Hunted Dreams (14 page)

A minute later, a squinting Berto cracked open the door. “Man, the house better be on fire,” he grumbled.

“Can I borrow your laptop to get online?” Reed asked.

Alberto stared at him for a long moment, his mouth open, his eyes scrunched into slits. “Are you serious? You woke me up because you need to check your email?”

“Please,” he said politely.

“I can’t think of someone I hate more than I do you right now,” Berto mumbled and disappeared into his room. Reed scratched behind Mina’s ears. She groaned, smacked her lips, and closed her eyes.

Alberto reappeared a minute later armed with a thin green laptop. “You better not download porn. If Mari found out, she’d neuter me.”

“Thanks,” Reed said, and walked back to his room, Mina and laptop cord trailing after him.

Katana raised her head from her knees and found she could see again. In fact, light jabbed her eyes. More because she knew she should than because she cared, she gazed around her. She sat at the juncture between industrial white tile and the bright white wall it supported. Opposite her crowded rows and rows of filing cabinets. They crammed next to each other, stretching as far as she could see. Glancing upward, she saw only an indistinguishable whiteness.

Just about as far from a lightless cavern as one could imagine
, she thought. She rose slowly, sighing, to her feet. No rock dust remained on her T-shirt and jeans.

“The gist of this one seems clear enough,” she announced to the room. Her voice landed flatly around her.

She shuffled forward, toward the endless stretch of cabinets. Drawers and drawers and drawers. Somehow, she didn’t think she’d find her heart’s desires inside.

I’m tired
, she realized. Ironic, that, since she was currently asleep. It was a mental weariness, an overload from the constant terror and stress.

I could have used five, just
five
more minutes
. Amazingly, she didn’t think she and Reed had spent more than fifteen, maybe twenty, minutes together.
That’s how it goes: ten minutes here, half-hour there. So short, but the only times I get to see him and relax.

Focusing on the present, she noticed her hand rested on the handle of a filing cabinet drawer. She switched hands, grasping the handle with her left while drawing her sword with her right.

“Let’s get on with this,” she called to anyone listening.

List in hand, another in his pocket, Reed pushed his shopping cart while his eyes skittered along shelves. He had no idea who had been tending the Daleth’s grounds before him,—probably some poor, underpaid immigrant who feared requesting too many accommodations—but the family’s tool shed contained more gaps on the wall than tools. Finally, after Reed’s dozenth or so request for more supplies, Quina had thrown him a wad of bills and snapped at him to go buy whatever the grounds needed.

He’d waited two days to do so. Now, late in the afternoon, he strode through the hardware store, the driving end of a bulging cart. Loppers, cultivators, pruning shears, his cart bristled with various sharp objects that reflected the hard white light gleaming down from fluorescent tubes far above. Fellow patrons glanced into his cart and courteously offered him a wide berth. He thought darkly of adding a chainsaw to the mix but figured he’d spare the hearts of his fellow shoppers.

They needed a longer hose, too, but he could do without a bit. For now, the grounds cried out for good fertilizer, since late winter in Southern California burst with fertility.

He grabbed the largest bag of fertilizer he could find and hefted it into the space below the main basket. When he straightened, a hand fell heavily on his shoulder.

Reed whirled around, arms extended defensively. Not two feet behind him stood the grinning Hunter from yesterday’s running track. Her wide face, complete with blunt features and eyes so dark he couldn’t see her pupils, had stretched into an amused smile.

“Fancy seeing you here, Leech,” she said, grinning, and punched him.

Chapter 8

Reed pursed his lips and rubbed his shoulder. “Seems like everybody finds a reason to hit me lately,” he snapped.

“You make it so damn irresistible,” the Hunter said. “Quit being a baby.”

“Jade,” Reed said, nodding without smiling.

“Reed,” she echoed with mock solemnity. Then she aimed her beaming grin at him once again. “What was up with yesterday? You looking to get beat up again in front of your new buddies?”

