Dream Stalker: Talented: Book 1

by Hopkins, Amy

  "Food," came the grunted reply.

  I pulled open the pantry doors and peered in. Tired and miserable as I was, I didn't have the energy to cook something fancy. "I've got cheese, tomatoes and a sandwich toaster. Will that do?" Martin actually perked up a little at the suggestion. In about ten minutes’ time I had piping hot toasted sandwiches on the table. Was it only this morning we'd sat and had breakfast together? It felt like longer. Mentally groping around I searched for something to talk about, anything but the events from earlier today. I found nothing, so we ate in awkward silence.

  "I'm sorry." His sudden words startled me.

  "You? You didn't do anything." My voice was emphatic.

  "I shouldn't have left Harrod alone to deal with the situation, not when there was a mess of people out there. I knew that."

  "You're not his babysitter." I stood and started clearing the table, hoping to end the conversation.

  "What he did was wrong. He should never have threatened you. He never was good in a crisis; just falls back on the only thing he knew growing up. When a situation gets heated, shut it down. It's ingrained in him and sometimes it comes out, but he's a good person - the best I know. He's scared. The Lords are worried and things over the wall are complicated right now. There's a chance things could get better but it's balancing on a knife's edge."

  "I don't even know what that means. They never cross the wall, they've got their little city within a city, what reason could they possibly have to change?"

  There was a short silence while Martin tried to gather his thoughts.

  "The Lords and the mortal leaders have been in negotiations. The mortals want official recognition of their leadership. They want the Lords to put themselves under the laws of the government when they're amongst them, and they want them monitored. The Lords have divided into two factions. One half supports the proposal - well, in part - and the other reacted probably about as well as you'd expect. The faction that wins the election gets to decide. It really could mean big changes if the right group gets in."

  "Right." I was unconvinced. "Where is Harrod, anyway?"

  "Voting."

  "It's tonight?"

  "Yeah."

  "How does he think it'll go?"

  Martin just shrugged, so I dropped it. We didn't talk much after that - I was busy mulling over what he'd said about the Talents. I'd known about the three main factions battling for council positions - they basically boiled down to half-blood and mortal supporters, half-blood and mortal detractors, and the 'let's just kill everyone who's not us' group which was, thankfully, the smallest of the three. There were more complexities, of course. Fae had recently been added to council sittings and there were various thoughts on the different classes of Otherworld denizens, but I was quite selfishly only interested in what it would mean for my own people. Shuddering at the prospect of a potentially bad outcome, I wondered how much it would change life outside the wall.

  Martin went back to sleep while I sat with coffee and bad TV. I wasn't tired. Lenny came up at some point and lay next to me, for which I was grateful. He was still exhausted, but seemed otherwise fine. My poor boy. As he settled in, a flood of anger washed over me and then dissipated just as quickly, leaving me tired and numb. What could I do? It felt like I'd run out of options. So I sat, staring at silent infomercials until the sun rose.

  * * *

  Martin woke not long before sunrise and insisted I sleep. To pacify him, I went and lay down on my bed. I didn't think I'd sleep but I sank in to a deep, disturbing dream that only ended when my doorbell rang, setting off an alert ward in my room. I stuck my head out the window - it was Harrod. I hurriedly tipped my wand, casting the spell that would un-ward the front door, then called to him that it was open. After he was inside I re-warded it.

  A moment later, clomping footsteps sounded up the stairs to my flat. He came into the room and Martin looked at him expectantly. There was a moment of silence, then Harrod broke into a wide grin, arms spreading wide.

  "We won, brother."

  Martin let out a whoop, and jumped in the air clapping his hands. The two embraced, slapping each other on the back.

  "We... won? The sympathisers hold the majority?"

  "Not just the majority. The high seat. Abnett bloody won!"

  I couldn't keep the shock from my face.

