Dying Dreams (Book 1 of Dying Dreams Trilogy) (30 page)

Arty shrugged. “We can’t win them all. We’ll canvass the neighborhood and see if we can track down a likely suspect. We just need someone to pay to satisfy our foot soldiers.”

“Foot soldiers?” Liza tried to keep her face expressionless, to show no sign of the worry she felt at the idea of an innocent person being killed because she refused to describe the killer to Arty. She’d just have to hope Arty was exaggerating to get her to talk.

“We can’t kill too many fae – there aren’t enough of us to waste ourselves in that way. We just have to kill enough to make the rest fear us, so that they will fight
with
us when the time comes.” He made a note in his book and stood, pushing his chair back. “Well, you slept longer than I’d hoped and we have much more to do. Come with me.”

He took her to another body, a woman, though she was barely recognizable as such. Liza started to shake uncontrollably as soon as she saw the corpse. “Please, Arty, I’ll do what you want, but I need at least a day to recover from the last one.”

He patted her back and she steeled herself not to flinch away from him. She didn’t want to give him anything more to use against her. “I understand this is hard for you, right now, but the more deaths you dream, the greater tolerance you will build until it won’t bother you at all. I’m doing you a favor, desensitizing you to death.”

“And if I don’t want to be desensitized?” She didn’t want to be someone who could dream of children being killed and feel nothing.

He shrugged. “Right now, what I want trumps what you want. Too many of my people have died in the past couple of weeks and I need to know if there’s an unknown enemy or if their deaths are simply a result of their extra-curricular activities.”

“Like killing an entire family?”

“Some people, fae and human, have a greater lust for blood and violence than other people. Just because you are squeamish, it doesn’t give you the right to judge them. Now, touch the body or I will have to hurt you.” He shoved her forward so hard she fell onto the body, and the only way to remove herself was to place her hands on the corpse and push away. She closed her eyes and tried not to breathe, but the horror of lying across a mutilated corpse made her scream aloud.

She took the sleeping potion, and slept. She dreamed the woman’s horrific death and told Arty what she’d seen, because the second killer had seemed just as vile as the child-killer. The woman who’d killed and mutilated the body had done so because she’d wanted the dead woman’s place in Arty’s organization. Arty smiled and seemed quite proud of the killer when Liza told him what had happened.

Arty allowed her a lunch break, but she couldn’t eat. He took her to see six more bodies that day, and at some point, he did have to follow through on his promise to hurt her for refusing to touch a body. He broke her wrist forcing her hand onto a corpse. She was so raw and empty inside that the physical pain seemed like a blessing. Something to feel other than death. A reminder that she was still alive. After she recounted her last dream, at two in the morning, Arty sent her to his pixy butler to have her wrist casted.

“He could have me heal it, you know,” the pixy, Leo, said as he flitted around Liza, preparing a cast and setting her wrist.

Her brain and emotions were so fried, she had to think to understand what he meant. “It’s okay.”

Leo blurred around her head and she saw him, no longer in the room with her, but in a forest, or at least surrounded by trees. He held a sword over his head and charged a man with a gun. A shot rang out and blood bloomed on the pixy’s chest. He hit the ground and Liza snapped back to reality with the certain knowledge that Leo would die in thirty-six hours. Tears pricked and stung her eyes.

“You’re going to die if you keep working for him.”

He smiled at her with a mouth full of pointy, spiked teeth. “Is that a vision or just a hunch?”

The realization crept into her brain like it had to slog through tar. “A vision.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

He nodded. “Thank you. I won’t tell Arty. He’d have you reading every person he knows.”

“You need to leave.”

He was silent for so long she didn’t think he would answer her. “I was a healer in Fairy. Very few fae have the gift of healing and I was celebrated for that gift. I saved many and helped many live better lives. When I was forced to come here, I tried to become a doctor. The humans said I needed the requisite degrees, so I applied to school. The humans wouldn’t let me attend their schools, so when Arty found me and offered me a job using my gift, I accepted. Every day I see humans that are sick and dying and it is only fear that prevents them from healing. If they would allow me, I could help them. I could improve their lives, but a small group in the government has decided to doom all of the people to suffering.”

