they're irrelevant?"

  Martin sat back, thinking hard. "And if our killer knows about it, he'll want it very much. Am I right?"

  "Guys, stop. Gibble, you have it wrong - blocking isn't a gift. I know, my father made sure I studied the gifts remember? You used to help me carry the books around."

  "Gibble remembers, Lady." There was a quietness to him. "Gibble remembers. Lady does not."

  I shook my head. There he was, being all obscure when we really kind of needed him not to. I turned to the others. "Look, whatever this is can you figure it out? Right now I feel like there's a giant hole in my hand. Oh, wait, there is." My short tirade had given me a small burst of energy but it wore of as soon as I finished talking. I slumped back down into my chair, feeling weak but obstinate.

  Deirdre checked the items I'd placed on the table for a second time. "It doesn't make sense. It can't be a gift. Blocking... well, it just isn't."

  "That we know of." Harrod spoke up. "Look, clearly she can do something that should be impossible for her. She's not strong enough to touch either of us, it's the only way. She bested the dream stalker too and I doubt he's the type to give up easily. She should be dead, and she's not and this is the only possible answer. Besides, it's not like new talents don't exist, we've found three in the last decade alone." He eyed her, as if daring her to disagree with him. Her mind was too busy ticking over to answer him.

  "Rubbish," I said, irritated at the way he was speaking above my head. "I know those three cases and the only reason they went undiscovered was that no one ever uses those spells. Seriously, how many people need to speak to fish in their lifetime? Talents suffer unwanted magical effects almost every single day. If there was a gift for it, it would have been discovered somewhere near the dawn of time."

  "My darling, perhaps you have a ward nearby? Something to keep you safe? I'm sure I wouldn't let any child of mine live in a dangerous place like this without knowing she was well protected..."

  "I don't have a damn ward - it'd either affect everyone, or I'd have to be touching it. Unless someone enchanted my underwear while I was sleeping, I don't have anything that would work like that."

  A bolt of icy cold shot through my hand and I snatched it back. Through sheer force of will I stopped myself from reflexively punching Harrod with a force spell.

  "Don't you ever do that to me again! For God's sake Harrod, don't you know anything about basic decency?" My face was flushed red and I shook, though not from fear this time.

  "It worked though. You let your guard down while we argued and you let the block slip because you weren't expecting it." Cockiness bled through into Harrod's voice.

  "For God's sake, stop being so ridiculous,” I said, shaking my hand which was still numb, if not intact.

  "Oh I adore this one" Martin interjected. "No one ever gets mad at Harrod, he's too damned nice. It's good to have him ticking people off for a change - usually it's me"

  Everyone looked at him.

  "That's it," I said. "Everyone out. The freak show is over, thank you very much for your assistance, now go." I started shepherding them out of the shop.

  "Wait, I think... I really don't think it's safe for you to be..."

  "Out!" I repeated, not giving Harrod a chance to voice his concerns. It was just too much. The shock from earlier, the fear, and having two bloody Talents arguing over me, throwing spells at me like I was nothing more than a lab specimen had done me in. I needed to be alone.

  "Come on Harrod, before she throws something at you. I've had that happen and it's not very nice." Martin was taking far too much pleasure in the situation. He ushered his brother out the door, holding it open for Deirdre. As she left, she shot me a worried glance at me before she disappeared.

  * * *

  I heaved a sigh of relief when they were gone. Gibble had disappeared sometime during the argument - it was now past sundown, so I knew he wouldn't return. I flexed my hand and examined it, rubbing off crusted blood to reveal pink skin underneath. The cut had healed and I felt no ill effects from the injury. I was a mess though. My arm and my clothes were smeared with blood and it had dripped onto the floor and the chair I'd been sitting in.

  I walked over to the sink, wet some paper towels and started wiping up the mess. With shaking hands, I scrubbed my blood off the floor. As I wiped, the knot in my chest began to loosen. Silent drops ran down my face, turning into big heaving sobs. Still I scrubbed. I hated feeling scared. I hated feeling helpless. I hated being a victim, after swearing to myself I'd never let that happen again. I cried and cleaned
until every surface was spotless, and kept going until I'd emptied myself of tears. When I finished, I was completely drained.

  I sat back on the floor, leaning against the counter. My eyes wandered drearily over the little shop. It wasn't just my income, it was my lifeblood, my connection to people like me. I felt like a part of something here, and the attacks on me were taking that away. My sense of community, my security, the contentment I so relished - gone.

  I realised I hadn't really spoken to any of my friends since the first time I'd been dream stalked. Maybe it wasn't the bad guy taking away my security blanket. Maybe it was me. I'd shut down, turned inward the way I had as a child. When my sisters were home with me, I never told anyone about their cruelty to me. I just took it on the chin, fought back as best I could, and tried to pretend I was strong enough to handle it alone. It wasn't about pride, or proving myself. I didn't care what most others thought of me. I was terrified that my father would find out though, and that rather than protect me from them, he would see that Ave and Mor, his full blooded Talent daughters were right. He'd realise this child he'd kept, the one he doted on, was just what everyone said - a useless, tainted half-blood, a weakness, a blight on his family name. Tears kept rolling down my face as I remembered that fear. Oh how I wished I could go back, tell that little girl to simply trust. Trust in a father’s love for his child. Trust that someone who offered her the world really meant it.

  It was too late for that, but not too late for me. I needed to start talking again, for my own safety and to protect others. I needed to tell Deirdre what the dream stalker was after, if indeed our theory about the harvesting was correct. I needed to find out from Gibble what he knew.

  I threw the paper towels in the rubbish and bundled it up to take outside. There was a black Bentley parked across the street. A car like that wasn't often seen in an area like this. The driver was inside – it was Martin. He gave me a nod, but didn't move. I let out a small sigh, threw out the bag of bloodied towels and went back inside, locking the door behind me just as the last bit of sunlight disappeared. Despite knowing Gibble had left, I didn't feel completely abandoned. I supposed I should have felt a bit of resentment at the unsolicited babysitting but I really just relieved. Despite my lack of Talent, my father had always worked to teach me it wasn't a disability. Yes, there were far more Talented people out there, but I had an upbringing that prepared me for that. I had the benefits of both worlds - enough Talent to make my life a little easier than those with none, little enough that no one saw me as a threat. If Gibble was right, that would change... at least, it would if people found out. I had to hope the few who knew could be trusted with a secret that even now had put me in danger. I didn't really care about that right now. It was enough to know that someone was watching out for me. Maybe I wasn't so alone after all.