Dreamer (7 page)

Laughing, the man with the red mohawk tapped on her
briefcase with an orange-painted nail. “What's a good-looking dame like you
doing with something as boring as this?”

“I make jewelry.” She opened the case and showed him the
mood rings nestled inside. “What the hell!” she said in a startled voice. “I've
never seen them do that before.” The mood rings flashed and sparkled with a
rainbow of color that practically glowed.

“Maybe they're reacting to all the joy.” His voice grew low
and serious. “You haven't had much joy in your life lately. Have you, Shan?”

The hair on her arms stood up as power moved over her, and
she glanced around the room. No one else seemed to notice, and there wasn't any
bad smell in the air. If anything, the air smelled surprisingly good. Sort of
like coconuts and chocolate. “How do you know my name?”

Ignoring her, he plucked out a ring from the briefcase and
turned it in the light. “These aren't just any mood stones, you know.”

Following the play of light in the ring, Shan scarcely
noticed Jack in the back of the store battling with the pile of blow-up dolls
while the customers cheered him on. It looked like the dolls were winning.

“If this stone turns black, and you get the heebie-jeebies,
you’d better run like your life depends on it. 'Cause it does.” Holding her
injured hand gently, he slipped the ring on. The touch of his skin almost
brought her to her knees. Her head sagged forward, and she shivered with
pleasure so intense it was almost pain.

The sensation ended as soon as he released her hand and
returned to looking like the colorblind son of a punk and a hippy. Drawing in a
shuddering breath, she said, “Who are you?”

With a merry grin, he pushed the glasses back up on his
narrow nose. “A friend of a friend of a friend.”

Holding her hand to her chest, she stared after him as he
walked out of the store. Pausing at the door, he turned back and said, “Keep
the ring. Tell Jack to put it on my tab.”

“Okay,” she said in a faint voice. Her hand no longer hurt,
and before her astonished eyes, the bruises faded until nothing but clear skin
remained.

“Shan.” Jack panted as he leaned against the counter and
kicked off a blow-up doll clinging to his waist. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” Realizing she was still staring at her hand, she
blushed. “Oh, yeah, I'm fine.” Her gaze turned toward the jingle of the door as
a mother with three boys came in.

“That guy that was talking to you, what did he say?” Jack
seemed tense, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Nothing important.” Jack glanced at her hand, and she tried
to tug the ring off. “He did say for me to wear this and put it on his tab. You
know him?”

“Uh—yeah.”

The worried look on his face made her heart beat pick up.
“Jack?”

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

Visibly gathering himself, Jack turned his brilliant smile
on her. “Sure.

Her grin faded as Jack's expression turned dark and serious.
He took a deep breath and said in a strangled voice, “Are you wearing a new
perfume?”

“No.” She lifted her arm and gave a theatrical sniff. “Is
that a hint?”

Humor leaked back into his blue eyes, and his ever-present
grin resurfaced. “Now that you mention it—”

Leaning as far as she could across the counter, she swatted
at Jack's hand as he pretended to wave away the stink from in front of his
nose. “Just kidding, but go ahead and keep that ring. Consider it a late
birthday present, or an early one.”

“Jack, I can't do that!” She tried to tug the ring off, but
it remained stuck on her hand. The weird lightshow the stone had done earlier
was over, and now it shifted in patterns of green and lilac.

“Of course you can.” He counted out the other rings and slid
them into empty spots in the display beneath the glass. “Besides, these things
sell like hotcakes. And, as cute as you are, you're a walking advertisement for
my shop.”

She rolled her eyes, but flushed at his off-the-cuff
compliment. “Anyway, I wanted to pick out an outfit for Halloween before I
leave.”

Jack took another deep breath through his nose. “Sure.” He
came from behind the counter and walked to the back of the store with her.
“Hey, you weren't at the bazaar a couple days ago when the shit hit the fan,
were you?”

She stumbled on the smooth floor. “Nope.”

He stopped her and turned her to face him. “Shan, don't lie
to me. A girl matching your oh-so-unique description saved the life of a
guard.”

She went stiff and looked at the penis-shaped piñatas
hanging from the ceiling. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, the guard is recovering in the hospital. They think
that with lots of therapy she'll be able to walk again.” He crossed his arms
over his chest. “Why did you run away?”

“I didn't say it was me,” she grumped and crossed her arms
as well. Trying to stare down big and intimidating men was becoming a habit
with her. “Besides, maybe that girl doesn't want the attention.”

A little boy dressed as a peanut darted between them,
laughing as his mother chased after him and tried to avert disaster. Jack
continued to stare at Shan then said softly, “The guard’s name is Janice. She
has a husband and two little boys who would like to thank you for saving her
life.”