Reed glanced around. “Walk with me,” he ordered, and they started down the aisle. “I was supposed to watch you train yesterday. Almost getting my ass kicked by a troop of Hunters was totally a bonus.”

Jade snorted and fingered a terracotta pot on the shelf before her. “I admit you gave my blood pressure a boost when you jumped over the edge. Damn, boy, those Leeches been showing you some sexy new tricks.”

“Your concern is heartening.”

“All right, Mr. Sarcasm, what’s up with today’s emergency meeting? Aren’t you worried your new BFFs are gonna find out and kick you out of the club?” Jade ran her hand over the lopper’s handles. “Nice,” she offered absently, the warrior in her commenting on the tool’s potential lethality.

Without looking at her, Reed grabbed a bag of mulch and situated it with great care in the cart. “I need you to look up some information for me,” he said. He reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a crumpled piece of paper.

Jade snatched it from his fingers and scanned over the information. “Dubya tee eff?” she snorted. “What’s this have to do with your mission? ‘Katana-something, born in Acton twenty-five or so years ago’?”

Reed glanced at her through narrowed eyes. “The mission has expanded,” he said shortly. “Find out what you can about this woman.”

“‘White girl, brown hair, brown eyes, around five-eight,’” Jade read slowly. “Your handwriting sucks.”

Reed crept forward, Jade a step or two behind him. They reached the end of the aisle and walked slowly around to the one on its right. A few steps into the new aisle, Jade asked, “Is she one of the sleeping Hunters?”

Reed glanced behind him. “She’s sleeping, but I don’t think she’s a Hunter. As for the sleeping Hunters, they don’t trust me enough to tell me anything yet.”

Jade sighed. “Too early to hope for much, I guess. Yet you asked me to meet you here today. All this for Katana-something, huh?”

“Some bad shit is going down,” Reed rumbled. “We need to help her.”

“‘We,’ huh?” Jade asked, her voice threaded with amusement. “Not like you to use that word when chatting with me.”

Reed stopped and adjusted some of the items in his cart. Without looking at her, he said, “If you can’t do this, tell me and I’ll find another way. I have to learn more about her.”

“Chill, my man,” Jade soothed. “You’re such a grumpy old guy. I’ll look up your Katana. Hey, did you know that’s the name of a sword?”

“I had an idea. There’s one more thing I think you all need to know.” He hesitated.

Jade pretended great interest in a wire birdcage. “Underneath this shockingly stylish ‘do, I’m all ears,” she prompted.

“Three Families are pitching in to open a homeless shelter in Montebello.”

“Gee, Grandma, what a big heart you have,” Jade muttered. “Assholes.”

Pushing the cart forward, Reed said very slowly, “I think there’s even more to it than that.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Does it have something to do with the sword lady?”

“I think it does.”

Jade grunted. “This is some pretty good stuff. I’ll take it back to the council, see what they think. I’ll put our researchers on sword woman and let you know.”

Reed nodded. “Thanks.” He neared the end of the aisle.

“Hey, Reed.”

He turned around. Jade, as usual, was smiling, but she clasped her hands awkwardly before her like a teenager. “Thanks for doing this,” she said. “The council is tickled fuchsia with you. Some of them have started talking about letting you come back.”

White flashed behind his eyes, but except for a tightening jaw, Reed kept his expression impassive. “I couldn’t care less about them. I’m not doing any of this for them, for Hunters or Psychics, or even for you.”

Jade spread her fingers before her. “Then why, Reed?”

“Jade, daughter of Aya, everything I’m doing here is for our mom.”

He held out the remainder of the money. Instead of plucking it from his fingers, Quina grabbed his hand with both of hers. The superhuman grip hurt a bit. Reed tilted his head and stared into her light eyes.

