The Dream Catcher's Daughter (7 page)

“Did you miss us?” said Amor. “We missed
you.”

“Yeah,” said Jason. “Keep dreaming.”

“
Oooh
, hard to
get.”

“As if!” said Bootelia, wiggling her hips.
“He
obviously
lusts for my curves. Who wouldn’t want this bona fide
body?”

“I don’t have time for this,” said Jason.
“Give me back the key.”

Bootelia laughed, waving her knife around.
“See this? It means your demand-making privileges are null and void.”

Jason remembered the playground, how the
little boy screamed as Bootelia placed the blade against his throat. He turned
and ran. Their feet scuffed against the sidewalk as they chased him. They were
incredibly fast and nearly caught him. Then they came to a corner Jason
recognized: his street. He could lose them. All he had to do was make it to the
alleyway next to his house.

No, not the alleyway,
he thought.
That’s
a bad idea.

But what choice do I have?

Halfway down the next block, his sides
stitched. His breath was uneven, sweat rolling down face. He hadn’t exercised
much in the past year, but he was still running. Just a little more. The
alley’s mouth lay only ten feet ahead.

Their fingertips brushed the back of his
neck.

“Come on,” they said. “Give in to us.”

With an extra burst of speed, Jason peeled
away down the alley. His legs wobbled. His heart pounded in his throat. The
horizon started to swallow the sun. The alley seemed to stretch before him, the
shadows turning into bony, inky fingers.

Bad, bad, bad,
he thought.
Coming
here was bad.

He was halfway through the alley, but
slowing. The pounding in his ear stopped him from listening for the twins’
footfall. His sweat turned cold as his legs gave out and he fell against the
fence. He sucked the alley’s sour air into his mouth with each gasp. He
clutched his stomach, then puked. The acid stung his throat. Tears pricked his
eyes. Each heave felt like his spine was being ripped from his body.

“
Ew
!”

“
Awh
, poor Jason
got a little sick!
Wanna
kiss ‘
im
now?”

A chuckle. “I’d much rather you punish
him, dear sister.”

“Well, that can certainly be arranged.”

Jason tried to struggle, but fear
paralyzed him worse than any venom. Through his blurry vision, the sun had set,
but he still made out two figures. Not the twins, but another man and woman.
The man fell. Someone screamed. And the woman wheeled around.

Amor gripped Jason about the shoulders,
holding him in place. Amor’s breath lay warm on the back of his neck, his lips
smooth against Jason’s jugular. He forced Jason’s head up and exposed his neck.
Towering over him, Bootelia flashed a smile that would make the devil nervous.
She wiggled her hips, playfully fingering the tip of the knife. “Remember what
I said, a long time ago? I said, ‘If you aren’t a good boy, I’ll cut you.’
Well, you haven’t been a very good boy. So guess what? Time for your
well-earned punishment.”

She stooped down and leaned in. She kissed
Jason on the forehead, settling the blade’s cold steel on his Adam’s apple.

Light flooded them from behind. Bootelia’s
eyes widened and Amor turned; they gasped. Jason smacked against the ground.
The twins’ footfall echoed and faded into the distance. And as Jason lay there,
his face only inches from a puddle of his own vomit, a train whistle pierced
the air. The man and woman reappeared above him. The man fell, and the woman
turned around to face him.

Mom,
he thought.

“Sleep and forget. Forget and sleep. Sleep
and forget. Forget and—”

“Wake.”

The darkness around him was heavy and
stifling. It reminded him of a breezeless summer day, as though he were packed
inside layers upon layers of cotton. His eyes darted around, trying to focus.
His arms were starting to trickle with stone. The choking heat closed in on
him, the stone in his arms pouring with the steadiness of water from a tap. He
barely coughed up a ‘Forth.’ Not only did the liquid stone recede from his
limbs, but so did the suffocating darkness and heat.

Broken tiles spattered with what looked
like black paint flickered before his eyes. The paint smelled like iron, or wet
copper—definitely not paint. He focused his eyes, adjusting to the dim floor.
Then he noticed a wall where a single, flickering lamp jutted out like a horn.

With wobbly legs, Jason stood. The ceiling
was tall and vaulted, but infested with mold and riddled with cracks. Something
about this place stuck in his head like a pin: important, but not quite
noticeable in the slop of his mind. He walked toward the wall, hoping to get a
hold of his woozy body. Each step took Herculean effort and balance. Jason
flopped against the wall, his back sliding along the cracked, dusty cement,
gritty through his shirt. Even the wall felt warm against his neck.

“Maybe, this is hell,” he whispered.

He noticed a chunk of cinder block next to
him, grabbed it, and turned it over in his hands. Solid. Slightly cool. Jason
hurled the brick straight in front of him, into the deep blackness where the
lamp didn’t reach. For a few moments, he didn’t hear the brick land. When it
did, a metallic
clang
rent the air. Then echoed.

