The Dream Crafter

by Danielle Monsch

  Not a god. He’d never had the pleasure, but this didn’t seem to be a game for a god, not from what he knew of them. Those who were upright would have taken the Spellbook directly. Those that enjoyed subterfuge were too flighty to let this game play on so long, and would never have allowed him to grab them and run. “Tell me about dream crafters.”

  “The knowledge I have is slight. Do not allow her to dream, and do not allow her in your dreams again. Does the Guild know she is a crafter?”

  “They’re the ones that sicced her on me, and now they’re asking double to get her back? I can’t imagine they wouldn’t.”

  “If they know, it is only a short time until others know. And if others know, you are in as much danger by having her at your side as you are with the Spellbook. To claim a dream crafter, some would lay waste to nations in their pursuit.”

  “I’ll deal with it. In the meantime, would you please research crafters? I’ll take any knowledge.”

  Shisen gave a nod and disconnected.

  This assignment kept getting better and better. Merc pushed the heels of his hands hard against his eyes, frustration gnawing through his system like a million tiny needles hitting every nerve center at once. First time he disregarded his instincts and look where it got him – in mortal bound with a fuckwit, carrying a Spellbook that might kill him if he opened it, and holding hostage the first woman who interested him in years, a woman who had some control over the world through dreams.

  He needed help. Shisen would research, sure, but that was more for his own knowledge base. Even after all these years, Merc couldn’t guarantee the man would help him in the end.

  Opening up a message app, he typed a quick Need to talk in person – available?

  It took a good minute before the reply popped on the screen.

  when

  Tomorrow night, same conditions as the Halsing job.

  you better not get my ass kicked this time

  For the first time since he’d woken up to find himself cuffed to the bed, humor lit through Merc, enough that a smile tugged at his mouth as he answered I make no promises.

  never do mañana darlin

  It was too risky to keep going, so Merc closed down everything and settled beside Amana, getting comfortable for the rest of the sleepless night. Tomorrow, they were going to chat, and he’d get the answers that would determine his next step.

  Chapter Fifteen

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  As she opened her eyes, only the hazy disorientation that followed a poor sleep clung to Amana, the light lethargy dissipating as she stretched limbs and blinked sleep from her eyes. Her gaze fell on Merc, and a lazy jump of contentment sizzled down her nerve paths for a moment. Only a moment. Only until yesterday’s memories crashed into her, lifting the haze and throwing her body into skittish readiness.

  She pulled up on the bed, a ball of waiting, watching him as he watched her.

  There was no welcoming smile on his face this time. This time, his eyes were shadowed, all light in them darkened, half covered by black and red bangs. His body was still, but any pretense at relaxation was belied by the too straight lines his body held.

  But as of now he hadn’t harmed her, and still alive was a good sign. She could work with that. Anything else would be figured out with time. “Have you decided what you’re doing?”

  Merc’s head lifted, giving her a clearer picture of his eyes, but there was no more light in them now than there had been before. “Do the words Dream Crafter mean anything to you?”

  The last ten years had been spent learning to read people, to offer them what they wanted, no matter if they expressed those desires in truth or covered their true wants with lies. To promise them their dearest dreams – whether the promises were meant to be fulfilled or not. That more than any other skill had allowed her to survive – even thrive – in a world that would use her to the last of her power and throw her away when the usefulness ended.

  Here, now, with Merc, she couldn’t read him. Their shared time in the dreams only confused the issue. Was the Merc she had laughed with, held hands as the waves rolled over their feet, was that the core of the man, or was any hint of man nothing but a mask for the mercenary?

  Words, explanations, pleas, all rained down from her mind, a tornado of choices where the correct one would calm the storm but choosing wrong would leave a far-flung path of destruction, where her brother’s freedom – perhaps even her life – would lay in the ruined wake.

  “I was in a gambling hall when I first heard that title,” Amana began, uncurling her body and meeting his gaze with the full force of her own. “Almost two years ago. I was arm candy for this high roller. You know those girls, the ones who smile even as people run their hands over them like they’re chattel and aren’t thought to have a brain in their head.”

  Merc’s expression showed no change, no heightened interest. He only nodded.

  So she continued. “They talked about the rumor one existed. Then they talked about the many ways they could make money with such a person.” A quick burn rose from her stomach up her throat as the horrific examples they threw back and forth reared themselves in her brain. And they had laughed as they suggested them. They laughed, and placed bets that were more than most people made in a year, and ran their pudgy, too-soft fingers from her knees to her inner thigh as she stood beside them. “There isn’t much information about dream crafters. I didn’t look too hard because I didn’t want any questions from people asking why I was interested.”

  “Some would say a dream crafter is as much myth as a dragon, but while there are no dragons, we both know dream crafters are real, don’t we?”

  Here it was, the decision how to play this, which side of the line to fall. Merc was all less – emotionless, expressionless, reactionless – but though it had to be her imagination, or her memories of their time together before it all went to hell, she could swear something in him called out to her, begged her to make this right for them.