“I chatted for a while with Alexio, and we agree it would be beneficial for you and Cor to work together on this homeless shelter project. We need to plan a fundraiser for a smattering of wealthy locals. Corinna has the details. We expect you and her to organize this soiree.” Quina’s eyes gleamed silver in the lamplight.

“Nothing like a landscaper to plan a party for the elite,” Reed commented.

“Alexio thinks, and I agree, that you need to get involved with some of our more charitable campaigns. You seem to have a skewed idea of who we are and what we do. Maybe this will help you understand your heritage a little better.”

I have a pretty good idea what kind of heritage I shoulder
, Reed thought. Nodding, he withdrew his hand.

Later, the dental floss drifted like snow into the wicker wastebasket. He wanted to call it a “trash can” but didn’t think people like the Daleths, with their kind of money, ever used words like “trash.” Their kind doubtlessly generated “rubbish.”

Reed grinned and inspected his teeth. His best feature, his mother had always told him. Strong, even, and white, which was a blessing, she’d always said, since they didn’t have the money for orthodontics. He and Jade both benefited from good dental genes.

Still naked from his shower, he carefully shaved his face. Time for a haircut, he noticed. Unchecked, his hair tended to fluff out from his head like a dandelion puff. He splashed some cheap aftershave on his face and neck.

And stopped.

The foamy water slurped down the drain while he stood grinning at himself in the mirror. After a moment, he retreated from the bathroom to his bed and dropped onto it, laughing.

Man, you’re not headed out on a hot date
, he told himself, still laughing. Yet, in spite of the seriousness of the situation, in spite of putting himself in danger in this household, in spite of his profound suspicions around this homeless shelter thing, in spite of worrying himself sick about Katana’s health and well-being, he still felt like a man about to embark on an outing with some interesting, beautiful woman.

He was headed for nowhere other than bed, and yet it was the best part of his day.

“You’re pathetic,” he told himself.

Before he settled into bed for the night, though, he gargled with mouthwash and donned his favorite boxers.

Around her loomed hundreds of Katanas, all standing, all staring straight ahead, eyes and lips narrowed. She tried to raise her right hand, the one with the sword in it, and they all lifted their hands, too. After a few inches, her hand encountered a smooth, cool surface. Her sword clanked merrily.

Katana reached out her left arm and encountered the same slippery-smooth barrier a foot or so to her left. She kicked backward and encountered a solid, vertical surface. The Katanas kicked in synch with her.

She lifted a hand and waved. They waved, too.

I’m in a hall of mirrors
, she thought. She took a step forward, encountered the glass barrier, and stepped back.
Trapped in a glass box
.

Well, if she’d wanted to see herself up close and personal, she’d certainly gotten her wish. Before her loomed Katanas from every angle, sparkling in 3D splendor. Nice, average face, plump body, longish dark hair, impressively generous mouth. Nothing to inspire a musical or launch a thousand ships, but decent enough. She sported a long, jagged scar along one forearm and her bare feet were dirty.

Congratulations, Kat. You’re a person.

With the tip of her left forefinger, she tapped the transparent glass in front of her face. All the Katanas, positioned to the left, the right, straight ahead, crowded in among one another, followed her example. The fading clarity of the Katanas, the smaller and blurrier as they reflected other reflections, fascinated her. She stared into hundreds of her own eyes.

For a moment, she experienced vertigo, wondering which of the Katanas she was. She reached out a hand to steady herself, and her sword
tinged
against the glass. Looking up, she saw movement fluttering briefly above her head.

Katana moved to swing her sword and . . . hit glass. Growling, she glanced up and, as she expected, saw nothing aside from her own reflection. Lowering her head, staring in the reflections before her, she found the brief movement had ceased.

Sighing, she leaned her head against the glass.

“Katana.” The voice was gentle.

Her head snapped up from the glass and her arm raised reflexively, once again crashing against the same surface. She looked in the various surfaces and found, sprinkled among the endless Katanas, a few dozen Reeds.