He pushed himself up from the floor,
crawling forward a bit and standing. He squinted, but still couldn’t see where
the brick had landed. This dark spot seemed to stretch from one end of the room
to the other, from floor to ceiling, except on the wall directly across from
him.

He took another step, then, as he put his
foot down, realized what the darkness was. It swallowed his foot. Off-balance,
Jason nearly fell, but clutched the floor, hugging the left half of his body to
the tile and cement. Carefully, he scooted his body away from the darkness, and
lifted his right side up onto the tile floor, away from the darkness.

A train whistle pierced the air, and a
light sliced through the darkness.

The light revealed the dark’s true
nature—a tunnel, long and deep, extending from one end of the room to the
other. In the pit of the tunnel the cinder block lay across two of the tracks.
Everything shook as the train thundered along in a blur, its slipstream kicking
up dust and flecks of black from the floor. Jason coughed, wrenching his eyes
shut, covering his mouth. The train’s wheels screeched and the train’s
slipstream slowly subsided. The dust and flecks settled on the floor and Jason.
He opened his eyes. The train was yellow with a red streak down its length. It
looked like one of those old passenger trains from the 1920’s. The windows were
glowing like beady yellow eyes, all staring at Jason.

A door to Jason’s right hissed open.
Clunking footsteps rattled the metal stairs. A broad-shouldered man stepped
down from the steps. He wore a denim button-up jacket and pants. An ivy cap sat
atop a mess of brown hair with ends that brushed the base of his neck. He
adjusted his glasses and looked around, but didn’t seem to see Jason.

“Boarding,” he said. “Now boarding for
Visonia.”

Visonia. The word stuck to the inside of
Jason’s ear, echoing in his eardrum—an irritating itch, one his brain couldn’t
quite scratch.
I know that name, that place,
he thought.
But from
where?
He stood, and suddenly he realized this tunnel, this way station
were connected, in some way, to Talshe and his other dreams.

When Jason walked in front of him, the
strange man finally noticed him. He grinned with yellow teeth. His blue eyes
glimmered dangerously beneath his ivy cap.

“Decided to come back, eh?” said the man.

“Come back? I’m not sure I follow.”

The man crossed his arms, tilting his head
a bit. His smile shrank. “Don’t recognize me? Well, can’t say I blame you. Not
many people give the conductor and host of this train much thought.” He held
out a hand. “Ticket?”

Jason shook his head. “Sorry.”

The conductor’s smile faded to a smirk,
and he grunted, straightening his cap. “Well, you don’t belong here then, do
you? Be on your way.” He turned to leave.

“Hold on, where am I?”

The man stopped. “If you don’t remember,
then there’s no use telling you.” Slowly, he turned back to Jason. His eyes
flashed. “Sleep and forget. Forget and sleep. Sleep and forget...”

So Jason did.

***

“Wake.”

Crickets chirped. The air was cool on
Jason’s cheeks. The stars winked at him from their bed in the sky. Underneath
it all rested the sour stench of the alley. He sat up from the fence, his back
crackling. He rubbed the base of his neck. How long had he been there? He
searched for his phone, but couldn’t find it. Dropped it somewhere, perhaps. He
tried to trace his footsteps, but his mind was so fuddled that he gave up.

Something shifted next to him.

His eyes darted in every possible
direction, but couldn’t pick out anything. The moon’s glow flooded the alley in
neon light, so Jason could see everything. He told his pounding heart to calm
itself. Nothing was there. He turned and met the gaze of two red, beady
eyes—eyes of the mannequin he and Darlene had chased.

Before Jason could draw breath to scream,
the red-eyed shadow snatched Jason’s neck in its fingers. Half-inch claws dug
like cold metal hooks into his neck. Blood trickled warmly down his neck. Any
sudden movement, and Jason would have no windpipe to breathe through. The
shadow phantom drew him close, its breath rattling. Each exhale smelled of sour
dairy. Jason wanted to gag, but resisted, afraid the slightest movement would
force this creature’s hand.

“
you
wanted this
now accept me,” growled the shadow.

And the creature pressed itself against
Jason. Its shadowy lips rubbed against his like sandpaper. Two pressures mounted,
one against the back of Jason’s head, the other against his pelvis. The latter
didn’t originate from his own body. The liquid stone began to fill his arms.
Quickly, now. And a terrible sound split the air—a metallic screech, like
exploding glass and collapsing skyscraper: Jason’s scream.

Now music floated through the air. And the
hand fled his throat. The red eyes and dry lips and pressure against his groin
all melted into the night. Jason fell back, slamming into the ground, his body
nearly overcome by the liquid stone inside him. As his vision blurred, he
looked up. A familiar face bent over him, shaking her head.

“Can you only scream?” said Len.

***

“Wake.”

He gasped like someone who had been
underwater too long and flailed, gripping his raw throat. There were no wounds.
No dried blood. But he clearly remembered the shadow-monster and its whispery
words. He also remembered Len.

“Ah, you are awake.”

He looked to his right, but didn’t find
Len there. He scowled as he curled his fingers into fists. “What the hell are
you doing here?”

