Weaver of Dreams (5 page)

When she arrived at the school board office twenty minutes later, Maggie marched through the halls with purposeful strides, anger festering as she made her way through the maze of cubicles.

Expecting to be greeted by his secretary, Liz, Maggie’s brows lifted in surprised when she found an empty desk. Must be off making copies, she assumed, and she made her way to the door of Mark’s office. It was closed, but not locked Maggie discoverd when she turned the knob and let herself in unannounced.

Mark looked awful cozy. He sat on the edge of his desk, his legs stretched out in front of him on either side of the chair in which Jennifer Lawler sat. The two of them shared a chuckle and Maggie couldn’t help but wonder what they laughed about.

She cleared her throat, drawing the couple’s attention. In unison, their heads turned her way and Mark had the good sense to look embarrassed. He straightened and dodged behind his desk. If Maggie hadn’t been suspicious of hanky panky between the two of them before, she knew it to be true now. Apparently, her ex hadn’t learned it wasn’t good to mix business with pleasure.

“Maggie, you got here quicker than I expected.”

“Obviously, Mark.” Maggie let the door close behind her.

Mark gestured at the vacant chair in front of his desk with the wave of his hand. “Sit down.”

“I’d rather stand.” Actually, she’d rather leave.

“This is going to take a while. Sit.” The tone in his voice brooked no argument.

That couldn’t be a good sign, Maggie decided, when she took a seat. She crossed her legs, noticing her black heels looked rather old and matronly compared to the lawyer’s red stiletto pumps.

“Ms. O’Connell,” the lawyer began, “I don’t know if you have seen the news today or not.”

“If you are referring to the coverage of the suit, I’ve seen it.”
All three times.

Mark rolled the sleeves of his salmon-colored dress shirt up and loosened his tie. “So you heard the news is only telling one side of the story.”

Maggie nodded. “They claimed the District had no comment.”

“We can’t allow that to continue, can we, Mark.” Jennifer said.

“We most certainly cannot. The District’s side must be shared. Don’t you agree, Maggie?”

Maggie shifted uncomfortably under Mark’s gaze. “I think we should be able to tell our side.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Mark leaned forward, and rested his bare forearms on his desk. “Jennifer and I were just discussing we should hold a press conference to get our side of things out there for the public.”

The lawyer shifted her legs, crossing them at the ankles demurely. “I can prepare a statement,” she offered.

Mark nodded his head vigorously in agreement. “It needs to be something good, something that will put the public on our side.”

“But we can’t give away the defense I plan on presenting. We wouldn’t want to give the parent’s attorney an advantage.”

“We need to contact the press soon . . .”

The sound of Mark’s voice faded into the background as Maggie’s mind drifted from the conversation. Obviously they didn’t need her to participate. They pitched the conversation back and forth like two baseball players warming up before a game. He’d speak, she’d speak, each murmured excitedly as the ideas flowed.

Minutes turned into tortuous hours during which Maggie endured watching Mark posture under Jennifer’s scrutiny and Jennifer bat her long eyelashes at Mark. Um-hmm, there was definitely something going on between the two of them.

When a delivery boy brought lunch, Maggie hoped she might get a reprieve and be able to go back to her school to get some work done.

“I guess we’re done. I’ll leave.”

“Hold on,” Mark said, taking two salads out of the paper delivery bag. He handed one to Jennifer and pushed the other across his desk in Maggie’s direction. “Here, I ordered for all of us. We’re not done.”

Maggie took the garden salad with balsamic dressing—Mark’s favorite, not hers. Why did that not surprised her.

Jennifer opened the container for her salad. “My favorite.”

Again Maggie found herself not surprised.

She choked down her salad as Jennifer and Mark continued discussing strategy for both the lawsuit and the press conference. It wasn’t until they began to discuss who might be the District spokesperson that Maggie joined the conversation.

“Mark, will you be giving the statement to the press?” Maggie inquired before she took another bite of salad.

“I thought you would be the perfect person to give it.”

Lettuce flew from her mouth at the shock. “You can’t be serious,” Maggie informed him, wiping the half-chewed lettuce off her ex’s desk.

