Dream Stalker: Talented: Book 1

by Hopkins, Amy

  She shot a glance at me but stopped berating Olfred. The last thing I wanted was for him to leave offended after what he'd done, but it looked like he'd brushed her off as nothing more than a petulant child. On Deirdre's part, she was now packing things back into a small bag. She'd arrived expecting to tend to Lenny but it looked like she wouldn't be needed now. She strode over to Olfred and said something to him quietly. Her furtive glance at me suggested she didn't want me to hear what she said, but Olfred either didn't understand, or didn't care.

  "She’s got that dream stalker after her? Ach, why dinna she say? I wouldn't have drained her near as much. She won't be fightin' much off in her condition for some time. I could have left her a bit more, I suppose."

  I groaned inwardly. Who had told Deirdre about that? Olfred shook his head at me as if he was slightly put out by condemning me to an almost certain death. Right then.

  "What about Lenny? Is there anything I can do for him?" I stopped him before he left.

  "He'll be right in a couple of weeks - not the injuries, all that's been healed. He just needs to adjust."

  "Adjust?"

  "Ay. He was bad, very bad. He's lucky I got here when I did. The life I gave him was part yours - something grounded here to catch his spirit, stop it from leaving. He also got a little from the Other, that’s wha' gave it the kick it needed to fix the body. Now, he has both inside. He has to learn to use both and it can be a wee bit disorienting for a while. He'll be hungry, so feed him. Let him sleep. After, he might be a wee bit more than you remember."

  I didn't question what 'more' meant. Lenny had been touched by the magic of the Other and that's how he'd be from this point on. There were stories about beasts who'd been touched like that. Stories of supernatural strength, human cognisance, and flying pigs. No, I mean actual pigs that fly. One, anyway. Or maybe it was a boar. Regardless, my dog might never be the same again - he might also not change a bit. I wouldn't know until he regained his strength.

  * * *

  Around me, people were starting to disperse, losing interest now the funny little man and his strange magic had left. Deirdre helped me to my feet and I was surprised when Lenny lumbered to his. He moved slowly, but he seemed to be back in one piece. I choked on tears, realising that a few minutes ago, I hadn't expected him to stand up ever again. We trailed over to the sidewalk so the traffic could start flowing again. Lenny had held up one of the lanes - the spectacle of an otherworld creature healing him had held up everything else. Now we were done, people suddenly remembered they had places to be.

  The woman who had hit Lenny with her car came over.

  "Is he going to be ok?"

  "Yeah. I think he will."

  "Again, I'm so sorry. You won’t... Um..."

  "Press charges?"

  "No... like, curse me or anything? I really didn't see him, he just-"

  "Oh for goodness sake. Haven't you ever actually spoken to a Talent before? We don't curse people." Keelie's stones flashed into my mind but I didn't think it was prudent to amend my statement. "We use magic the same way you use phones and cars and medicine. We don't go around stealing babies and withering crops."

  "I... oh. Sorry, I guess. I've just never mixed with your sort before." She wandered off, apparently losing interested now she knew the fury of the wicked witch wasn't about to be unleashed. Seriously, some people.

  Just as my heart rate was starting to normalise, I heard a curse. "Damn witches. Wish the stupid mutt had died."

  The adrenalin, the fear, the anger. All of it kicked back in at once. I launched myself at the man, screeching. "How dare you? How dare you say that about my dog? He's my friend, He's my BEST FRIEND!" I hit him in the chest, pummelling him with my fists and he pushed me back. Throwing myself at him again, reaching for his face, his hair, I did anything I could to inflict damage. Arms grabbed at me from behind, pulling me back as he flailed trying to dodge my angry fists.

  "Go on bitch!" He yelled back at me, a moment before something wet hit my face. I struggled harder but whoever it was had a good grip. I turned on them, only to come face to face with a stony-looking Harrod.

  My movements slowed and my limbs went flaccid. He was using magic against me. Magic! I had just enough movement left to tip my wand in his direction. He must have read my face.