Shuffling, she toed the worn carpet with the tip of her
boot. “Jack, I really don't want the attention. My parents are freaked out
enough about my being there. They don't need to know the gory details.”
Uncrossing her arms, she sighed. “And I don't want the media camped outside of
my apartment. They might get run over by a forklift from one of the neighboring
warehouses.”

“Fine. I won't tell…on one condition.”

“What's that?”

“You have to visit Janice at the hospital so she can thank
you.”

“But—”

“No buts. This isn't for you, it's for her.” They started
walking again, and Jack threw an arm over her shoulders. “It would give her a
lot of comfort. She lost some of her best friends that day. You are one of the
few good things that happened to her.”

Shan grabbed a rubber chicken off a display they passed and
wacked him with it. “Fine, oh Master of the Guilt Trip. I'll visit.”

He beamed at her. “Great!”

Chrissy stepped over an oversized pair of clown shoes and
groaned. “I know that look. What did he rope you into doing, Shan?”

Jack gave Chrissy a kiss that filled Shan with jealousy. Not
that she wanted Jack to kiss her. He gave off bratty brother vibes, but the
obvious love they shared reminded her of how alone she was. “Jack wants me to
wear a stupid costume for Halloween, but I told him you get to dress me.”

Chrissy grabbed her arm and tugged her away from Jack,
leaving him to deal with peanut boy and his frazzled mother. “Do you know where
you're going for Halloween yet?”

The reminder perked her up. “Yeah, I got an invitation to
see DJ Cal spin at Poisoned Love.”

“No shit!” Chrissy practically vibrated with excitement.
“Jack and I got an invitation too and so did my best friend and her fiancé. You
should totally come with us.”

“I promised my best friend Daisy I would go with her.”

Now that Chrissy had a party plan, she was like a force of
nature. “She can come too! We rented one of those limo buses to take us to the
club so we don't have to drive. Plenty of room for you and whoever you want to bring.”

Shan hesitated, unsure of Daisy's reaction to Chrissy and
Jack.

“Pllleasseee,” Chrissy begged. “I'll help her find a costume
too.”

Unable to resist the pleading puppy dog eyes that Chrissy
had down pat, Shan theatrically sighed. “Okay, but no stupid theme costumes.”

Chrissy snapped her fingers and pushed Shan toward a
dressing room. She began to sort through the racks of glittering costumes with
a speed that seemed inhuman. “No one I dress ever looks stupid.” She tossed a
glittering white bit of nothing and then a shiny green bit of nothing into the
dressing room. “By the time I'm done with you, any man you want is going to be
putty in your hands.”

Tugging her boots off, Shan wished that was true.

Devon squeezed himself into a seat at one of the lecture
halls in the Religious Studies building at the University of Washington D.C.
The room was filled to capacity, and the air buzzed with energy and
conversation. The wards on the building provided magical security, and the
dozens of Temple Guards patrolling the area added physical protection. Six
floors below ground, the building housed the spell testing labs and the
security enchantments needed to contain the potentially dangerous magic that
had been poured into the concrete foundation of the building.

Gathered around him were the captains of the various Temple
Guards, their High Priests and Priestesses, and the Chosen of assorted Creation
gods. Even heavily shielded, he felt twitchy from all the metaphysical energy
channeled in the room. The main lecture hall at the University was one of the
only places big enough to house everyone, and even now it was standing room
only.

On his right sat his best friend Malik, Chosen of the Nubian
god Apedemak. On his left sat Eliana, a new Chosen of the Egyptian god Bes. She
had only recently passed the test to become the god's Chosen hand on Earth and
was still adapting to her new powers and responsibilities.

Devon darted a glance over at Eliana as a High Priestess of
Zeus spoke at the front of the room and detailed the three separate wraith
attacks that had happened two nights past, going over information he already
knew. Not too long ago, he had considered making a play for Eliana’s
affections. Then Aiden, a Chosen of Odin and her mentor, had proposed to her,
and she’d accepted. Devon and Eliana wouldn't have worked out anyway. With both
of them being the Chosen of a war god, the need to dominate would have led to
endless rounds of arguments and misery. Gods knew he didn't want to spend the
rest of his life in a never-ending bitchfest with a woman who could never
submit to him in the bedroom. He couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the
thought that Eliana would cut his throat before she wore his collar.

The massive diamond on her small hand glittered in the low
lighting, and it oddly made him feel lonely. Not because Eliana and Aiden were
getting married, he wished them all the luck in the world, but because they’d
found another Chosen to grow old with. Really old. While he was alone.

Fuck, he was getting sentimental in his old age. He rubbed
his eyes and focused on the projection screen at the front of the room. They
were still trying to find out what the relationship between those three attacks
was and why there’d been only one attack on the day of the bazaar. It was
obvious these weren't random, so there had to be a specific target with each
one. Forcing his mind onto the logistics, he shoved his bullshit aside and
focused.

