Dreamseeker's Road (10 page)

“What?”

“About the angel. I was wonderin' if she was…real.”

“Was she?” Devlin sounded remarkably nonchalant—as though it was perfectly normal to discuss esoterica with strangers.

“I dunno,” David hedged. “But I think I just found out who she was.
What
she was, rather.”

Another long pause from Devlin. “Well, David-the-Younger, I suspect most folks would ask what you meant by that, but knowin' who you're kin to, I'm probably smart not to. I've seen some things myself, and ole Dave told me he'd seen some more, and you sound like me when I'm tryin' not to talk about…certain subjects.”

David chuckled grimly. “Yeah, well, I don't think it'd be cool to say more—'least not on the phone. And I guess I'd better let you go. I got class in a couple minutes.”

“And I've got a book to write. But if I can help, let me know. And if I think of anything, I'll let you know. You got a number?”

David told him.

“Okay, then,” Devlin said, “you take care of yourself…and remember that your uncle was a good man. But you sound like a pretty good guy yourself, like you've got a lot of his…magic. And I mean that word, precisely.”

“…Thanks.” David choked. “And thanks for talkin'.”

“Carry on.”

David hung up the phone.

And breathed a long, ragged sigh. He now had independent corroboration for his dream. For somehow he knew without a doubt that no way on earth was John Devlin a liar.

Chapter VI: Trick or Treat?

(Jackson County, Georgia—Wednesday, October 28—afternoon)

“Yeah, but are they
always
true?” David asked pointedly. He folded his arms, flopped against the doorjamb of his and Alec's study, and tried very hard not to glare.

“Far as I know,” Alec muttered, not looking up from his desk, where as best David could tell, he was watching a Mandelbrot screen saver smooth out fractal curves of black and orange—appropriate, given it was nearly Halloween. Stupid, too, in view of the number of papers piling up in Alec's classes. He appeared to be severely preoccupied—but not with Geology 101, computer science, or art appreciation. Or with discussing the antics of a certain ulunsuti he'd refused to show pouch or pot of for the last four days.

“You know any time they weren't?” David persisted.

Silence. The screen enlarged a random rectangle, the contents of which it commenced to refine. One hall and two rooms away, a dirty dish shifted with a delicate “clink.” The stereo was off, for a change.

More silence. Then, almost a growl: “My word not good enough?”

“What's
that
supposed to mean?”

Alec whipped around abruptly, face nigh as dark as his Nine Inch Nails T-shirt, eyes wild as his spiky hair. “You know fucking well!”

“I know that when you use the ‘F' word you're pissed. I'd
like
to know why, seein' how you're the one who wouldn't answer!”

“If you're so fucking smart,” Alec hissed, “I wouldn't have to
fucking
remind you every
fucking
day that I
hate
talking about
fucking
magic, which is what the
fucking
rock is—and does. More to the
fucking
point, I hate
thinking
about how it works. I hate the fact that it can't decide if it's critter, stone, or veggie. And right now I'm
still
hating the fact that I let you and Aik talk me into using the
fucking
thing!”

David slammed his fist against the wall. The front door rattled. “Well I hate the fact that Uki told you to study it, and you're not doin' shit about it!”

“It scares me!”

“You're
supposed
to be scared of the unknown,” David snorted. “You gonna be a scientist, you gotta regard stuff like this as a puzzle—a source of inspiration.”

“Yeah, well, the rock's a little
too
puzzling.”

“Maybe it
wouldn't
be if you'd even
try
to figure out how it works!” David shot back. “Like what its range is, or how much blood it takes for what reaction—stuff like that. Or,” he added for effect, “how
accurate
its visions are.”

Alec dived into the ensuing pause. “You've used it as much as I have, Mr. Anthropologist! Nothing's stopping you from studying it to your heart's content. I've already told you it works best when you just worry at it—but apparently that's not good enough. And it'd
help
if you'd talk about what it showed you—but of course that'd require you to actually be here.”