  "How? There's no way a sympathiser could-"

  "Oh we've been working on this for years! Since before I left the city. We thought we might have it, but it was close. The sympathisers run the Council fifteen to twelve. Not as big of a majority as we hoped, but having Abnett on the seat more than makes up for that. Some of the neutral families will start currying favour by leaning that way now that toad Morcolm is gone."

  Morcolm was known for his refusal to take a side in the disagreements between Talented and not. Though he had half-bloods in his family and even a Fault - a second cousin or somewhat - he lacked the conviction to stand up to the dissenters on the Council.

  "That's wonderful." I said, not as brightly as I could have. The feeling was there but I still felt sleep-muddled. I went into the kitchen, looking for coffee. It seemed Martin had already eaten.

  "I made you breakfast; it's keeping warm in the oven." Martin said.

  I opened it and took out a plate of food - beans, sausages, eggs, bread. It was warm and the eggs still soft, so I guessed it hadn't been there too long. I thanked him and sat down to eat as they continued talking.

  I hadn't realised Harrod was actively part of a faction campaigning for equality across the three communities. Though real acceptance might never happen, this might lead to a modicum of safety for the half-bloods. I knew of Abnett. He'd come into the outer city every so often, meeting with the Talented out here and asking what they needed to continue their work, how the half-bloods needed help. There wasn't much that he could do, but it seemed like he cared. I'd never in a million years expected him to be elected to high seat. It must have taken a really concerted effort and a lot of politicking to get him there. I wondered how secure his seat was.

  "What's Abnett like?" I asked. "I've only met him in passing."

  The two men passed a look between them.

  "He's... appreciative of the opportunity he's been given." Harrod's voice was guarded.

  "He's a puppet." Martin was blunter in his appraisal. "But he's a puppet who knows what he is, and who put him in charge. He believes in the cause; he just doesn't have the leadership skills to run the council on his own."

  "Why not find someone better then?"

  "Well, they were going to put Harrod's name forwards until I came along. I sort of blew that opportunity for him."

  Harrod snorted and I guessed he wasn't as enamoured with that idea as Martin had suggested. There was a lot I didn't know about this Talented outcast and his fault of a brother. Martin offered to make tea and I nodded enthusiastically. He filled the kettle and held it out while Harrod absentmindedly heated it with a flick of his wand.

  "That's not all the news I have. I spoke to a few people over there. It seems some of the community are aware of what's happening out here. Abnett got wind and was using it to boost his platform. There are a few rumours passing around about who's responsible."

  My heart stopped. Finally, a lead, something we could act upon. The rumours were about one of the upper echelons of the Talented, a man named Opius. He was an old man, had no living family and had gone into seclusion over the past few years, only making a very occasional appearance. Age and a mysterious illness had withered him into feebleness, though his mind was still said to be sharp. It would have to be bad if the Talented healers couldn't fix it, but there were a few things they couldn't touch, including some few magic-borne diseases.

  The story Harrod had heard said that despite his talent being severely depleted because of his illness, Opius had recently been seen tracing spells that required considerable power.

  Interestingly, one of the women Harrod spoke to said she was sure she'd seen Op
ius on her way into the Lords Conclave, looking haler than he had for years. 'Positively glowing' was how she'd described him.

  "There's an event coming up that he's likely to put in an appearance at. A gala, one of the high lords is hosting it. I can get myself on the list, get a look at him. Maybe even corner him, if we play our cards right. If I can goad him into attacking me, it'd pull the whole city down on his head."

  "You can't do that," I said, almost choking on a mouthful of food. "It's not safe. We don't know how he’s doing this or how strong he is."

  "Actually, I think I do. Dream stalking isn't unheard of, and even if he's gifted in that, it won't help him against someone who's awake. I managed to find out some information about the weapon he's using... Seems one of the grails has gone missing. The Guardians haven't confirmed it, but the rumour is spreading and they haven't put a stop to it."

  Grails were old, dark magic used back in the days when offspring like me were sacrificed. The blood rite would pass the power of the victim to the one leading the ceremony. The exact details of how were unknown, but this seemed to confirm the theory we'd been working on. If this Opius had gotten his hands on one of these, he'd have had to make it past the Guardians, or made a deal with one of them. That alone made him a very dangerous man - one with either an awful lot of power, or one who had nothing to lose. The second scared me more.