“Hey,” she breathed in relief, and smiled. The other Katanas softened into soppy grins. Clearing her throat, she smoothed the smile from her face. “Where are you?” she asked him.

His avatars looked around him. Like her, he tapped his hand against glass. He was even tall enough to rap against the overhead mirror. “I don’t know,” he said. “Where are you?”

“Uh,” she glanced around. “Here.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, smiling at her . . . only, he was looking at a false Katana. She wanted to tell him to train his eyes to the right, but it seemed frivolous.

Which one am I?
she wondered once again, heart pounding. Then,
Stop it
. That kind of dime-store, angsty question had no place in her dreamworld.

“You look nice,” Reed said,
sans
irony. She stared at him—at one of him—for a moment, and then laughed. He laughed with her, still staring at someone on her right.

I couldn’t look half as good as you look to me
, she thought, and wisely kept silent.

“I have news,” she told him.

“Social security number?” he asked, smiling.

“Not quite that helpful. I have a sister, though. Her name is Mandy, maybe Miranda, maybe Amanda.”

Reed tilted his head. After a moment, he asked, “Younger? Older?”

“Younger,” she said immediately. “She had a teddy dog named Percy. I found it in a file drawer a while ago.”

“A teddy dog, huh? Anything else you remember about Mandy?”

Slowly, blowing air through her lips, Katana shook her head. “I remember something about a white house and a . . . room on the second floor. Something about Mandy. In Acton—the house, I mean.”

“Thanks. I searched online for a Katana in Acton but couldn’t find anything. I have friends with resources looking for more information.” After a pause, he added more slowly and with greater emphasis, “We’ll find you.”

“Friends? Are you talking about your superhero bugs?”

Reed raised his eyebrows. “The Broschi are neither superheroes nor my friends. They’re not the good guys in this situation, Katana.” He sighed and shook his head. “In fact, I have an idea they’re behind all this.”

She narrowed her eyes as thoughts billowed through her mind. Which question to ask first? “What the stars did these Leeches do to me?” she heard herself growl.

Reed stared at Katana-on-the-right. “I’m not entirely sure, sweetie,” he said.

Her righteous fury trembled at his use of the endearment.
My god
, she thought in disgust.
Keep this in perspective, girl
.

Reed breathed in and out. His beautif— His chest raised and lowered. He stared hard into her eyes. She called herself an idiot for feeling hurt that he didn’t know it wasn’t
her
eyes into which he gazed with such intensity. Or maybe he did and it was she who gazed at the wrong Reed.
Oh lord.

“The Leeches got their nickname from the way they eat.” Reed’s voice was even.

“They drink blood?” she breathed.

He shook his head. “A little less literal. The Broschi are empathic. They can feel and even evoke other people’s feelings, negative ones like fear, pain, horror.”

“Sun and stars,” she breathed. She got it.

She got it.

“They’re eating me,” she said, and laughed, but not humorously. “These superhuman, psychic Leech people are keeping me trapped in nightmares, eating my feelings.” Her chest felt heavy. She pressed her left hand against it and felt its gentle rise and fall.

None of this is real. All this drama, all this fear, all the pain and anger and malice. None of it exists except in the form of juicy brainwaves that these beings sip like mint juleps
. No wonder she couldn’t die, couldn’t escape, couldn’t ever wake up.

Reed’s face was flushed, his nostrils wide. Her handsome hero. For a minute, she hated him, hated that he got to wake up, hated this situation, hated everything boxing her in this narrow world.

Like a bug in a jar, ha ha
, she thought, tapping the glass in front of her. She drew a deep breath in, realized these weren’t her real lungs and this wasn’t really air, and let her breath out in something like a sob. With a cry, she punched the glass in front of her as hard as she could. The pain felt raw and fresh. She drew back her hand to punch it again, and Reed said her name loudly, sharply.

Katana glared at him for a moment. “I’m trapped in here,” she grated.

His face relaxed into compassion. Hers hardened.