Dying Dreams (Book 1 of Dying Dreams Trilogy) (28 page)

Professor Gupp still looked confused. “Are you sure about this, Liza? What is fae? If you tell me what’s going on, I can fix it.”

“Um, really, it’s okay. Fae is a Flemish word. I didn’t know it before, but my Mom, she, um, she moved here illegally after I was born and I’m… I’m not technically a real… um a legalized citizen and so I can’t get financial aid or study here anymore.”

“Liza, you’re one of my best students. I can fix this. Let me help you.”

She gave him her biggest smile. “No, really, it’s okay. I’m so, so happy with my new job and… But thank you, for everything. I’ll miss working here and I’m sorry if I left you in a bind.”

He started after her. “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. But you…”

Liza was out the door and running before he’d finished crossing the room. She had screwed up monstrously and she racked her brain to figure out a way out of it. If she was lucky, Professor Gupp would just let it go and move on, but the concern on his face made her think he wouldn’t. Going back and talking to him again, would only make it worse. She’d just have to hope he didn’t repeat the word fae to anyone or look into her story.

She wasn’t even sure where she was when she finally looked up and noticed her surroundings. The morning was hot but cloudy, and it looked like it might start raining any moment. She turned in a full circle, trying to figure out where she was, but to no avail. She was pretty sure she was no longer on campus. She was on a deserted side street, surrounded by upscale apartment buildings.

She turned, to head back the way she’d come, and walked straight into a wall. Not a wall, she realized, as strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her in tight. Her first thought was of Sloane and gratitude washed over her. He’d know how to fix the trouble her big mouth had gotten her into. Then a cloth that smelled like acid was pressed to her nose and she realized the man holding her wasn’t Sloane. She twisted and struggled, but the cloth was made it hard to breathe and she felt tired. So, so tired. Her limbs heavy and slow. The last thing she saw, before her world went black, was shoes. Colorful running shoes she’d seen somewhere before. If she could just wake up, she might be able to remember.

*SLOANE*

Sloane woke up with a pounding headache and a fuzzy brain. He hadn’t slept much the night before. He’d wanted Liza so bad he’d actually gotten out of bed a few times and started for the door to go get her. He’d forced himself back to bed each time, but it had been a struggle.

He stood and groaned when he saw the clock. It was already after eight. He must have fallen asleep at some point and slept right through the alarm. He wouldn’t have time to go to the gym, and he really needed to go to the gym. He needed to clear his head and blow off some steam. He considered going to the gym anyway. There wasn’t much going on at work for him to do. They’d picked up another case the day before, but it was just a domestic dispute between a pixy and a hobgoblin and would take about an hour to clear up. Why the two aggressive species ever decided marriage was a good idea, he’d never understand. Reynolds probably wouldn’t even notice if he was late, but he wanted to see Liza. He needed to see Liza more than he needed to work out.

That revelation floored him. The gym had been a refuge and a sanctuary to him since he was old enough to get in the place. With weights in his hands, the only person he had to answer to was himself. There was no one to impress and nothing to live up to. His father had expected perfection from him in every other aspect of his life, but he’d cared nothing about Sloane’s physical shape. He saw the gym as a waste of time and had once complained that Sloane was getting too bulky to look respectable in a suit.

By then, Sloane had already been hooked and his father’s sour attitude and his mother’s ambivalence had no longer been enough to steer him away.

Never before had anything or anyone been more important to him, been more of a sanctuary to him, than a weight room, but somehow, Liza had become that. And she could walk away in a heartbeat and probably lose no sleep over it. A sharp pain in his chest had him clutching the bedspread and gasping for air. His vision went black for a moment and then cleared. He blinked a few times and looked around, but he was fine. It must have been some sort of weird panic attack. He pushed the silver gray duvet off him and stood slowly, but he didn’t even feel dizzy. In fact, he felt fantastic, though tired. Somehow, he felt lighter and freer, and he realized that was how he should feel. That was how he’d felt every morning before he’d met Liza.

He sent Fulsom a quick text to cover for him and dressed for the gym.