“I'm here now!”

“'Cause Liz ran you off.”

“I didn't see her all weekend!”

“I don't think
seeing
her's what you missed.”

David gaped incredulously. “Good God, McLean, I thought we worked that out years ago! I
love
Liz—but that doesn't mean I don't care about you!”

“Just not enough to actually
live
with me,” Alec sniffed. “
I'm
just supposed to baby-sit your stuff while you're out working your willie—”

“Jealous!”

“Damned right! I mean shit, man, do you have any
idea
what it's like to be buddies with somebody for practically your whole life, and share…
everything
with 'em, and then have 'em slam the door in your face and stick matches to the bruises!”

A deep breath. For calm. For friendship. Barely. “There're other women, Alec. The only one makin' you celibate's you!”

“And my goddamn fucking
memory
!
You think I could be happy with a mortal woman when the first woman I ever made it with was from Faerie?”

“Won't know till you try, will you?”

Silence.

“Ten thousand single girls seven miles down the road, kid; and you're hung better'n I am.”

Alec took a deep breath. “So what
did
you dream? I mean, just in case you actually feel like
telling
me.”

“Some stuff about David-the-Elder. The day he died, and stuff.”

“Not good enough.”

David stomped a venturesome roach with a bare foot.

“You said, ‘And stuff,' David,” Alec sighed. “I know you won't flat out lie to me—but that doesn't mean you're telling all the truth. I think that little ‘and stuff' hides a shitload of
something
that's made you a ring-tailed bitch the last few days. I think
that's
why you've been sleeping over at Liz's: 'cause she won't bug you about this. You give me grief about being celibate, and not facing stuff that's making me unhappy, and all—and you're doing the same thing! You're as afraid to face…
something
as I am. I bet you're afraid to stay over here 'cause you're scared you'll talk in your sleep, or I'll invoke the Vow, or you'll…just break down.”

Tears stung David's eyes. He blinked them away without embarrassment. Alec's eyes were also gleaming. But at least that bond still existed. At least they were still—mostly—honest about emotions. It was one of the things that made their friendship special. “Got my number, don't you?” David managed at last.

“Sorry.” A crooked smile lit Alec's face as he rose.

It required but one step into the tiny room for David to meet him halfway. “Me too,” he whispered—and enfolded his roommate with a hearty hug.

“See why I hate that thing now?” Alec choked into David's shoulder. “Goddamn rock's got us so wired we can't even
talk
to each other.”

“Love you, man,” David replied simply. “There's just some heavy stuff goin' on I gotta work out solo.”

“Download to me when you're done, okay?”

“Promise,” David agreed—because it would lessen Alec's pain, and he
had
to do something to stop all this hurting. His Faery allies had proven unreliable. He dared not risk his best friend. And he
would
tell the truth—when he could.

Alec pushed him away, but not roughly.

David mussed his hair. “You okay?”

“I'll live,” Alec conceded, nodding toward the front window, beyond which an avenue of pines paralleled Jefferson River Road. “'Sides, one of the devils just drove up.”

David barely had time to wipe his eyes on the hem of his black T-shirt before the first knock sounded. “Just a sec,” he called, while Alec bolted for the john. Three steps brought him to the front door. A pause for breath, and he opened it. “Hi, Liz!” He tried very hard to look casual.

An eyebrow lifted knowingly above green eyes as his girlfriend slipped inside. A thrift store carpetbag weighted one slender arm, complicating the obligatory hug. He settled for a misaimed kiss. The westering sun, beaming down the hall from the living room, turned Liz's cap of feathery hair to copper flame and cast her pointy features into molten gold. “Fox goddess?” David mused aloud, nodding toward the mirror opposite the door. “Or…who was that jackal-headed gal? You know, the Egyptian?”

“Huh?”
But then Liz found her reflection. “Oh, okay… Good thing I know how you think.”

“I
like
foxes!”

“I know.”

“'Specially vixens.”

“Good for you.”

“What're female jackals called, I wonder?”

