Down on the stage, the woman on the phone said, “It’s a temporary appointment, for the summer. I… that is, the board and I felt you needed a mentor, someone more experienced in sponsor relations. I was going to talk to you about it after open… er, tomorrow.”
“How very thoughtful of you.” The acid in Riya’s tone could etch titanium. St. Peters winced.
“You’re obviously upset. I have an important meeting tonight. We can talk about this tomorrow.”
Idrián sidestepped along the row and eased himself carefully into the aisle. He was uncomfortable with how deeply angry he was on Riya’s behalf. He didn’t even know her, and his recent experience proved he was a rotten judge of women.
“Lobby,” hissed his grandfather, making shooing motions at him like he was one of the ranch’s goats.
On the stage, Riya’s voice was full of dire promise. “Oh, yes, we will talk tomorrow.” She pressed a button on her phone, then slid it back into her pocket.
St. Peters held up his hands. “It was all Denise’s idea.”
Idrián turned and limped up the slight incline toward the lobby doors. His back and legs were stiff with tension.
“Liar.” She packed an amazing amount of disdain into that short word.
“Now, sweetheart, let’s calm—”
“Stop right there. First, only my boyfriend calls me sweetheart. Second, if you don’t tell Spencer Emerson who really choreographed Red Dust Warrior, my mother’s very expensive lawyers will enjoy reaming you for every cent you’ve got. Third, if you changed even a single…”
Idrián pushed through the swinging door as quickly as he could.
With the lobby door closed, Idrián could hear no more. It was just as well. He needed time to calm down, because he’d learned the hard way during rehabilitation that rage and walking didn’t mix.
He stepped closer to the front of the lobby and let his invisibility magic slip away. The box office staff didn’t notice him. He looked south out the wide front windows to the sunny blue sky, and took several deep, calming breaths. He still wanted to punch the people who were mistreating Riya, but he was no longer contemplating using his earth magic to bury them in the rubble of the theater. It disconcerted him that his former girlfriend hadn’t generated anything like the depth of feeling caused by his dreamwalk woman. Even if she wasn’t his, and might never be.
Black Fox popped into view in front of Idrián, then pointed to about ten feet in front of the swinging doors. “Go stand there, Eaglefoot, so she can’t miss you.”
When Black Fox used Idrián’s family-only nickname, it usually meant he wanted something, but Idrián sighed and did as his grandfather asked. He momentarily wished for the magic to make himself look whole again, but it was a bad idea. He could never trust that she’d—
The doors burst open with a bang, and Riya exploded through them, half turned toward the theater, yelling, “And never would be too soon to see you again!”
Idrián tried to move out of her way, but he misjudged his step, which put him directly in her path as she spun around. Her momentum propelled her straight into him, and they tumbled down in a forward flurry of arms and legs. He barely had time to twist so that her head banged his chest instead of the carpeted floor, but he couldn’t keep her hip from colliding into his leg brace. They rolled to a stop and stayed together, body to body, for a heart-stopping, electrifying moment.
Chapter 6
Riya was so overwhelmed she nearly burst into tears. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” She’d been so outraged that she’d nearly revealed her magic to zap that slime, St. Peters, just to wipe the smug smile off his face, and then, when making her overly dramatic—but very satisfying—grand exit, she’d smashed into an old man with a cane.
Except he wasn’t an old man, he was a dark-eyed, hard-bodied man with burn scars on his face and whose touch set her body tingling in ways that she’d never felt and wanted more of. Embarrassed, she pushed up to her hands and knees. “Are you okay?”
The man blinked once. “Yes, I seem to be. What about you?” A hint of a Spanish accent colored his consonants.
“I’m fine, thanks to you being my cushion.” She scrambled to her feet and stepped back. His left leg was bent at an impossible angle, and she panicked until she realized it was a prosthesis that had come loose in their fall. “How can I help you?” She’d learned from her volunteer sessions in rehab that each person had his or her own way of recovering, and offering help was much better than interfering with his process.