It wasn’t until Sloane got to work, an hour and a half later, that he realized something was wrong. Liza wasn’t in the cubicle, and his heart sank.

“Nice of you to show up,” Fulsom said, his tone waspish.

“What the hell crawled up your ass?”

“Your girlfriend didn’t show up for work today and Reynolds assumed you two were having a love-in. Do you know how hard it was to cover for both of you? You should have given me a heads up.”

“Liza isn’t… wasn’t with me,” Sloane said. “I haven’t seen her since last night.” His heart pounded with something like fear. Had she left them all?

Fulsom shrugged. “Reynolds wanted to try to call her, but I told her your girl wasn’t feeling well, and you were taking care of her. You might want to call Liza and tell her to get her ass in here.”

Sloane took out his phone and stared at it for a long moment. She’d walked away from him last night, and she’d wanted her space. What if she didn’t answer his call? He wasn’t sure he could handle what that rejection. “I think Reynolds should call her. She’s more likely to answer if the call comes from her.”

“Reynolds is in meetings all morning. Just call her from my phone.”

“Right. Okay. My brain’s not working this morning. I didn’t sleep well last night.” Sloane took Fulsom’s phone and dialed Liza, using the number he had for her on his cell. “No answer. I’m going over there.”

“I’ll come with you.” Fulsom stood and grabbed his coat.

“What? No, I can handle this.” He just wanted to see her again, to touch her. He was sure she was fine. She probably just overslept.

“Something’s wrong, man, don’t you feel it?” Fulsom asked, putting a hand to his chest and then to his head. Trolls weren’t psychic, but they had phenomenal intuition.

Sloane’s vision narrowed and he felt a bit dizzy as his heart picked up its pace. It reminded him of the mini panic attack he’d had that morning. “What kind of link do bonded people have? Could I have felt it if she was in trouble?”

Fulsom nodded. “If her emotions spiked high enough, you’d probably feel it. Do you feel her now?”

And that’s when Sloane realized why he’d felt so free and alive that morning. He hadn’t felt Liza, he hadn’t felt that insatiable need for her. He still missed her and looked forward to seeing her, but he hadn’t been going crazy with want. His throat tightened. “I don’t. I don’t feel her. Does that mean she’s…” He couldn’t say the word.

Fulsom was far too calm. “Dead? Probably not, but I wouldn’t rule it out. She could be unconscious. It’s too bad you can’t feel her. If you could, we might be able to find her through your link.”

Sloane tried again. He closed his eyes and he concentrated on Liza. He wished for her, he wanted her, but he felt nothing.

*LIZA*

Liza was in a dim basement, her face pressed against cold concrete. Her head felt like a bowling ball and she couldn’t move her arms or legs. There was something tight around her face. She started to sit up and someone grabbed her from behind and dropped something heavy and dark over her head. He pulled her into a sitting position, her butt on the cold concrete, her legs twisted to the side and tied at the ankles. Her wrists were tied together behind her back.

“Sorry about the bag, beautiful. We can’t risk someone looking through your eyes.” The voice was masculine and velvet, but it was subtly different from her professor’s voice. Now that she’d heard the two so recently, she could make out the differences.

“Is that possible?” she asked, hoping to get some information from the asshole.

“Who knows? You fae are a fucking mystery to me. I almost shit myself when the boss told me they had some chick who could dream a person’s death. I was glad then that they’d been so paranoid and made me use the bags. So I’ll keep using them, just in case.”

“And who’s your boss?”

The man laughed long and deep. “I don’t think so, babe. I don’t know who might be listening, either. The only reason you’re still alive is to hear the offer I’m going to make you.”

“I’m not interested.” She knew she should probably play along and stall him, but she was tired and the fear, the racing of her heart, the pounding in her head, it hurt. If he didn’t kill her, she figured she’d die from the fear. No one knew she’d gone to talk to Professor Gupp, and no one would be able to find her before the pyscho killed her. She would die in that basement, just like the women she’d dreamed about and she’d never see Sloane again. She’d never see him smile at her, she’d never touch his skin. She hoped, for his sake, that the bond just went away when she died. She hoped he’d be free, but even if he was, she knew he’d be angry and want some sort of revenge.

