Dreamwalker Read online

  Emmett knew that. His mouth twitched into his version of a smile as he glanced at the innocents around us.

  “For every second you delay,” he said, “I can have one of them drop dead. How about that?”

  Someday I’d get my hands around Emmett’s throat and strangle him. I looked forward to it.

  I heaved another sigh and climbed inside the limo.

  A thug shut the door. He and his fellow got into the compartment directly behind the driver, leaving me and Emmett in the very back space that held two leather bench seats facing each other.

  “Something to drink?” Emmett asked as the limousine pulled smoothly from the curb. There was no traffic save one pickup heading the opposite direction. “I can open a lovely chardonnay, or if you’d prefer red, a Syrah blend. I don’t always like blends, but this one is an exception.”

  “No, thank you.” Alcohol and I didn’t mix very well, so I avoid it. I’m a lightweight drunk, and who knew what I might do tonight if I grew tipsy? Besides, I didn’t trust Emmett not to put something in the wine.

  Emmett shrugged. “Your loss. My collection is the envy of the world.” He pulled from a compartment at his side an open bottle of red, filled a wide-bowled glass, and took a sip. “Ah, this is nice. Full and fruity, very warm. Are you certain you won’t partake?”

  I shook my head. Him demonstrating he’d happily drink the wine didn’t mean he wouldn’t spike it with something that wouldn’t affect him, or that the poison wouldn’t already be in whatever glass he handed me.

  “You are wonderfully suspicious, Janet. Wise of you. It keeps you alive. Now.” Emmett rested his goblet on the arm of his seat. “I am certain you have guessed the main thing I want to discuss. You have a magic mirror, and I want it.”

  A magic mirror is an immensely powerful talisman. It can enhance a mage’s power, assist in spells, watch over enemies, give advice, and discover information. My hotel, which I’d purchased and restored over the last couple years, had contained a magic mirror, set aside and forgotten. Mick and I had woken the thing from dormancy, and it had formed an attachment to us. The mirror belonged to us now, would fight for us and refuse to work for another mage until we both were dead.

  The fact that my mirror talked like a sex-crazed drag queen with the tendency to sing loudly and off-key in the middle of the night was beside the point. It had deep powers I hadn’t even tapped yet. Emmett having it would be a bad idea.

  “Sorry,” I said. “You know mirrors pass from one mage to the next only when the previous mage dies. Not a price I’m willing to pay. I like being alive.”

  “There are ways,” Emmett said. “I have done much research on this topic since discovering the delicious fact that you own such a mirror. You can give me the mirror under certain circumstances and following specific rituals. I will compensate you well.”

  Even if I believed him, even if he proved himself right, no way was I giving my magic mirror to someone like Emmett.

  “Hmm, let me think,” I said. I narrowed my eyes. “No.”

  “You have a piece of it with you, don’t you?” Emmett asked. “I know you do. I can smell it. And I know you and your boyfriend never go anywhere without a shard tucked away, in case you need it. Better than a cell phone, isn’t it?”

  I gave him a neutral look. I did have a bit of mirror in a chamois bag in one of my pockets, but I had no intention of bringing it out. At least, I hadn’t until the mirror started screaming.

  The high-pitched keening filled the car, and both Emmett and I winced. The limo didn’t slow. Only the magical can hear the mirror. The human driver and the two henchmen weren’t aware that anything was going on back here. I envied them.

  “Could you keep that thing under control?” Emmett demanded, his face screwing up against the sound.

  I dragged the shard of mirror from my pocket and pulled back the leather around it. The mirror was black, reflecting nothing.

  Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! The sound spiked through my brain. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

  “Shut up!” I yelled at it.

  Don’t let him take me, Janet. Don’t let him! I’ll just diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie.

  “Will you stop screaming?” I snapped. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  The mirror dropped to silence. Emmett delicately touched his ear. “You know, I could teach you a spell to muffle it.”

  Sounded divine. But, no learning magic from Emmett. He’d find a way to spike the spell the same as he’d doctor a drink.

  “No, thank you,” I said. “I’ll put up with it.”