  "Harrod, you're seriously considering going against someone armed with a grail? You don't even know how it works, how to fight against it."

  "You're right of course. I'll need to talk to them. They're the only ones who know how they work, perhaps they'll tell me how to stop it. Then we can-"

  "What?" I interjected. "With who? You can't seriously intend to seek out the Guardians?" It was too dangerous. Hey, I might not like the guy but that didn't mean I wanted him spit roasted and fed to a horde of hungry pixies.

  "I don't have a choice, they're the only ones who might know how to stop it," he replied.

  "There has to be another way. I can send Gibble instead."

  "They won't give a boggart the time of day. It has to be a human. My status as a Talent will help - it would be a risk for them to attack me without provocation; they wouldn't give up their council seats over a bit of sport."

  He had a point, but dammit, I couldn't let him do this. Not for us. Not after what I'd said about him.

  "Then I'm coming too." Harrod opened his mouth to speak and I waved my fork at him. "Oh don't even bother to argue. These are my people at risk and it's my life being hunted. I have to be there."

  "Well then," Martin said. "Shall I pack sandwiches for the three of us?"

  Chapter Eight

  After doing our best to convince Martin to stay behind, we finally relented when he threatened to follow us on his own. That would have been a suicide mission. It was going to be hard enough to keep him alive travelling with us, but for a mortal man to walk through the otherworld alone was a guaranteed death sentence - a long, painful one.

  It wasn't a trip we could make without preparing for. We would be on high alert for the trip and there was no guessing how long it would take. Harrod wanted to reach out to some contacts to smooth our journey and Martin and I both needed rest. I'd have to find someone to look after Lenny, too - normally Gibble would do that, but I didn't want him left alone at night after what happened. After some discussion, we agreed to meet again in three days. Meanwhile, Harrod promised to have someone watching over me at all times. I chafed a little at that but didn't argue. My safety was more important than my pride.

  When Gibble arrived later in the day to help finish the cleaning and restocking, I almost told him of our journey. He might know a safe way through to the Guardians, or he might know someone who could help us on the other side. I opened my mouth to ask, then changed my mind.

  "I'm not opening the shop on Wednesday. I'm spending the day with Martin and Harrod. You don't need to come in." He just shrugged, not giving any indication of whether he'd show up anyway. He probably would - I'd have to make sure I left early to avoid him.

  Guilt nagged at me after I said it. Gibble had looked after me to some degree or another all my life. Now, however, that protective streak could very well cause him to try and stop me. I busied myself putting away the stock I'd finished last night. The situation we were walking into would be dangerous. We would have to be prepared, but I didn't want to dwell on it more than I needed to in case I lost my nerve completely.

  Most of my day was spent fidgeting, pacing and fiddling with stock, trying to dodge Gibble as much as I could. It was relieved when I received a visit from DCI Greyson late that afternoon. He arrived as I was closing the shop and I eagerly took the opportunity to shoo Gibble off while I spoke to him.

  We exchanged pleasantries, then stood around awkwardly for a moment. I wasn't sure how to ask about the file that had been dropped at my door, in case it hadn't been him.

  "Hey, I just wanted to come by and check on you. I heard there was a disturbance here yesterday?"

  You know how in movies the good guy is all strong and independent, and doesn't tell anyone what's happening in case they get hurt? I get that impulse. I also watch a lot of movies and know it usually causes more harm than good.

  "I was robbed and I think it was the killer. He's come for me more than once. This time, he hurt my dog - and he took back the murder weapon."

  "The weapon - you mean you had it? You didn't tell anyone?" Greyson shook his head in irritated wonder. "What the hell were you thinking? We've been searching for this guy for months without a damn thing to go on, while you've got the goddamn murder weapon and didn't tell the police."

