“Nothing about wanting Hadrien?” Merc pressed.
“Nothing.”
If they weren’t hunting Hadrien, they didn’t yet know about the bound. The very momentary desire to exhale in relief was cut short by the ticking clock in his head. He couldn’t even claim he was safe for the moment. After what happened today the Guild would be ruthless in their attempts to get the book – as evidenced by the rise in bounty – and the woman in the bed before him was an enemy…though everything in him recoiled at classifying her as such.
Merc turned his attention back to Shisen. Right now the man was the best shot Merc had to figuring out what was going on. If Shisen didn’t know the answer, the answer didn’t exist. “My guest was able to get the drop on me. She invaded my dreams like nothing like I’ve ever experienced, and I never caught a whiff of magic about her. She grabbed the Spellbook within the dream and brought it with her into the real world. I’ve never heard of any magic user being able to manipulate dreams like that.”
The last dream washed over him again, unwelcome but no less vivid for that. The silken slide of her skin against his own, the press of her breasts against his chest as she took his mouth with hers, the desperate energy infusing every caress. In involuntary movement his tongue came out to swipe over his lips, the phantom taste of her still strong on them.
A movement from the screen caught Merc’s attention, and what he saw had every thought freeze. For the first time in long memory, his master’s features changed, momentary surprise crossing those features. “Describe everything.”
Rapid fire, as he did so long ago while still in training, Merc answered. “She did not set off any of my triggers. In the dream, took the Spellbook from me and chained me. When I woke, I was chained as I had been in the dream, and the Spellbook was gone. She had it. None of the physical or magical traps around my living area were sprung, and the only explanation that makes sense is she took it while within the dream.”
As Merc spoke, Shisen’s eyes took a faraway cast even as his features schooled themselves back into neutrality. As Merc finished, the older, ageless man said, “When I was young, I was told very old, very ancient stories. One of these stories was of those who took dreams and made them reality. More powerful than mere walkers. These beings were known as dream crafters. It was said the strongest of them could penetrate the deepest of magics and bring forth anything they desired – be it human, magic, fortune – in ways that rivaled the gods.”
“They challenged the gods?”
“Nothing challenges the gods.” Master’s voice was a whip crack, snapping at the statement. “Which is why crafters no longer exist. Except, perhaps, this girl at your side.”
Merc took in Amana, curled up on the bed and so fragile in appearance, the occasional shiver across her frame making her curl ever inward. “How do I know if that is what she is?”
“A walker is not capable of what you described, and even necromancers could not get past your defenses without your awareness of them. She is either a crafter or a god. Which do you believe?”
Not a god. He’d never had the pleasure, but this didn’t seem to be a game for a god, not from what he knew of them. Those who were upright would have taken the Spellbook directly. Those that enjoyed subterfuge were too flighty to let this game play on so long, and would never have allowed him to grab them and run. “Tell me about dream crafters.”
“The knowledge I have is slight. Do not allow her to dream, and do not allow her in your dreams again. Does the Guild know she is a crafter?”
“They’re the ones that sicced her on me, and now they’re asking double to get her back? I can’t imagine they wouldn’t.”
“If they know, it is only a short time until others know. And if others know, you are in as much danger by having her at your side as you are with the Spellbook. To claim a dream crafter, some would lay waste to nations in their pursuit.”
“I’ll deal with it. In the meantime, would you please research crafters? I’ll take any knowledge.”
Shisen gave a nod and disconnected.
This assignment kept getting better and better. Merc pushed the heels of his hands hard against his eyes, frustration gnawing through his system like a million tiny needles hitting every nerve center at once. First time he disregarded his instincts and look where it got him – in mortal bound with a fuckwit, carrying a Spellbook that might kill him if he opened it, and holding hostage the first woman who interested him in years, a woman who had some control over the world through dreams.