  I thought Emmett would be peering interestedly at the shard, but he studied me instead, his smile unnerving.

  “Think about it, Janet. I could make it worth your while. And Mick’s. I realize you own the mirror jointly.”

  “I’ve already said no.”

  “Yes, you have. It’s too bad, really. I like you, and would hate to kill you. I am trying to find ways I don’t have to do that.”

  I wasn’t reassured. “Nice of you.”

  “Not really. This is in my own best interest.” He waved his hand at the mirror and lifted his glass of wine. “Put it away. I’ll have to come at this from another angle.”

  I tucked the mirror back into my pocket and looked out the window. I could see nothing of the night, only a reflection in the smoked glass of myself, and beyond me, curved and distorted, Emmett.

  “You’re a fascinating study, Janet,” Emmett was saying. “The two natures of you, constantly battling. The earth magic of the Stormwalker and the crazed magic of the goddess from Beneath. It must drive you insane.”

  I looked at him but said nothing. He was completely right, but I had no intention of telling him that.

  “I can help you, you know,” Emmett said. “Make you able to operate the two sides of yourself independently, without worrying about destroying yourself—and everyone around you—whenever you need to work magic. Wouldn’t control be a soothing thing to have?”

  I tightened. “Not if it meant being in some strange thrall to you. I’ll take my chances with blowing myself up, thank you.”

  “Hmm.” Emmett shook his head. “You are one stubborn, short-sighted woman. I’m surprised the dragon puts up with you. Ah, well. If you’re ever interested, call me. I believe we have reached our destination.”

  The limo was pulling up in front of the Crossroads Hotel. We’d put in a paved drive last month where guests could offload without having to park in the dirt. The driveway stood empty most of the day, as it did now. Not all of my guests needed to arrive in vehicles.

  Mick was outside, waiting. I could see the dragon tatts on his arms shimmering—he was ready to go dragon, break open the limousine like an egg, and fish me out. He’d have heard the mirror screaming too.

  As soon as the limo stopped, Mick had the door open and was reaching for me. He didn’t seem in the least surprised to see Emmett.

  I stumbled out, half pulled by Mick. Mick shoved me aside, not in any anger at me, but so I wouldn’t be hurt by what he did next.

  As Emmett gave Mick his annoying smile and started to speak, Mick threw a fireball into the limo.

  The human guards and driver shouted and boiled out. They ran from the now-flaming car, but turned around and fired their pistols at Mick.

  The guns were yanked out of their hands by ropes of flame. The pistols glowed in the darkness, the bullets swallowed as soon as they left the barrels. The human guards now started to yell and curse, ending up in a huddle together as they watched the limo burn, flame rising into the night. Emmett was still inside.

  The flame died with a sudden whump. All fire vanished without even a wisp of smoke to show it had existed. Only the car, burned out, remained as evidence of Mick’s rage.

  Emmett emerged from the backseat, unharmed and untouched. His hair was neatly in place, and his glasses were straight.

  He brushed off his dark blue silk suit coat as he stood up, but there was no ash or soot on it.


  “You owe me two bottles of wine, dragon,” Emmett said. He looked at me and sent me another little smile. “Sweet dreams, Janet.”

  And he vanished.

  Mick seized me and pulled me around to him. He held my face between his hands and looked down into my eyes. His eyes had gone dragon black, fury wiping out the beautiful blue they were when he was all human.

  “Are you all right?” he asked in a hard voice.

  “Yeah.” I was shaky, but standing up and alive, which was so much better than things could have been. “I’m fine. Really.”

  Mick kept peering at me, checking me over. It’s true that a mage can mess you up in ways other than physical, sometimes without you knowing. Mick was looking into my eyes for signs of damage to my psyche, my brain, my emotions … anything.

  I couldn’t tell whether he was satisfied, but he pulled me into a rough embrace, nearly crushing me. I didn’t mind. Being smashed against a tight-bodied man like Mick wasn’t a bad thing.