  "Emma, don't even think about it. You know you couldn't touch me; I'd take you down in a heartbeat."

  It was his tone more than his words that stopped me. He spoke in a quiet voice, anger behind it tightly controlled. I hesitated and that was enough. The strength sapped from my bones and I slumped. My antagonist seethed but had enough sense to stay back and keep his mouth shut. Gripping my arm tightly and easing off the rigour spell, Harrod led me inside. Deirdre had already brought Lenny in. She and Martin fussed over him. I wearily pushed through them, Harrod still clamped on my arm as the door shut behind us. Gibble made a growling sound and took a threatening step towards him. Finally, Harrod let go.

  Ignoring everyone, I went straight to Lenny and buried my face in his neck as I leaned in for a cuddle.

  "I'm so sorry," I whispered.

  He licked my face and nuzzled me. I looked up at Deirdre. She was sitting down talking quietly with Harrod, who still looked furious. Stroking Lenny's face, I told him to sleep. He was so tired his head bobbed, a typical after-effect of a healing that strong. He settled back onto the pillow and was asleep in seconds.

  * * *

  I instinctively went to the kitchen for tea, only then remembering what Gibble had said. I stopped in shock. Everything was a mess - boxes opened and rifled through, drawers ajar, cupboards open. The register was wide open but the cash was still inside. My shoulders slumped. I knew I should check the other rooms but I couldn't move. I felt so drained. Gibble came up and put a hand on my shoulder.

  "Lady is having shock, I think. Sit, Gibble make tea and clean the mess. Gibble will make note of any things that are not here."

  "Do you have the knife on you?" Harrod asked.

  "The knife? No." I answered distractedly. Then, the implication hit me and my hand flew to my mouth.

  "You didn't take it with you?" Martin asked.

  "Oh sure, I always take a murder weapon when I visit friends. For goodness sake Martin, what do you think Melanie would have done if I'd walked in holding it?"

  I flushed at the cattiness in my tone. Martin hadn't done anything wrong. I went into the study. The shelves in had also been searched. There was a pile of papers strewn on the floor around the table and on top, an empty drawer with a busted lock. I returned to tell the others the bad news.

  "Well," said Martin, "At least we know the knife's important. Any ideas?"

  Harrod spoke but I turned my back on him and started straightening the shelves, refusing to look at him. He had a theory that the knife was a vessel for holding Talent. It was old magic, something not touched in many years. He suggested the dream stalker needed it to siphon off the Talent from his victims, that the harvesting wasn't an innate gift. This added up with what Gibble had told us after his visit with the Others. It was bad news... but also, hopefully, good. If this guy had somehow found the knife and not created it himself, it meant he relied on it - and if we could destroy it, his killing spree would end.

  Harrod finished speaking and everyone was silent for a few moments. Deirdre spoke first.

  "Well my dears, this has been riveting but really, I don't see what we can do about it. This crazed lunatic is stalking the streets, trying to kill half-blood Talents? Surely you don't intend to go after him. The safest course of action will be to bunker down, put Emma into a safe house and make ourselves scarce. Yes?"

  "No," I said. "I don't back away from fights." Harrod snorted. "I also care about my friends more than I do about my reputation," I continued.

  He raised his eyebrows. "Is that why you think I stopped you?"

  "Oh come on Harrod, you don't think I know what that was about? You've been taught all your life to maintain that squeaky
clean image, and a half-blood punching some asshole in the face would ruin it all."

  "Wait, did we miss something while you two were outside?" Martin sounded wary.

  "You really think I'm that shallow?" Harrod shook his head disparagingly. "I was protecting you."

  "By threatening to take me out?"

  Martin shot to his feet "He did what? Gods Harrod, tell me you didn't."

  Harrod looked at Martin, trying to find the words to explain. There were none.

  "I apologise for my brother's behaviour Emma. I thought he'd gotten past that, grown up a bit. Clearly I was wrong." Martin shot an angry glance at Harrod then stalked out, slamming the door behind him.