Jennifer turned her way. “But you must. You represent the school. You were the one who attended all the meetings. You
are
the face of the school as its guidance counselor.”

“Find another face.” Maggie wiped her mouth with her napkin and threw away the remainder of her salad, suddenly finding her appetite gone.

Her stomach twisted, knotted with despair as she contemplated going in front of the cameras. Maggie’s palms started to sweat. She wiped them on her napkin, and imagined what having several cameras pointed at her would be like, their red lights flashing to indicate they recorded every word she stuttered.

“I don’t want to find another face. We think you are the most logical choice,” Mark informed her, as his arms crossed over his chest.

“You really must do it,” the lawyer insisted. “Maggie, you are the best person for the job.”

“Think of the children.”

Did he
really
just go there? All she ever thought about were the children. Most of the time she’d sat here, she’d been lamenting about how many counseling opportunities she missed. Teenagers could be funny about things like that. They were apt to take it personally that she hadn’t been there when they needed her. And those that did most likely wouldn’t come to her the next time they needed to talk to someone.

Think of the children,
Maggie repeated Mark’s words in her mind, her anger increased exponentially. How dare he!

“Now listen here, Mark . . .” The lawyer cut off the remainder of her tirade.

“Ms. O’Connell, I recommend you lower your voice. There is nothing to discuss. Mark and I have already decided you will be the one who will read the prepared statement to the press. Now let’s get to work on your statement.”

Her shoes were the first thing Maggie kicked off when she arrived home. She hated wearing heels. They made her feet hurt, especially when she had to walk the long distance from the parking lot to the school building. Today she'd made the trip many times thanks to Mark’s summons.

Damn them
. She didn’t want to be the face of the District. She didn’t do public speaking. That was more Mark’s style.

Was Mark trying to drive her to quit? He knew she didn’t like speaking in front of a crowd. In fact, he’d been there the last time she had given an in-service to a group of teachers. Her legs shook so bad one of the teachers asked her if she was okay. Her mouth went dry and when she took a sip of water to wet her parched throat, her hand shook so much the liquid spilled down her white blouse, and made the material see-through. It easily qualified as the most embarrassing moment of her life—or would be until she went on camera.

She threw her purse down on the kitchen table with more force than necessary.

They had detained her in Mark’s office all day, keeping her from doing important duties, like talking to students and helping them with their class choices for next year. Man, she would be glad when this ended and she could get back to doing her job. Maggie almost welcomed the court date at this point. At least then it would be over. Win or lose. She didn’t care. She just wanted the whole thing over and done with.

Everything hurt, her feet, her throat. Bone tired, not only from the lack of sleep, but also from all the stress at work. Maggie yawned, stretching her arms out to her sides. Her limbs felt heavy. Hell, even her eyes felt leaden. She needed energy. Maybe something to eat would help.

She opened the refrigerator door to find . . . nothing. Crap. She forgot she needed to go grocery shopping on the way home.

Oh well, she felt too tired to cook anyway. All she really wanted was a long, hot bath and some sleep. She could definitely use some rest before being paraded before the cameras tomorrow. She didn’t want to look like a sleep-deprived zombie.

Her stomach growled. “I know you’re hungry.” She patted her tummy. “But there is nothing here except some stale crackers and peanut butter. And I’m not
that
desperate.”

Maybe if she went to sleep on an empty stomach, the nightmares would stay away.
Worth a shot
. She stripped the clothes from her body as she wandered down the hall, muttering insults about her boss and the slutty lawyer he was probably banging.

Zane flowed through the air. Back and forth he sailed, zigging and zagging, hoping the motion might help him focus. His frustration soared. Frustration directed at himself for underestimating his opponent. Frustration for allowing the human to see him.

But most of all,
she
frustrated him.

Thoughts of the woman plagued him, making it impossible to concentrate enough to locate Amnon. Oh, how he tried. The Great Spirits help him, he had tried, but every time he concentrated, images of the woman would form in his mind’s eye.

He saw the smooth skin of her supple thigh peek out from under her gown. Remembered the rise and fall of her breasts, the way they tantalized him as they jiggled with each rapid breath. His mind replayed the way she looked when she turned her pretty face his way.