  Flashing lights broke the night. Of course. An SUV marked Hopi County Sheriff’s Department swung through the parking lot and came to a dusty halt next to the guys from Emmett’s limo. The three thugs, minus their guns, couldn’t move. A rope of flame, courtesy of Mick, encircled them, keeping them in place.

  “Who are they?” Nash Jones, Sheriff of Hopi County, asked me as he got out of his SUV and slammed the door.

  Nash was in full uniform, his badge polished to mirror sheen, the gun in his holster just as polished. He looked over the burned-out limo then at Mick and me, knowing one of us had done this.

  Mick wouldn’t let me go as he answered Nash. “They work for Emmett Smith. They’re probably harmless.” Never mind they’d just tried to shoot him.

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” Nash said. “I came to see your sister. Where is she?”

  “That might not be a good idea.” I eased out of Mick’s hold. “She’s a little upset.”

  “I heard about the convenience store,” Nash said, his frown in place. During the day, he wore dark sunglasses that hid his eyes. Tonight, the light above the door of my hotel made his eyes glitter gray. “State police arrested three men who have been wanted for a string of robberies across the country. They didn’t look too good.”

  Nash sounded grimly satisfied. He hates criminals of all kinds, but he doesn’t like dangerous magic people either.

  “They scared Gabrielle,” I said. “She didn’t kill any of them.”

  “This time,” Nash said. “And I’m pretty sure that’s because you and Mick showed up.”

  “Could be,” I said.

  “Want to tell me why you showed up?” Nash asked. “How did you know your sister was holding three armed robbers hostage?”

  I said nothing. I suspected the messages in the fortune cookies had come from Coyote—they’d reeked of Coyote’s modus operandi. Any message from Cassandra, the witch who managed my hotel, would have been clear, explanatory, and signed. Actually, Cassandra would have just called Mick. Coyote, on the other hand, rarely used his phone. Cryptic and mysterious was more his style.

  I hadn’t seen Coyote for a few months, however, and there’d been no sign of him around the convenience store that I could tell. Didn’t mean he wasn’t watching from afar, though.

  “We happened to be passing,” Mick said. “On our way home from dinner in Flag. Saw the magic in the store and realized something was up.”

  The explanation wasn’t a lie, strictly. Nash sensed there was more to it than that, but other than giving Mick a sharp stare, he didn’t argue.

  “You need to control her, Janet,” Nash said, switching his gaze to me.

  “Sure,” I said. “Because she listens to me so well.”

  “Those robbers are wanted in connection with a lot crimes,” Nash went on. “But a good lawyer might be able to help them get Gabrielle charged for assault—and maybe you and Mick too.”

  Possibly. However, I doubted those tough guys would want to admit that a small young woman like Gabrielle had singlehandedly kicked their asses.

  Nash glanced back to Emmett’s men. “You say they work for Smith?” he asked me.

  “They do,” I said. “But they’re completely human.”

  “Good. I’ll take them in.” Nash wanted in the worst way to arrest Emmett and make him pay for the many problems he’d caused. Nash didn’t give a damn whether Emmett was the most powerful mage in the world or a petty crook, he wanted to arrest the man and give him hell.

  Mick helped Nash load the driver and Emmett’s minions into the SUV, the men now locked into steel handcuffs. I wondered if Emmett would send a crack lawyer to get them out of custody, or whether he’d abandon them. Emmett seemed the type to discard people when they were no longer useful to him.

  Nash drove away, and I started inside to talk to Gabrielle.

  Before I even made it to the front door, Mick’s cell phone buzzed. He answered it, an eye on me, then came alert. “Sure, we’ll be right there.”

  I had a feeling my date night with Mick had just been blown even more to hell. “What?” I asked him.

  “That was Barry. He says he has a little problem in the bar. Wants us to check it out.”

  Mick was already striding across the dirt parking lot that separated my hotel from the Crossroads Bar. I let out an exasperated breath, balled my fists, and trudged after him.

  Chapter Three

  Barry Dicks owned and ran the Crossroads Bar, which had been open since before I’d bought the neighboring derelict hotel and restored it. Barry was a biker, and bikers liked his place, which was designated neutral ground. Riders came from all over the West and Southwest to stop at Barry’s for a beer and to take a load off.