Rana Klemenson stood from the long table at the front of the
classroom and nodded to the High Priestess. A brass balls bitch and Chosen of a
war goddess, she was also Eliana's future mother-in-law. Both women had very
strong personalities and he’d seen the sparks fly between them when they got
into an inevitable pissing contest. Once again, two dominant personalities
trying to rule the roost. Thankfully Aiden was strong enough to deal with both
of them, and he always backed his fiancée which pissed his mother off to no
end.

“Trading recipes with her yet?” Devon whispered to Eliana.

Snorting, she kept her eyes on the screen. “Yeah, recipes
for homemade bombs.”

Something Rana said caught his attention, and he tried to
focus.

“In each case, the wraiths killed only those who got in
their way. Though those deaths were a tragedy, we think we've narrowed down the
intended targets.” Rana clicked the mouse of the laptop on the podium and
switched the picture on the projection screen. “Hanita Lewis.” A smiling Indian
woman with a daisy in her hair looked back at them from screen. “Killed in the
grocery store attack. There was one casualty after her death, but we think he
was trying to defend her and bled out after she died. She was a High Priestess
of the Hindu goddess Swapneshwari.”

Devon's open laptop beeped, and the small icon of a stylized
bull popped up. It was a signal from his god, Mentu, that he was being summoned
to the Spirit Realm. He had been one of Mentu's Chosen for over twenty years
and had convinced the god that a phone call or email was a much better way to
get his attention than a talking bull.

Ignoring the summons, Devon turned his attention to the next
picture. A young man with curly black hair in a green and gold soccer uniform
grinned at the camera. Next to him, Eliana inhaled sharply.

“You know him?” he asked softly. On her other side, Aiden
reached for her hand.

“Yeah. He is…was a freshman at the university. Chrissy knew
him from soccer. Nice kid.” Her voice got thick at the end, and Devon pretended
not to see her tears.

“Fred Onit. He perished during the attack on the college.
Only one other life was lost, and that was the soccer coach who tried to
protect him in the locker room. He was studying to be a priest of Morpheus.”

“Dream god,” Malik muttered next to him, and Devon nodded as
his computer beeped again.

Mentu would have to wait. This was important.

Rana left his picture on the screen and faced them with her
jaw locked. Examining her closer, Devon realized she was trembling on the edge
of rage. Maybe she wasn't as coldhearted as he’d thought.

“The only thing that connects these two, besides the fact
that they serve Creation gods, is the type of god they are pledged to. Gods
that protect dreams and kill nightmares.” Rana ignored the rustle of hushed
conversation and continued. “Using that as a starting point, we have to wonder
who at the club escaped their attack. And was that same person the focus of the
attack on the bazaar?”

Mentu's signal flashed repeatedly on his screen, and Devon
slammed it shut. He had been both places. There had to be something he’d
missed. Some clue that could lead them to the answers they needed.

A face filled his mind, delicate and beautiful beneath a
layer of sparkly pink eye shadow and purple lipstick that accentuated the
perfect pouty bow of her lips. She had the kind of mouth that was constantly
begging for his kiss. Brown eyes, the color of chocolate flecked with honey,
stared into his own with a fierce strength that he wanted to tame. The memory
of the silk of her blue and black hair brushing over his hands made his cock
stiffen. Struggling to focus, he tried to banish her unusual beauty from his
mind. She fit the description of the mystery woman who’d saved Janice, but he
had a hard time believing that anyone that small could have lifted and dragged
the five-foot-eight guard all that way.

He tried to tell himself that his near obsession with her
had nothing to do with his immediate physical attraction. The only reason he
watched the surveillance videos of her over and over were because he was trying
to identify her, for Janice, of course. Whatever spell the attackers had used
had crippled their cameras on the street, so he couldn't find out what kind of
car she drove or locate her via her license plate.

Like there wasn't enough on his plate right now without
adding a previously unknown stalker side of his personality to the equation.

“We can assume that the forces of Destruction plan some kind
of attack on dream—” Her words cut off as the screen behind her filled with
Mentu's signal.

Groaning, Devon put his face in his hands as Malik snickered
next to him. “Ohhhh, you're in trub-illll.”

Rana's voice could have turned a bowl of hot soup into ice
cubes. “Chosen of Mentu, I believe your god wishes to speak with you?”

With as much dignity as he could muster, Devon strode out of
the lecture hall with the eyes of every servant of Creation on his back. A
small brown-haired woman dressed in a purple suit met him at the door and
followed him into the hallway. As the doors closed behind him, he tried to
ignore the snickers.

“And I thought my goddess was a pain in the ass,” the guard
who led him out said with a good-natured smile that wrinkled her forehead.

He growled in response and looked up and down the hall for a
place to meditate. Speaking with his god required his soul to travel to the
Spirit Realm. He needed a safe place to leave his body while his essence made
the journey.