Ugh! Thoughts of her buzzed in his mind, made concentrating difficult.

He flowed through the air, pushed his energy as fast as it would go, in an attempt to outrun the thoughts of the human. Faster and faster he raced, over the soft grass. He dove down in between the emerald blades, concentrating on the feel of the florae flowing over his energy. It rolled over his circular form like tiny fingers rubbing his body. Tiny, female fingers.

Once again his mind returned to
her
. Never before had a human affected him this way. In fact, he never gave a human a second thought when back in his home dimension. But for some reason he could not get
her
out of his mind.

“Hey,” called Jolan, flying up to intercept him. “What’s the hurry?”

Zane didn’t have a clue how long his friend might have been there. He’d been too lost in his thoughts of the woman.

Zane slowed his momentum, allowed his friend to keep pace. “I’m searching for the Dream Stalker.”

Not a complete lie.

“Were you able to locate the stalker?”

“I traced him to a human.”

“Man or woman?”

“Woman.”
A beautiful, sexy woman.

“Isn’t it unusual for a Dream Stalker to be female?” Jolan questioned in a surprised tone.

Zane stopped, hovering in the air as realization settled over him. “Oh, you were referring to the stalker. He was male.”

“Who else did you think I spoke about?”

Of course Jolan would be talking about the stalker. Zane should have known that. Jolan would have no interest in the human. His only interest would be in their kind. Just as Zane’s should be, but wasn’t.

“Never mind,” Zane replied, as he floated forward.

Jolan quickly caught up and kept pace. “Do you know who the stalker is?”

“Yes.” Zane learned in his training it was better not to divulge too much information to others. One never knew who might be connected to whom.

“You won’t tell me his name, will you?”

“You know I cannot.”

They floated along in silence, headed for the area of their world where Zane felt most at peace. A feeling of relief washed over him when they reached the waterfall. The multicolored river flowed over the rocks, to create a tranquil whirling sound that soothed his soul. The colors of the water swirled in a vortex of patterns at the base of the falls. It mesmerized all who gazed into the eddy for long. Zane found it allowed him to focus when his troubled mind refused to cooperate.

Today he needed it more than ever.

He settled his energy over the kaleidoscope of colors, allowing the wet spray to drip through him—cool and clean, like a spring day after a rain.

He would love to share this with the woman from last night. She seemed the kind of woman who enjoyed the feel of the air after a good rain. Zane could almost imagine the look on her face when she saw the flowers with their unique shapes and patterns or the mountains that rose high with their dawn-like hues of pink, violet, and reds.

Too bad no human could survive in this dimension for he would like to bring her here. Let her experience the beauty. Watch her pretty face when she gazed upon his world.

“Do you know how to find the Dream Stalker?”

The sound of Jolan’s voice brought Zane out of his reverie. “I am having trouble locating him in this dimension,” Zane confessed.

“But you found him in the human dimension?”

“Yes. That was easy enough.”
Since feeding produced a larger thread for me to follow.

“So go back to the human dimension.”

Zane stopped bobbing. Of course.

The Dream Stalker would most likely return to the same place to feed again. Too many nefarious visits and the woman’s mind could snap. Hopefully the nightmares Amnon elicited had not done her mind any damage.

Who knew how many times Amnon had already visited the poor woman. He would no doubt return to her when the craving became too great. And Zane would be waiting.

“Jolan, you are wise beyond your centuries.”

Jolan chuckled. “You sound anxious, old friend.”

“I am,” Zane admitted, though whether from anticipation of catching Amnon or from seeing the woman, he couldn’t be sure.

He wasted no time. With a thought, he created a portal into her bedroom and peeked through to check the scene. It may have been dark in the room, but he could see
her
. She lay in her bed with her back to him, the sheet and comforter pulled up over her body. Her side rose with her breaths. Slow and steady, told him she slept. Amnon was nowhere in sight.

Perfect. He would lie in wait, capture Amnon when he came through to feed.

Tonight Zane would succeed, by not underestimating his opponent again. He would protect the woman and erase the threat to her. It was his calling, his reason for being.

He was the Peacemaker. And tonight he would put his skills to good use.