  Barry kept a shotgun behind the bar for any troublemakers and could handle most situations. The only time he asked for Mick’s or my help was when he had supernatural trouble.

  The clientele eyed Mick and me sharply as we walked in. The bar was crowded tonight, the tables and barstools plus the pool tables in the back filled with men and women in leather and denim, most of them armed with pistols, knives, or both. The state we lived in didn’t ban handguns in public—individual businesses could forbid them on the premises but they didn’t have to. Barry didn’t bother, knowing his customers would bring their weapons anyway.

  The regulars recognized us and either gave us nods or simply went back to what they’d been doing. The strangers stared at us a little longer but kept any hostility to themselves. Mick looked like the biggest, baddest biker of them all, and few wanted to mess with him.

  Barry and his assistant bartender were pulling beers and pouring whiskey quickly, responding to the crowd. Barry grabbed bottles of the beer Mick and I liked and thumped them in front of us as we approached the bar.

  “Those guys at the back pool table,” Barry said as he opened my bottle for me. “Something wrong with them.”

  Mick yanked the cap off his bottle with his strong fingers. “We’ll check it out.”

  “Thanks. Beers are on me.” Barry, looking relieved, turned away to refill a beer mug from the tap.

  Mick can move quickly and at the same time look like he’s not the least bit interested in where he’s going. He’d made his way through the crowd to the pool tables before I could catch up to him. I wove around clumps of guys, most of whom left me alone. The regulars knew by now that men who messed with me usually ended up on fire or yelling in pain or running away very fast. Those who didn’t know me took their cue from the wary looks of the others.

  Mick, in the way only Mick could, had ingratiated himself into a game at the pool table two over from the guys Barry wanted us to check out. Mick already had the man and woman at the table he’d taken over laughing with him.

  I didn’t recognize the couple, but pretty soon Mick was best friends with them. Monica and John were from Barstow and had come to visit some friends in Flat Mesa. Monica and John were pretty cool people, it turned out, and soon we were discussing motorcycles and the vari
ous modifications Mick had made to ours.

  Monica had dyed black hair and blue eyes, didn’t wear a lot of makeup, and had tatts that were works of art on her neck, bared shoulders, and arms. I didn’t have tatts myself because for some reason they didn’t take. When I’d first fallen madly in love with Mick, I’d wanted to get a few tattoos like his, but the lines and ink had simply vanished, my skin unmarked the next day.

  John wore a kerchief over his hair and had brown eyes in a rugged face that sported a goatee. He also had tatts on his arms and neck, jagged designs I didn’t know the meaning of.

  Monica and John, Mick and me, could have been great friends. Anyone looking at us would think so, the way we talked, laughed, and played the game with enjoyment. But I knew that the whole time Mick was joking with John he was keeping his eyes on the guys two tables over.

  So was I, and I didn’t like what I sensed. They looked ordinary enough, drinking beer and playing pool, no different from the rest of Barry’s customers. Underneath their ordinariness, though, something was off.

  I moved nonchalantly to the rack to switch out my cue, which gave me the excuse to edge closer to the table in question. I kept my back to the players there, but I didn’t need to look at them to sense the auras that touched me—a bite of smoke, a whiff of sulfur and magma.

  I calmly lifted down a new cue and strolled back to our table.

  Mick was taking a shot, trying to get a solid orange ball into a side pocket. He shot well, but the cue ball struck the second ball slightly wrong, and the orange ball bounced off the cushion.

  “Aw,” Monica said. “So close.”

  Mick shrugged. He could have sunk the shot if he’d used magic, but Mick never did when playing games. He won or lost fair and square.

  Mick backed a step. “You’re up, John.”

  John, a pool shark, stepped up, shot, and quickly sank a ball, then two. I stood on tiptoe, kissed Mick’s cheek and whispered one word into his ear. “Demon.”

  Mick gave me a brief nod. He’d noticed too. He smoothed my hair from my face and touched his lips to my earlobe. “What kind?”