  "I just... I needed you to back down. You don't understand. Those in the city tolerate your kind, but if things erupt now, it could ruin everything."

  "That's exactly what I'm talking about, Harrod. You're so busy dealing with politics and appearances, you don't know what it's like out here. You live on this side of the wall but you don't experience it - the hate, the suspicion, the helplessness when something goes wrong. If we don't fight for what's important, who will? The mortals don't understand us, we're too different. The Talents? They don't give a damn either."

  "I do."

  Harrod turned and walked to the door. He stopped for a moment, and I thought he might turn back. Instead, he tugged at his coat, opened the door and strode out, leaving me and Deirdre alone.

  Chapter Seven

  I stared after him, still angry but also confused. His words and his actions didn't add up and I suspected that he was struggling as much as I was to make sense of it.

  "What was he talking about? The Talents have always just ignored us. Why would that change?"

  "The whole world is changing, dear." Deirdre sat back, folding her hands in her lap. "The technology out here has finally superseded Talent. Plots and schemes abound, and though there are more supporters of integration than ever, others still wish there were a way to control the unruly children running free outside the confines of propriety. The Lords feel their place at the top of the hierarchy is slipping; they're becoming irrelevant in a world that no longer fears Magic like it once did, no longer respects those who wield it. Some feel this is in part due to the prevalence of those who flaunt their weakness in front of others, who live outside and blur the lines between those who rule, and those who one day will."

  "And you? What do you think?" I leaned forwards, trying to read her face as she answered. Deirdre had lived outside the City for years, taking care of the half-bloods and offering her healing services to mortals in need - those who'd accept it at least. Still, she spent time in the City and seemed to enjoy the privilege of her rank.

  "There is an ebb and flow to all things, child. The students become masters and the children become parents. No one should feel so confident in their place that they ignore those below them. A time will come when the Houses will fall and life behind the wall will change. Perhaps for the better, perhaps not. Much of it will be due to those outside though."

  "A revolt? That hasn't been attempted in well over a century. It failed miserably."

  "Oh, nothing so catastrophic. It's simply the way of change. I'm doing my part - bringing the pampered children of the Lords out into the world where they can see beyond their walled horizon."

  I'd met a few of the children of Talent Lords before and they were all insufferable. Some of the worst were, to my disgust, related to me. I wondered how she could put up with them. Deirdre rose.

  "Best I be off, my dear - I have somewhere quite important to be tonight. All going well, I should return bearing good news on the morrow, if Harrod doesn't tell you first. Now dear, don't pull that face - I know he has a long way to come, but his heart's in the right place. He has a vision of how the world should be - a good vision, one that does him credit. He just has a ham-fisted way of going about creating it. He'll watch over you whether he has your permission or not. Safer for both of you if you accept that, and call on him if you need to."

  "He's a pig. He should know better than to use Talent on another person, especially someone weaker than him."

  "He does know better and I assure you, he'll berate himself far more strongly for it than you ever could. Now, your little friend will need close care tonight. Feed him and let him rest. I shall send Martin back to watch over your home tonight. I fear it is becoming very dangerous to be you right now. Do promise me you'll take care?"

  She hugged me, and stopped to give Lenny one last going over. With a croon of satisfaction, she leaned in to let him lick her face, then left.

  * * *

  Martin returned a few hours later. He collapsed onto the sofa and gratefully took the cup of tea I offered him. I insisted that we take shifts during the night so he could get some rest, ignoring his assurance that all he needed was a shot of wakefulness brew - that stuff was great while it worked, but often left its users with the same feeling you'd get after a four-day binge. Of course, many of the people who used it had that exact purpose in mind. I felt sorry for anyone waking up with that kind of hangover.

  I let him relax while I worked. After cleaning up the mess downstairs I'd been left with disarray. The thief had upended boxes, emptied drawers and an entire shelf of tea stock had been destroyed. That would be the hardest to rectify - more than just tedious, the tracings I'd have to apply would need to be done in small batches or I'd end up burnt out. I didn't want to be in a position where I couldn't access the small bit of Talent I had in an emergency. I packed up what I could downstairs. Gibble had already gone through and discarded what couldn't be salvaged and was now doing inventory, so I spent the rest of my afternoon working on my stock levels, checking on Lenny every few minutes despite myself.