  “I don’t know what I can do. Some mysterious master never knocked at my door and told me how I was a magical One who was destined to greatness. Anything I think I know is pieced together from this or that. I can tell you I think I’m a Dream Crafter, but I don’t know. I’ve never trained, and before you, I only affected the real world once.” Before him, and she had sworn never to do it again. How quickly vows fell before terrible choices.

  “Mysterious masters do not lessen the questions in your life.” There was a faint strand of resigned knowing in his voice, and if they were on the beach, she’d question him further about that statement. Now, though, she awaited his verdict, this man who was unexpected judge, jury, and possible executioner.

  Even with the early morning coolness, Amana’s skin prickled and beads of sweat formed along the hairline at her neck as Merc kept his still vigil in front of her. He asked nothing else, his eyes once again shielded by bangs so no hint of possible thoughts could be seen.

  With her nerves stretched like an old rubber band, his sudden rise from the seat had her jump in response. His hand came up in an instinctive sign of stay, easy though the facial expression remained blank. His voice was tired when he spoke. “Come here.”

  She rose and took the seat he pointed to, a stiff chair with hard slats and handcuffs already attached. He cuffed her in and said, “I’m napping for ninety minutes, and then we’ll be on our way.”

  She waited, but nothing else, nothing that told her of when to expect that other shoe from the sky. “So what are you going to do with me?”

  “You work for the Guild, no matter for how long or for why. Technically, you’re my enemy right now. Until I figure out my plan from here, you’re staying with me.”

  Relief jolted through her system, waking her up as efficiently as caffeine. He wasn’t going to kill her. “I understand. Thank you for letting me sleep first.”

  His expression was puzzled, perhaps because of her lack of yelling or threats or any of a hundred-and-one ways she could be annoying
in her helplessness. It lasted only a moment before he fell into bed and went to sleep with a quickness that spoke of a soldier’s training to sleep wherever and whenever the opportunity arose.

  She made a token pull on the cuffs, but they were too sturdy for her to get them off, and any serious try would have him up and out of bed in moments. She’d have to keep her eyes open for chances while they were traveling.

  He was a mercenary. Whatever happened between them in the dreams was useless here and now, and she needed to remember that. Dreams were over. Reality was here, and any confusion between the two would only lead to her downfall.

  Chapter Sixteen

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  The building was nondescript. Big and blocky and brown brick, and not even with magical intervention would she be able to describe it in any other detail.

  Pulling in between a hot rod on one side and a group of motorcycles on the other, Merc put the minivan in park and got out. Since at this moment discretion equaled self-preservation, Amana waited until he circled the van and opened the door for her. “Why are we still in the minivan?”

  “It’s roomy, it’s comfortable, and its acceleration and handling are finer than anyone in pursuit would assume. That throws off the pursuer’s calculations and gives me an edge.” Merc rattled off data like he’d been through this several times before. Considering his profession, he probably had.

  It still seemed goofy. The car couldn’t have stuck out more if there had been a spotlight shining down on it. Since she had hopes of rescue this worked in her favor, but it did suggest Merc wasn’t as good as he’d been portrayed.

  It seemed their connection wasn’t only in dreams, because after a quick look at her face, Merc said. “Defying expectation is one way of avoiding getting caught. You’d be surprised how often hiding in plain sight works.”

  Merc adjusted the strap of the messenger bag currently slung across his chest. The Spellbook was inside, and every so often he tilted his head to look back at it, a slight frown on his face. He did so again, and Amana asked, “What’s wrong? Is it hurting you?”

  “Do you feel it?” Less than a second after the question was asked, Merc’s lips thinned and he gave the tiniest shake of his head.

  So he hadn’t meant to ask her or let her know anything was amiss. Still, it was out, and it was best to acknowledge the fact before he could start to brood over conspiracy theories. “I don’t feel anything, but I’m not magic like you either,” she said, motioning to the black lines on his arm.

  After a few moments of silence, his only answer was a nod, and then he was leading them to the front door, which opened into an underground club. Unlike what she had expected from the exterior of the building and the quality of cars parked around, this place was stylish, women dressed in full hair and make-up and men in something other than jeans. Amana’s tug on her rumpled white blouse and quick hand through her hair didn’t quite settle the low hum of embarrassment running through her blood, especially with the catty double-takes a few women favored her with as she passed by.

  Merc was just as conspicuous, but the double-takes given him were of a different nature. Was it normal to want to trip a woman because she was giving lascivious looks to the man who was technically your captor? Of course, nothing about this scenario could even point to normal, so why worry about it now?

  They made their way to the back of the club to the door marked Private – Employees Only. Merc stepped through without hesitation, and with a hand at her elbow, made sure she followed.

  The suite of offices looked similar to what she’d seen at the club when she met with Fallon and Laire – utilitarian, but with comfortable furnishings and the occasional pretty piece of artwork to view. As they made their way down the main hall, a tall, rangy man stepped into their path. “Merc my man, didn’t know it was you we were expecting.”

  “Didn’t have time to call,” Merc responded. Though the words were pleasant and spoke to at least a past acquaintance, the undertow of tension was palpable, and Amana stepped behind Merc, out of the possible line of fire.