“It’s not right what the humans are doing, but if you stay here, you will die.”

“And what will I do if I leave? A life without purpose is a living death. A life in which I have to ignore my gift would be hell on earth. Thank you for the warning, but I will accept my fate. The humans will only truly be happy when all the fae are gone.”

She watched him wrapping her arm and shook her head. She appreciated the conversation as a distraction from the deaths she’d dreamed that day. “I know that what the humans are doing is wrong, but I don’t… I can’t believe they want all the fae dead. They fear what they don’t understand, but given time–”

“Time is a luxury none of us have, Liza. This planet is dying, despite the best efforts of the humans to reverse the damage they have done. The fae could save it, but humans, in their fear and ignorance, will not allow it. They would rather die than concede any of their power and wealth to the fae, and I would rather die than abide by their rules.”

Liza couldn’t argue with him anymore, she just watched his small, deft fingers as they flitted and casted her wrist with an inhuman speed. When he was done, he kissed her cheek. “I have given you a touch of my healing magic, but do not tell Arty. Your wrist will be healed in one week.”

“Thank you.” She allowed him to help her up and went back to her room.

The room was still frilly and pink, but she had dreamed so much death there that the colors seemed more representative of death and gore. Like a lullaby as the soundtrack for a slasher movie. She considered asking Arty for a different room, but she doubted he’d allow it. She’d seen a light in his eyes, when she’d recounted her dreams, that led her to believe he delighted in her pain.

She’d slept so much that day, she doubted sleep would come, but she laid down on the bed anyway, and closed her eyes. Behind her lids, her dreams replayed and she opened them and sat up. Even with her eyes open, the images continued to scroll across her vision like a movie. She blinked and shook her head, but she couldn’t get the images to leave, couldn’t see the room around her.

She was like a fucking robot whose circuitry had been fried. She stood and paced the room, grinding her teeth and praying to escape from her own personal hell. At some point, she heard screaming. An agonizing screeching that was so close it made her eardrums hurt. It wasn’t until Leo flew into the room that she realized the screaming was coming from her. He placed a gentle hand on her forehead and sweet darkness consumed her.

*SLOANE*

Sloane woke before he opened his eyes. He heard machines beeping and people talking in low voices. His chest felt sort of numb, and his head and back ached, but his mind was clear, so he must have been on the road to recovery. Once he was sure his own body was whole, he reached for his connection to Liza. She was there but the emotions coming from her were so raw and painful that he shut himself off to her without really being aware of what he was doing. He pulled back into himself, a skill he’d learned to evade psychics and seers. Something was very, very wrong with Liza.

He also remembered quite clearly that she’d shot him, and that memory hurt him more than any physical injury ever could. He tried to remember what she’d said to him, because in the moment he’d been certain she didn’t want to hurt him. He’d felt her despair through their bond. Then she’d shot him, in the chest, point blank, and that action made him question his understanding of her emotions. So he tried to remember her words.

Someone tapped him on the head. “Hey, Rice, we got Elsa here and we know you’re awake. Why don’t you open those eyes and talk to us?”

Sloane groaned. He wasn’t ready to face anyone, but Elsa was a powerful empath and, now that she knew he was awake, they wouldn’t leave him alone. The first thing he saw was Fulsom leaning over his bed, wearing a grim expression. “What happened?” He asked, pretending confusion on every level he could. He needed to hear the details from Fulsom, but if Elsa was in the room, so were a lot of other people and he had to be circumspect.

“Best we can tell, Liza shot you in the chest on the street. Reggie heard her say something about the bond and it is our belief that she was attempting to kill you in order to end the bond between the two of you.”

Fulsom was using his formal tone and verbiage, which meant people were listening who expected to hear Fulsom recite the party line. It also meant Fulsom didn’t really buy the party line.

“And what will happen to her when she’s found?”

Fulsom grinned a scary grin, which Sloane knew was a warning. “Looking for revenge already, Lover Boy? She is to be apprehended alive, because of her ability, and she is to be taken to West Virginia for testing and the continued use of her skills.”