As the dark-haired man sat up, his long hair drifted forward, and his western-style shirt gaped open where the front snaps had come undone. The burn scars didn’t disguise his beautifully muscled, very masculine chest. Riya flushed to realize she was blatantly ogling him and tried to keep her eyes on his face as he snapped his shirt closed. He was clearly Native American, and ruggedly handsome, with a wide, generous mouth. His imposing, slightly crooked nose gave his face character. His eyes were deep brown, almost black, with long lashes. He was also a magic user of some sort, but she couldn’t tell what kind.
“Your bag is on my foot,” he said.
“What?” She looked where he was pointing. Her bag was evidently the reason his prosthesis had come loose. She scooped up the offending bag and held it close to her chest. “Sorry.”
“No harm done.” He rolled up the loose leg of his jeans and, leaning forward, held his prosthetic leg still while he pushed his sock-wrapped stump into it. The prosthesis was a style she’d never seen before, with no connecting pin, and a wire-form lower leg with an elegant, almost steampunk-style articulated ankle. The athletic shoe encasing its foot looked prosaic by comparison. With the help of his cane, he got to his feet, then bounced on the leg a couple of times to seat his stump in the prosthesis.
He gave her a lopsided smile. “I’m Idrián Odair.” His name sounded Spanish, with the accent on the last syllable.
“Riya Sanobal.” Her wayward sense of humor got the better of her. “Nice to run into you.” She stuck her hand out.
His smile widened as he shook her hand. “Unforgettable.”
For as long as their skin touched, she felt deliciously energized, the exact opposite of when she’d had to shake hands with the creepy Spencer Emerson the night before. Which reminded her of the last twenty-four hours, and threatened to send her thoughts down dark paths.
Impulsively, she asked, “Could I make up for my carelessness by treating you to an early dinner?” She glanced back toward the theater, then to the intriguing man in front of her. “I’m taking the whole evening off, now that the new artistic director is here to save us.” She didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm from her tone. An hour or two with Idrián was much more appealing than spending another infuriating second anywhere near St. Peters. She wouldn’t be good for anyone’s morale that night, and as for St. Peters, the theater owners took a dim view of real blood on their stage.
Idrián was frowning at something to the right of her, but he quickly looked back to her. “Are you sure your boyfriend won’t mind? The one who calls you ‘sweetheart’?”
She was puzzled for a moment, then remembered what she’d yelled at St. Peters. It must have been loud enough to hear in the lobby. “Pfft.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I haven’t had a boyfriend in months. I just wanted St. Peters to leave me alone.” She gave him a crooked smile. “So, dinner?”
He nodded. “Yes, if we each pay.” He flicked his eyes at the same spot to her right again. “The spot I was standing in made me impossible to miss.”
He agreed to follow her to a diner in her neighborhood. As luck would have it, she’d parked her little SUV right next to his truck.
Something about the way he walked gave her a strong sense of déjà vu, but she didn’t know why. His injuries were memorable, but they didn’t bother her, and she liked that he’d owned his burn scar by adding a stylized eagle on his skull. With her dance-as-rehab work, she’d long ago learned to look past what a body looked
like, regardless of how damaged—or pretty—to see the person inside. She’d let herself forget that lesson with her six-timing ex-boyfriend because she’d been lonely, and with the thieving St. Peters, because she’d wanted to help the company. Never again, she vowed.
She watched as he unlocked the door to his once-white, seen-many-better-days truck, to make sure he wasn’t suffering ill effects from their collision. The New Mexico license plate triggered a warm memory of red desert and rocks, and realization suddenly dawned on her. “You’re the Red Dust Warrior.”
He looked at her, eyebrows raised. “I’m the what?”
She flushed. “Sorry, don’t mind me. I’m just a dancer.” She twirled a finger at her temple to indicate she was loony. It was what most people thought of artists.
“Tell me,” he said gently. “I won’t laugh.”
“I had a dream about you about a month ago. You had talons for feet. We fought a demon.” There, she’d said it. Now he could slowly back away from the crazy woman.