She needed to man up. She needed to try to get information from this guy in case SPA ever found another banshee, or tracked down her mother, and were able to see her death.

The man laughed and paced while thoughts of her imminent death and what it would mean to the people she loved flitted through her mind. He stopped in front of her and her head exploded in pain. He’d punched her. The asshole had punched her. Pain and anger gave her strength and pushed out her fear. She grabbed onto those emotions and tried to reach past the pain to make what notes about her surroundings she could. She couldn’t see anything, so she listened. The man had gone back to pacing, probably giving her time to recover from the punch. She listened hard and heard… nothing. She couldn’t hear any street noise, or even the sound of a fan. It was cool in the basement and Liza wondered if the building had solar fans that just weren’t running at the moment.

“I’ve been authorized to make you an offer that could save your life, but I’ve got a temper and it makes me feel better to hit things when I get mad. Try not to make me mad.”

Liza didn’t want to be punched again and hearing his offer might help anyone who listened.

“The people I work for like what you can do and they want you on their team.”

Interesting that he said
their
team and not
my
team. “What do they think I can do for them?”

“Not my business. They want you and if you agree to go with me and work for them, I’ll keep you alive.”

She figured she was dead no matter what she did, but if she let this guy take her to his boss, whoever dreamed her death would also see the boss. “Okay.”

“Okay?” The guy sounded disappointed.

“I don’t want to die. Seems like a pretty straight-forward decision to me.”

“You’re the first fae I’ve met with any sense of self-preservation.”

Liza thought of the women he’d killed and shuddered. They’d been loyal enough to their cause to choose death. They’d been stronger than this guy could ever understand.

“Probably the human part of you,” the man said. Liza heard disgust in his voice and she wasn’t sure if the disgust was for the human part, or the fae part of her. He seemed like the kind of guy who found everything and everyone less than he’d hoped. “Sorry, but I’m going to have knock you out again.” He didn’t sound sorry.

He slid another sour smelling cloth under the hood and pressed it over her nose and mouth. She didn’t want to go back into the darkness. She feared she might never wake up again. No matter how inevitable her death seemed, she couldn’t help twisting and fighting with everything she had. It made no difference. The cloth never left her face and the darkness engulfed her.

When she came around again, the damn bag was still on her head but her hands were free and she reached up and took the bag off. She was in another chair, this time a comfortable leather chair, in a room she recognized.

She tried to move her legs, but they were tied to the chair. She bent over to untie them, but the door creaked open before she could get past the first knot. Young Arty walked in and sat down behind the desk, not doing anything to stop Liza from untangling the nylon rope.

“Go ahead and free yourself, dear. There’s a man with a gun behind you, so you won’t get very far.”

She looked over her shoulder and saw Arty’s pixy butler with a very large, very scary gun trained on her. She still untied her ankles, just in case she had a chance to fight. When she was done she sat back in her chair and glared at Arty. “So you’re behind the mermaid deaths and the serial killings of fae college women.”

Arty smiled and she gripped the chair arms to keep from leaping over the desk and ripping his head off. Tempting as the idea might be, she’d probably get a bullet in the back.

“I didn’t wish for anyone to be killed, darling, but when you hire mercenaries you have to be willing to accept some losses.”

Liza felt bile rise in her throat as she thought of the lives that had been lost, the futures that would never be lived because of Arty’s apathy. “Why? These women are connected to the rock you’re looking for?”

“Liza, dear, I like you very much. I’ve liked you for a very long time, so it makes me very happy that you chose to come see me rather than die. Unfortunately, I don’t trust you and you’re going to have to prove your loyalty to me before I can allow you to know any more than I’ve already told you.”

“I need to prove my loyalty for what? What do you want with me?” Liza’s heart raced and her head pounded with so much pain it was hard to think straight. Apparently, being drugged unconscious twice in one day caused headaches.