  She must have been too obvious in her nervousness because the man smiled at her, giving a small flip of his hands suggestive of the don’t shoot move. “Don’t worry, little lady. Bossman said to escort our guest, so I’m not kicking y’all out.”

  “Always dreaming high, Whisper. That’s what I like about you.” But Merc relaxed the smallest bit, which meant Amana could untense those muscles that had gone into flight mode.

  Whisper led them into a waiting room, and his hand once again on her elbow, Merc sat her in a chair. A slither of heat sprung from his hand to wind its way down her body and around her waist. What the…? “Stay here,” Merc commanded, then followed the brunet man into another room.

  Amana tried to stand, but sure enough, she was held fast. Another bit of magic then. She was going to discover every single thing those tattoos were capable of, including if she could somehow strangle him with his own magic.

  She closed her eyes, the boredom of waiting settling down on her as the minutes passed, wishing she could fall asleep on command. It would be a handy skill to have right now, but since she’d spent the last ten years avoiding sleep to the point she dealt with insomnia on a recurring basis, it was probably too much to hope for now.

  The lights dimmed, and a man appeared. “Amana?” She jerked back, but he held out a hand. “The Guild sent me. They’ve been looking for you. I’m here to set you free.”

  *

  Whisper didn’t talk as they would their way through the back rooms, which was fine with Merc. They weren’t exactly friends. More like occasional comrades who wouldn’t try to kill each other outside of the job. It worked for them.

  When they arrived at the final door, Whisper gave two quick raps with his knuckles before opening it and motioning Merc to go first. Though letting anyone at his back was foreign, in this case he didn’t have any choice. He needed this meeting.

  Rhaum sat behind the impressive wooden monster of a desk. It should have overwhelmed the little person, made him smaller next to it, but as always Rhaum’s height had no influence on the powerful presence the man projected, and the desk, which should have made him look ridiculous, instead became another item that was his right and proper due.

  “You’re too hot to be coming here right now, Merc.” That was Rhaum, straight to the point and not caring if you wanted to hear it or not. Whisper was still at his back, and Merc began the various calculations he would need if his leaving needed to happen under less than happy circumstances. “The Guild has put out a price on you and your companion. Do you know how many are now interested, those pieces of shit who otherwise would look right past you? The girl is double the normal bounty. Even if it wasn’t damn good money, if the Guild finds out anyone helped you knowing you were in their sights, they’re going to take it personally. Hells, I should grab you both.”

  Funny how Rhaum said it like it wasn’t a possibility, which they both knew it was. Rhaum wasn’t neutral. He worked with all parties, but his only loyalty was to himself. If it was in his best interest, he’d betray someone he’d worked with hundreds of times before. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try.”

  “As your compatriot insisted on this meeting, I’m willing to help. It would go a long way toward keeping our relationship in good standing for a little acknowledgement on how much I’m risking here. Say, if you’re not dead by the end of it, I might have a job you could help me with.” And Rhaum held out his hand.

  As usual, Rhaum could read any situation perfectly. The handshake would make a magical contract, and Merc wasn’t in any position to negotiate. “I’m happy to do any job that doesn’t conflict with my own feeling of right or wrong.” It was as good as he could do under the Sword of Damocles swinging over his head, but at least it was something.

  Rhaum gave a half-smile and took the hand, completing the contract. “Then glad I can be here for you.”

  As he withdrew his hand, Merc suppressed the half
-fanciful urge to check for the snakebite. It was how all his interactions with Rhaum ended, with the bone deep assurance he’d been marked and somehow poisoned, and not knowing where the antidote was. In this case, though, there had been no choice.

  “Now you can’t say we don’t appreciate the help, Rhaum darlin’. We’re thankful we can always count on you.” The female voice came from the corner, and within moments the woman who spoke popped out from the shadows. She crossed the room, all five-ten of easy swagger and commanding presence, her coarse, dark hair in a no fuss ponytail and those near-black eyes bright as they latched onto him. “Been too long, Merc. I’m gonna get a complex if the only time you call me is for help, though.”

  “Nemesis.” He clasped her forearm, the greeting second-nature to him after all these years, as was the smile she brought to his face. “Looking a little tired there. Am I keeping you out too late now that you’re an old lady?”

  “More like I let you drag me away from an interesting situation, so be grateful for my kindness and mercy.” Her response was easy and playful, and a bit of weight shifted from his shoulders at the familiar camaraderie. She turned to Rhaum and clicked her tongue, motioning with her head towards the door. “Now that you and Merc are square, do you think you could give us a few to catch up in private?”

  Rhaum pushed back, a nod of acknowledgement towards Nemesis and pure irritation directed towards Merc. In moments they were alone, and Nemesis backed away to press a small black button against the wall. “Safe to talk now. Not to say I don’t trust Rhaum, but I don’t trust Rhaum.”

  “You look good.”

  “You look like shit,” she came back with, but that generous mouth with its very full lips was curved upward, and nothing about her body language told she was nervous about meeting with a wanted man. “Understandable. Fallon’s gunnin’ for you. I might even break a sweat under those circumstances.”