A corner of his mouth twitched in a smile. “I had the same dream.”
She laughed. “You did not.” She appreciated that he was trying to humor her.
“I did.” He took a step closer. “You had a slingshot.” He touched his fingers to his lips. “You kissed me. Twice.”
And now all she could focus on was his mouth, wondering if he tasted the same in real life. She licked her lips.
“I’ve been looking for you ever since.”
That startled her. “You have? But I’ve seen you almost every… Oh, you mean here, in real life.” That was even more startling. “Why?”
“Because you’re a dreamwalk…” His words trailed off as he stared at her a moment. His eyes widened. “You’re the bird with the long turquoise feathers and a song like bells.” He sighed, as if disgusted with himself. “You’ve been there all along.”
She glanced at the busy street. “Look, I don’t want to seem pushy, but I think we need to talk, and not in public.” Her intuition said he could be trusted, and her body was definitely in favor of anything that got her alone with him. “We could go to my place. It’s protected, and I know the best takeout restaurants in town.”
“Yes, we do need to talk.” Inexplicably, he winced and put a hand over his left ear.
Over dinner, he told her about his National Guard service in the tank division and the bomb that had ended his career, about his sand painting commercial art, and about his ranch, which he clearly loved and said was better physical therapy than anything the VA offered. When he mentioned it was near Magic, New Mexico, she told him her mother had always told her it would be a safe place to go in an emergency. She described her own mixed-up ancestry and mostly human nature, her choice of a dance career over formal magic study, her years of dancing and choreographing movement theatre in Europe and the U.S., and her unconventional volunteer work at the rehab center for special cases.
She tossed the empty sandwich wrappers and brought him the glass of water he’d asked for, then sat on the other end of the couch facing him, her legs folded under her.
“So, how did I get to dreamwalk to meet you?”
He’d already explained to her about the dreamwalk plane that was the space between the real world and demon dimensions and other realities, and that access to it manifested differently to individuals who had the dreamwalk gift, which she apparently did. He was an earth mage, with an affinity to his ancestral lands, so to him, it felt like sinking into the soil. For his recently deceased grandfather, a powerful weather mage, it had been like being blown in by a high wind.
“Do you believe in spirits?”
She blinked at the change in subject. “Well, I’d better, or I’d never be able to see my dad again. Pure cloud spirits need the power of belief to be seen in this world. What’s that got to do with dreamwalk?”
Idrián looked relieved. “Black Fox—my grandfather—recently transitioned to spirit form. He’s here now, and says your portal magic gets you into dreamwalk.”
She’d never put a name to her ability, but the name felt right. She gave him a teasing smile. “He’s been talking to you a lot tonight, hasn’t he? I’m glad to know it’s not just voices in your head.”
He smiled and nodded, then grew serious. “It’s the duty and privilege for dreamwalkers to train others with the talent, and you’re the first I’ve run into. It’s very rare for someone untrained to get into dreamwalk without a guide. You need to know how to control your visits, and how to be safe. You’ve been lucky so far, but you’re vulnerable without knowledge.”
“Okay, so how do I learn?”
He reached out to her and offered his hand. “We dreamwalk.”
She put her hand in his, and took a moment to re-adjust to the thrill of his touch. A flickering image behind the couch caught her eye. She nodded respectfully and focused on him. “Black Fox, I presume?”
“Yes.” The old man’s ghost stabilized. He wore jeans, a western-style plaid shirt, and a worked silver and turquoise necklace. His white hair was parted in the center, with long braids. The resemblance to Idrián was strong. “Teach Eaglefoot here how to dance.” Black Fox winked, then dissolved like ghostly rain.
Idrián sighed. “Don’t mind him. He’s like a kid in a candy store with his new abilities, popping in and out whenever he feels like it, creating cheesy special effects.”
“What’s he talking about?”
“I was taught to access my magic through sacred dances.” He lifted his right leg with the brace, and patted his left thigh above the prosthesis. “I can’t do them anymore.”