The Guardian’s piercing green eyes drove
the anger right out of Jason, and Jason bobbed his head, muttering an apology.
“I do not mean you harm, Son of Arthur. I only wished to see that you
recovered.” Jason looked around, but still didn’t see Len. The Guardian waved
his hand. “Your friend has gone.”

“Len was here?”

“Indeed. She called for the paladins to
assist you. I so happened to be at the paladins’ stronghold when they received
the message and came instead. I would never let offspring of my apprentice
befall harm.”

Jason grunted. “Yeah, bet you won’t be
saying that in a few days.”

The Guardian shook his head. “It is not my
choice to erase your memories. I, unfortunately, am subject to those same laws.
For who, if not me, would willingly erase your memories? Such powerful magic
exacts devastating costs upon the user’s body.” His eyes flickered to Jason.
“Of course, you would know this, if you could use magic.”

“Haven’t been able to. Never will.”

The ancient mage didn’t respond. And the
silence passed like a decade. Jason tried to keep his breathing steady, to keep
his mind from wandering. He wouldn’t let the stone harden his arms now, not in
front of the Guardian.

“I know someone who can teach you,” said
the Guardian.

Jason frowned. “Teach me? My dad bought me
half a dozen of those stupid scrolls, and I still haven’t learned. It’s
impossible. I don’t have magical talent. I think the sooner we accept this, the
easier my birthday execution will be.”

“You speak as if erasing your memory would
be the end of you.”

“It will be.”

The Guardian smiled. “You let your
youthful sense of identity misguide you. There is so much more to an identity
than what you are now. Even I think back to when I was young. I am a much
different person now. This is a fact: we change. Some things remain the same,
but other things are shed. And most of the time, they are shed for good
reason.”

“Does it matter?” said Jason. “Either way,
I can’t learn.”

“Anyone can learn. You must
want
it.”

“And you think I don’t?”

“Do you want it?”

His eyes trailed away from the Guardian,
down into the dirt of the alleyway. A chilly wind brushed over him, the hairs
on the back of his neck bristling. Then that face, heart-shaped, light brown
hair and hazel eyes—it smacked his mind’s eye without any warning. But the
stone didn’t flow. Nothing hardened inside him, even though something should
have. He felt horrified that, in this instant, he felt nothing.

Maybe Tara would want me to feel nothing.
Maybe she’d want me to move on. Get over it,
he thought.

But he wished the stone would harden and
drag him through the earth, to the planet’s core. It would feel right. How
could he get his arms to harden and grow heavy? With magic, you could turn
anything to stone. Jason wondered, if he could do magic, whether or not he
could turn his wand on himself and do such a thing. As he thought this, the
Guardian was watching the sky, hands folded together in his lap.

The Guardian peered down, and Jason looked
away. “I apologize,” said the Guardian. “I did not mean to startle you. Were
you finished thinking?”

Jason ignored the question. He needed to
get his mind away from wherever it was right then. So he said, “I don’t think
I’ve ever seen you carry a wand, sir. I know wands are very different in this
age. Mages my age use cell phones as wands.”

The Guardian looked at Jason, then back to
the sky. “I am my own wand. For someone my age and power, this is only one of
many abilities I have acquired. I can also shift my form—change my face and
body, if you will. Of course, I am not alone. There are others with these rare
talents. But they are a scarce breed of mage, although there was a time when
one of them could overpower me.” Jason’s eyes widened. As far as he knew, the Guardian
was
the
most powerful mage. He couldn’t imagine a mightier one.

“Who were they? What made them so
powerful?”

“The Dream Caller, and the Dream Catcher.
One could bring dreams to life and control them. The other could capture or
destroy dreams. But she never completely destroyed them. She only returned them
to their home—Dreamrealm.”

“Wow. Why haven’t I heard of them? Being
so powerful, I would think I’d hear my dad or Darlene mention them.”

“Sadly, there is no living Dream Caller.
And there is only one Dream Catcher left.”

“Why are there no more Dream Callers?”

The Guardian shifted, rubbing his hands
together.

“Hundreds of years ago, the first Dream
Caller decided she was tired of bringing happiness to others. If she could
bring dreams to life, why should she waste her talent on those whose dreams
were lesser than hers? So she started killing those with dreams she deemed
unworthy. Eventually, she was captured and killed. But not before she had borne
a child. And that child, despite not having a mistress to teach her, learned
how to use the power of her mother. And this continued for many years. Until
forty years ago, we thought the chain would never stop.”

The Guardian then stood, offering his
shadowy hand to Jason. He took it and stood beside the powerful mage. The
Guardian turned to him, and Jason thought the Guardian looked more like a
hunched, old man beneath the shadows than the powerful mage he’d come to know.

“I fear, however, the Dream Caller has
returned. For you.” Before Jason could say anything, the Guardian continued,
“Strange things have been occurring—a giantess, a hound, twins...am I correct?”

“Um...”

“I take your hesitance as a yes.”