“Ma'am,” Liz informed him promptly. “The Egyptian's a guy, by the way.”

“But could he play blues on a chain saw?”

Liz bared her teeth. “Your bedroom doing anything useful?”

“Accumulating dust atop mountains of clutter, moving slowly toward entropy, and”—David wrinkled his nose—“yep, Alec's socks are startin' to turn.”

Liz sniffed in turn. “Your sneakers, more likely.
I
know what a neatnik the A-Boy is.”

David finally managed to shift his attention from her face. She was wearing a black scoop-necked top like a leotard, an embroidered Guatemalan vest, and cutoffs over scarlet tights. “So, what's in the bag, wench?” he wondered.

“The reason I asked about your bedroom.”

“Go for it.”

Liz paused to give him a more satisfactory smooch, then pranced through the door across from the study and shut it. Not for the first time did David question the decision made when he and Alec had moved into the tiny house two months back, to share one bedroom and use the other for schoolwork, hobbies, etc.; so that both would command equal space. Trouble was, he had more
stuff,
but Alec had more clothes—which didn't cook with the closets. Still, for those times Liz slept over, there was always the foldout couch in the living room.

Alec reemerged just then, caught him staring into space, and waved a hand in front of his eyes. “You cool?”

“Have to be,” David murmured. “Consider the alternative.”

Alec pinched his butt.

“Go to the living room and sit facing the hall,” Liz called through the flimsy door. “Now!”

David exchanged bemused shrugs with his roomie and complied, pausing only to snare a Dr Pepper from the kitchen.

“You set?” Liz yelled a few minutes later.

“Sitting, technically,” Alec gave back, from the sofa. “But yeah.”

“Close your eyes, and don't open 'em until I say.”

David did, clamping a hand over Alec's as well, just to be sure. Alec elbowed him in the ribs. David pinched his nostrils shut.

“Ready!” David hollered.

Footsteps approached, more high-heel staccato than sneaker slap. “Okay!” Liz snickered from the near end of the hall. “Anytime!”

David slitted one eye open—then stretched both very wide indeed. “Whoa!” he yipped approvingly. “Eep!” Alec echoed.

Liz was totally transformed. She'd always been cute in a pixie sort of way, and had matured into a genuinely attractive woman who appealed to David even more because she didn't need makeup to look good, and had brows and lashes dark enough to show—which wasn't a given with redheads. She'd always had a great, if funky, sense of style. Now, however… Well, he suddenly found himself gawking at a petitely seductive figure that bore scant resemblance to his sweetie.

Black. That was his first impression. Black tank top (not the leotard) that left arms and an enticing arc of upper bosom bare; skintight black leather pants; calf-high black boots with mid-rise heels; hand-wide black belt set with a double row of silver dog-collar studs; black wig artfully teased into irregular curves and spikes.

But that could've been any townie girl (or boy, for that matter) out to show the world how weird they were. What narrowed the costume to specificity were the details: white powder hastily applied to arms, throat, and face; lips, brows, and lashes redrawn in stark red and black. And the clinchers: a four-inch silver and gray-cloisonné ankh depending from a silver chain to gleam between perky little breasts, and a delicately drawn spiral unwinding from the corner of one eye onto her cheek.

“Death,” Alec gulped into the breathless silence. “You look like Death!”

“Exactly!” David cried, through a widening grin.

“Think this'll do for the 40 Watt's Halloween bash?” Liz giggled. “The theme
is
comics and cartoons.”

“It will very definitely do,” David assured her. “'Cept that I'm not sure anybody'll recognize you unless they read
Sandman.
'Course I won't be able to
match
it…”

“Wanta bet?” Liz countered wickedly.

“Gimme a hint?”

“Trust me.”

“Not after
that
!”

“You don't like it?”

“I love it!”

“The makeup's a quickie, but I couldn't wait.”

“You're not, by any chance, thinkin' of doing me as Dream, are you?” David inquired slyly. “So we'd be a set?”