She recognized the sadness and anger in his voice, like she’d heard from patients at the rehab clinic. “Does it have to be the exact movements? Or is it the rest of it, the part the rhythm, or the way the dancing helps you focus t hat happens between the steps ?”
He looked thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I always assumed it the dance had to be exact. the same .”
“When I work with veterans like you in the rehab center, we focus on the outcome, the objective. If you’ll let me, I think I can help you find a new door to get there. But not tonight.” She squeezed his hand gently. “How do we get to dreamwalk?”
It turned out to be both simpler and harder than she imagined to visit dreamwalk while awake. When he guided her, it was just as easy as opening a door, which she imagined as a sliding-glass door into early summer, her favorite time of year. When he didn’t help her, the door wavered like a rippled pond, and she had to struggle to visualize it as being connected to anything. Finally, she hit on the idea of giving herself a steady count in her head, like when she was first learning a new dance, and tuning out all other thoughts besides the feel of the rhythm in her bones and the summer door.
Idrián, tattooed, eagle footed, and gorgeously half-naked in his loincloth, was waiting. “You did well.”
“I don’t know about that, but I’ll get better,” she said. “Are you seeing me as a bird or a woman?”
He smiled and eyed her with avid interest, lingering on her hips. “Very much a woman.” Her hips were wide, even for a theatrical dancer, but she liked her shape, and was glad he did, too.
“Excellent.” In real life, she’d have probably blushed, but in her waking dream, she wanted his admiration. She morphed her “Pluto: Never Forget” T-shirt and yoga pants into a dark blue sari with silver thread, over a golden brown choli top, to complement the turquoise, black, and red accent feathers that intermingled with her hair. She added bells at her hips and wrists and shimmied her hips. “I could do this all day.” She grinned at him in delight.
He smiled and held out his hand. “Let me show you dreamwalk.”
Just like in real life, the moment she took his hand, power danced under her skin. “Do you feel that, when we touch? It’s like we complete a circuit.”
He nodded. “It’s because we’re compatible as dreamwalk partners. We make each other stronger.” He smiled wryly. “At least, that
’s what Black Fox says.”
She looked around, but she could only see red ground and clumps of low-growing sage. “Is he here?”
“No. Spirits pass into their own plane. It doesn’t intersect with this one, though spirits can look. You could only see him in the real world because you were touching my skin.” He pulled her gently. “Come with me.”
They started walking together, hand in hand, but it was like walking in a dream, with the environment changing impossibly fast as their feet seemed to skim the ground. His unique gait seemed perfectly natural for taloned feet. Her axis began to tilt, like she’d had several glasses of champagne on an empty stomach. “You have the nicest butt I’ve ever seen. Way better than Mack’s. He’s playing you in my dance. You should wear a loincloth all the time. Although maybe not in the winter.” She frowned. “Sorry. I seem to have no filter at the moment.”
He laughed. “I forgot to warn you about dreamwalk travel. It loosens whatever anchors you have.”
“Let’s just pretend I’m three sheets to the wind, okay?” The landscape changed at a dizzying pace, so she concentrated on the fascinating tattoos on his chest, arm, neck, and face that looked like they were illustrating a story, if only she could tell where it started. “This never happened when I was following you around as a bird.” Her knees felt wobbly. “Maybe I can learn to shift in dreamwalk. Mums would be so proud. Can shifters visit dreamwalk so she can see me?”
Idrián finally stopped and turned to face her. “Riya, look at me.” He caught her other hand in his and brought them both to his chest.
The crazily spinning horizon and choppy skies settled down, and the dizzy-drunk feeling evaporated. She blinked a couple of times, then focused on his eagle-gold eyes and took a long, deep, centering breath. “Wow.” She grinned. “That was wild.” Perhaps it was just as well her wardrobe trick didn’t work on him, or he’d have been bare-ass naked the entire trip.
“My fault,” he said. “I took you too fast for a beginner.” He released one of her hands and cupped the side of her face in his palm, his expression focused and intense. “You are so beautiful.”
Magic, New Mexico: In Graves Below (Kindle Worlds) Page 5