  I shooed Gibble out of the room so I could concentrate, then set to work. Once the work space was clear I placed a small bowl of tea leaves on the table. I sat in front of it, feeling its energy and its lines. Drawing in some of the power from around me I focused it into a long thread, weaving it through the reality of the tea leaves like a flourish of calligraphy embellishing a plainly printed word. Once complete, I disengaged and released the power I'd drawn, ready for the next one. It really is very simple, not like some of the books and accounts try to make out. An hour later and I was exhausted, but satisfied with my efforts. With Gibble's help, I gave the shop a good clean from top to bottom, a Sunday ritual that was needed today more than usual. Dusted, mopped, scrubbed and sorted. It took longer than normal because of the disorder from earlier but I was glad I had a chance to sort everything out. Once cleaned, it felt like a taint had been lifted off the walls surrounding me. I hated this feeling of filth invading my home and the ritualistic cleaning had dispersed some of it, though not all. A lingering feeling of unease wafted around and I knew it would be there for some time.

  When I'd done everything I needed to, I checked on Lenny, who was just starting to move around a little. I gave him a bowl of food, and took him as far as the footpath out front for a quick trip outside Gibble close by to act as bodyguard before he left for the night. When I came inside, I settled the dog back on his bed and stroked his back until he'd fallen asleep again. I made some tea. Tea was for thinking, and I had a lot of it to do.

  I was angry at Harrod, so angry. Though I understood in part why he'd stopped me, I hated the way he'd done it. Using brute force was how the Talents had run the world for a long time. Descended from mortals who had been blessed with their power by the Guardians, the Talented used this as their excuse to shut themselves off from everyone not within their ranks. They'd decided to claim a large plot at the centre of London hundreds of years ago, and forced out the current residents with magic. After setting up a city-within-a-city, the self-proclaimed Lords took advantage of the benefits of the bustling city, but never contributed to its wellbeing.

  It was only in the last hundred years that things had started to change. The technology and industry developed by the mortals allowed them the tools to matc
h and in many cases exceed the feats once only accomplished by magic. The Council was formed and things started to get better - at least for the mortals. The Talented allowed mortals their technology and industry because they believed that without magic, they could never be a force to be reckoned with. By the time they realised how wrong they were, it was too late. Mortals now owned their place in the world, for better or worse.

  Unfortunately, half-bloods didn't get that same privilege. The little bit of magic we had made the mortals think of us the same as they did full Talents - with loathing and distrust. Yet, we weren't accepted by the Talents, either. Though Talent-mortal relations had improved vastly over the years, half-bloods didn't fit into either group; it was like being caught between a rock and a hard place. Come to think of it, it wasn't unheard of to have rocks thrown at us...

  Harrod, of course, was raised within the cloistered confines of the Wall, amongst spoilt, egotist Talents who thought they had every right to rule the world. They were rich and powerful, they had magic that I could only dream of, they had a society in which every one of them was special. By using his Talent on me like that, he'd just confirmed that he didn't belong out here. He was one of them, and that would never change. In the short time I'd known him, I'd already come to think of him as a friend, but I wasn't so sure now. Maybe I couldn't trust him like I thought I could.

  When the day finally came to an end, I was still sitting downstairs with a cold cup of tea, caught up in my own misery. Lenny had been hurt because of me. My home had been violated and I'd let myself become invested in a friendship that in all likelihood wouldn't work out. I liked Martin and I felt awful that I'd caused a rift between the two of them, but I couldn't let go of who Harrod was, what he stood for. Heaving a sigh, I threw out my tea and headed upstairs.

  Martin roused as I opened the door to my living space. He'd been sleeping on the couch and still looked bleary eyed. "You can keep snoozing, or I can make dinner," I said.