The woman in the purple suit ignored his glare and led him
to a small room a couple doors down. Using a silver key from the large ring
attached to her belt, she opened the door to a brightly lit and cluttered
office. “This is my room. You can use it for your journey to the Spirit Realm.”

Feeling sheepish for being pissy with her, he nodded and
said in a gentle voice, “Thank you. I'm sorry—”

She flapped a hand at him. “Don't worry about it. The gods
ride their Chosen hard, and our concerns are rarely theirs.” She pointed to the
light switch. “Lights on or off?”

“Off, please.” He hesitated then said, “Do you mind guarding
the door for me?”

The smile fell off her face. “Last week I would have told
you that you would be as safe as a baby in its cradle here. Now… well, I'll be
outside.”

Devon cleared a spot on the floor and settled down as she
switched off the lights and shut the door. The lock snicked into place, and
Devon rested his hands on his jeans-clad thighs.

His breaths slowed and deepened, forcing his heart to slow
as well. As his mind went through the familiar ritual of descending into the
Spirit Realm, the memory of tilted eyes, the color of chocolate with flecks of
honey, haunted his mind.

Dry desert air stroked against his skin, and he opened his
eyes in the Spirit Realm. His personal space with Mentu was an ancient Egyptian
temple with huge limestone columns bracing a slab roof. Powder-fine sand with
hints of gold glittered in the torchlight. No matter what time it was in the
real world, the Spirit Realm always hovered on the edge of sunset. The air was
warm, almost hot, and he took a deep breath of the air lightly perfumed with
incense.

The energy of three deities moved in metaphysical rivers of
power around him. He immediately dropped to his knees, and the white pleated
kilt he wore settled against his thighs. Warm air washed over his bare chest in
a soft breeze, and he braced his fists into the sand before him.

“About time you got here,” a familiar voice muttered from
his right.

Glancing over, Devon was surprised to see Jack kneeling down
next to him. Dressed for a colder climate, he was already sweating beneath his
white fox fur tunic. Jack was a Chosen of Loki, the Norse God of Tricks. Jack’s
presence gave one of the unfamiliar gods an identity, but Devon wondered who
the third was.

“I apologize for my delay,” Devon said and kept his gaze
focused on the sand in front of him. Why was Jack here? Egyptian and Norse gods
didn't often mix, so it must be something important. And who was the third god
or goddess that was hiding from him?

“I
hope we aren't wasting your time,”
Mentu said with the echo of
clashing swords in his voice.

Devon winced and tried to think up an answer that wouldn't
offend his god. “I was trying to learn more information on the attacks that
took the lives of two potential Chosen.”

Soft and sensual, with an accent he couldn't place, a
woman's voice said,
“And it never
occurred to you that perhaps your god knows more about it than you do? That
every second of every day there is some situation in the world that could
potentially destroy everyone? That your problems are but one of a million
desperate prayers reaching out to us for help?”

An echo of silk and sighs filled that voice, and Devon
shifted as his body responded to it with appalling timing. Getting a hard on
while wearing a kilt was not going to happen. “No, ma'am.”

Jack cleared his throat with a barely contained snicker.
Turning his head slightly, Devon glared at him, and Jack made an “Ohhhh, scary”
face.

Loki laughed, and Devon couldn't help but return Jack's
grin. Annoyed that the gods could change his emotions so quickly, Devon ground
his fist into the sand and focused on Mentu.

“How may I serve you, my Lord?”

“Jack
has brought us news of a young woman who has entered her time of choice. You
will act as her mentor.”

Anger heated Devon, and he struggled to remain calm. The
last thing he had time for right now was mentoring some girl and playing
teacher. He had a duty to his people to protect them, and they needed him. “I
don't think this is the best time for me to be a mentor, my Lord, perhaps—”

“Silence!”
Hot
and scalding, Mentu's rage flowed over him, and Devon bit his tongue to hold
back a scream of pain. Why did he never learn to keep his big mouth shut?

“He is
unworthy,”
the goddess said with disdain.
“I give him one of my greatest treasures to protect, and instead of
being thankful, he believes that he knows more than we do.”

Loki spoke up with an unexpectedly grave voice. “
But he is the right guardian for her.”

Devon's head whipped up with shock, but he stopped his gaze
before it went any farther than their feet. Mentu's familiar dark skin and
sandals were flanked by a pair of tooled leather boots and the edge of a black
robe embroidered with red silk. The soft breeze stirred the silk, catching his
attention. He watched the crimson folds flow and drift, creating new shapes
that captivated his mind. The woman haunting his mind would look exquisite
spread out on red silk, her pale body gleaming against the rich color as her
silken hair spread around her body. He’d love to kiss her plump lips, to seduce
a smile out of them.