“I want to be the one to bring her in.”

“I thought you might, which is why I asked them to wait, but Reynolds doesn’t want you involved. She thinks you’re compromised.”

“I can certainly understand her fears. Have I been fully healed?” Sloane knew they had two fae healers on staff, a pixy named Silver and a hobgoblin named Tredway, but they weren’t always used. Especially not if a lot of agents had been injured.

“Yes. Tredway said you’ll feel numb in the wounded area for three days and should stay in bed, but you are otherwise completely healed.”

“Where did she hit me?” Sloane steeled himself to hear an answer he wouldn’t like. He’d seen her shoot and he could admit to himself, if to no one else, that she was a better shot than he was and he’d been the best in his training class. Even so, there were some risks even the best shooter shouldn’t take and Sloane hoped she’d hit him in the shoulder, even though he knew how unlikely that was.

“Three inches from your heart,” Fulsom said.

Sloane winced, but forced himself to nod like it was just fine that the woman he couldn’t live without had come so close to ending him. On purpose. When he found her, they were really going to have to work out their issues.

“I’d like to request permission to rest in my own bed.”

“Permission has already been granted. I will escort you home.”

“What the hell is really going on?” Fulsom asked when they were in the car. “I can’t see Liza as a killer. I know she had reservations about the bond, but the way she looked at you…”

Sloane’s heart stuttered. He could really use reassurance that Liza liked him enough not to want him dead. “How did she look at me?”

“She watched you whenever she thought you weren’t looking and it made me think bad thoughts, man. She wanted you. All. The. Time.”

Sloane couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face. Even though he knew lust didn’t mean she cared for him, it was nice to know she’d wanted him almost as much as he’d wanted her. “I never knew you were a romantic, Fulsom.”

“Fuck you. Tell me what’s going on. You didn’t wake up mad and, believe me, if some bitch I’d screwed tried to kill me I’d wake up fairy-fucking furious.”

“And there’s the Fulsom I’m used to,” Sloane said. “She spoke to me before she shot me and I… I could feel her emotions, and she felt scared and guilty. I don’t think she wanted to shoot me, but that could be wishful thinking.”

“What did she say?” Fulsom asked as he pulled up in front of Sloane’s houseboat.

“That’s what I’m trying to remember. Getting shot kind of blew her words right out of my memory.” Fulsom helped him out of the car, but Sloane was able to walk on his own into his home. He sat on the couch, and Fulsom sat in a wicker chair that doubled as outdoor furniture when it was cool enough.

Sloane leaned his head against the back of the couch and searched his memory. “She called me Sloane which she only does when we’re alone. She definitely talked about the bond, about how tired she was of it. I know that’s the truth. She hates the bond. She wants me, and she hates wanting me.” He looked to Fulsom for a contradiction, but Fulsom just nodded. “Then she said I wouldn’t leave her alone and that was a lie. She’d asked for space last night and I’d given it to her, but the way she talked it was like she thought I showed up to see her. Do you think someone glamoured themselves to look like me? Or maybe just skulked around in the shadows so she thought it was me? Do you think that’s how she got taken?”

“She went to see Professor Gupp yesterday morning, man. She didn’t get grabbed at night.”

Yesterday morning. Shit, he’d been out longer than he’d realized. “When I woke up, I felt her. Something is really wrong with her. She needs our help.”

Fulsom’s face remained still and calm. “No one’s been able to find her. After she shot you, she was picked up by a car. That’s how we know she wasn’t working alone, but how did you know that? Why do you think she was grabbed?”

Sloane searched his mind and his memory and came up empty. He’d just assumed she’d disappeared because someone had taken her from him, but whether that was instinct or imagination, he couldn’t be sure. “I don’t know. I don’t understand why she went to talk to her professor. He acted like she’d just stopped in to say hello, but he was lying.”

Fulsom shrugged. “He probably didn’t trust us. Government types storming in looking for his star pupil would make him suspicious, sure enough.”

Sloane nodded.