  I shrank back at his anger. I hadn't even thought of it that way.

  "Look, I meant to make a report, I just..." I trailed off.

  He sighed. "You just thought there was no point, that it wouldn't make a difference. That the police wouldn't care because you're a half-blood."

  I shrugged. He'd said what I was trying not to. Looking away, he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

  "I know the O.C.U. has a bad rep. They're poorly managed and full of idiots, but that doesn't mean the rest of us aren't trying. I'm an officer of the law, I'm not just going to let some psychopath run around killing people. If you have anything, share it with me. I know I can't promise much but I will do what I can."

  "Ok." I could agree to that. "But if you're not with the Otherworld Crime Unit, why are you even on the case?" The O.C.U. was a branch of law enforcement that dealt with crimes and disturbances involving anyone not purely mortal.

  "I caught the first death, before we realised Talents were involved. The unit muscled in but made a botch of it and didn't care. I refused to let the case drop."

  "That was brave. I don't imagine your superiors were pleased." My respect for the man was growing. It was unusual for a mortal to care so much about what happened to a half-blood.

  "I'll face the ramifications later. For now, I've been allowed to take lead on this, and I'd like to get it sorted before anyone else dies. Can I rely on your help?" His eyes searched my face, looking for a sign that he could trust me.

  I told him everything that had already happened, everything I knew. He took notes and as I described the attacks, he seemed to show genuine concern for my safety. Still, I didn't mention our plans- I couldn't be sure he wouldn't try to interfere. When I finished, he offered me a protective detail.

  "No, that's fine. I have friends watching over me; Talents. I have Gibble, too - yeah, he's my shop assistant."

  "I still think it would be better if my team-"

  "Look, I really mean this in the nicest way possible, but... this guy is a full Talent. I don't want your people getting hurt. Even if he comes after me again - which he might not, now he has his knife back - I really don't think your people could stop him."

  Greyson shifted uncomfortably, but he knew I was right. They wouldn't let a half-blood on the force and without magic, they didn't stand a chance agai
nst a Talent. He sighed again and said farewell, reminding to me to take care and call him if anything else came up. I promised him I would, and I almost meant it.

  * * *

  When Gibble arrived the next morning, he came straight up to my rooms to seek me out.

  "You not be doing this thing. You must promise me you will not."

  "What thing?" I asked innocently.

  "I know you did hear that rumour. I know it did be passed to Talent-friend. And I know you be stupid, so I think me, 'she be going to the Others, Gibble'. I be right?"

  "I'm stupid?" I exclaimed.

  "You be going?"

  "Well... yes, but-"

  "Then, you be stupid. Stupid humans, thinking you be going to have tea with those who be killing you. You not be going"

  "Gibble, you can't keep me here." Gibble's wrinkled, hairless brows pulled in and his mouth puckered. The look on his face broke my heart. The crazy old boggart was actually, genuinely worried about me. That guilty feeling kicked in again. "Gib, I'll be fine. We're going together, me, Harrod and Martin. We'll take runes, we'll follow the rules and we'll be very, very careful. I'll come back to you, I promise."

  "Gibble knew you be stupid. So, Gibble decide to be stupid with. Gibble coming too."

  Cripes. This was going to be one hell of an adventure...

  * * *

  Time flew by, as it does when you want it to crawl and the day I dreaded came quickly. There was only one port-jump outside of the city that led to the Otherworld. It was nearer to Harrod's home than mine so we'd decided to meet there first and leave together.

  It was in the richer part of London and butted up against the Wall, as some of the more affluent houses did. To say the house was large was an understatement. It was a tiny freaking castle. As we approached the gates they opened themselves, creaking loudly. We made our way up the driveway to a large, wooden front door framed by pillars topped by... gargoyles. The man had gargoyles at his door. What next, the front door was going to open ominously by itself like a B grade horror movie? I raised my hand to the knocker... the door opened ominously by itself and I stifled a nervous giggle. Gibble looked at me, the niceties of humour apparently passing over him.