The Dream Crafter(27)

He needed help. Shisen would research, sure, but that was more for his own knowledge base. Even after all these years, Merc couldn’t guarantee the man would help him in the end.

Opening up a message app, he typed a quick Need to talk in person – available?

It took a good minute before the reply popped on the screen.

when

Tomorrow night, same conditions as the Halsing job.

you better not get my ass kicked this time

For the first time since he’d woken up to find himself cuffed to the bed, humor lit through Merc, enough that a smile tugged at his mouth as he answered I make no promises.

never do mañana darlin

It was too risky to keep going, so Merc closed down everything and settled beside Amana, getting comfortable for the rest of the sleepless night. Tomorrow, they were going to chat, and he’d get the answers that would determine his next step.





Chapter Fifteen




‡


As she opened her eyes, only the hazy disorientation that followed a poor sleep clung to Amana, the light lethargy dissipating as she stretched limbs and blinked sleep from her eyes. Her gaze fell on Merc, and a lazy jump of contentment sizzled down her nerve paths for a moment. Only a moment. Only until yesterday’s memories crashed into her, lifting the haze and throwing her body into skittish readiness.

She pulled up on the bed, a ball of waiting, watching him as he watched her.

There was no welcoming smile on his face this time. This time, his eyes were shadowed, all light in them darkened, half covered by black and red bangs. His body was still, but any pretense at relaxation was belied by the too straight lines his body held.

But as of now he hadn’t harmed her, and still alive was a good sign. She could work with that. Anything else would be figured out with time. “Have you decided what you’re doing?”

Merc’s head lifted, giving her a clearer picture of his eyes, but there was no more light in them now than there had been before. “Do the words Dream Crafter mean anything to you?”

The last ten years had been spent learning to read people, to offer them what they wanted, no matter if they expressed those desires in truth or covered their true wants with lies. To promise them their dearest dreams – whether the promises were meant to be fulfilled or not. That more than any other skill had allowed her to survive – even thrive – in a world that would use her to the last of her power and throw her away when the usefulness ended.

Here, now, with Merc, she couldn’t read him. Their shared time in the dreams only confused the issue. Was the Merc she had laughed with, held hands as the waves rolled over their feet, was that the core of the man, or was any hint of man nothing but a mask for the mercenary?

Words, explanations, pleas, all rained down from her mind, a tornado of choices where the correct one would calm the storm but choosing wrong would leave a far-flung path of destruction, where her brother’s freedom – perhaps even her life – would lay in the ruined wake.

“I was in a gambling hall when I first heard that title,” Amana began, uncurling her body and meeting his gaze with the full force of her own. “Almost two years ago. I was arm candy for this high roller. You know those girls, the ones who smile even as people run their hands over them like they’re chattel and aren’t thought to have a brain in their head.”

Merc’s expression showed no change, no heightened interest. He only nodded.

So she continued. “They talked about the rumor one existed. Then they talked about the many ways they could make money with such a person.” A quick burn rose from her stomach up her throat as the horrific examples they threw back and forth reared themselves in her brain. And they had laughed as they suggested them. They laughed, and placed bets that were more than most people made in a year, and ran their pudgy, too-soft fingers from her knees to her inner thigh as she stood beside them. “There isn’t much information about dream crafters. I didn’t look too hard because I didn’t want any questions from people asking why I was interested.”

“Some would say a dream crafter is as much myth as a dragon, but while there are no dragons, we both know dream crafters are real, don’t we?”

Here it was, the decision how to play this, which side of the line to fall. Merc was all less – emotionless, expressionless, reactionless – but though it had to be her imagination, or her memories of their time together before it all went to hell, she could swear something in him called out to her, begged her to make this right for them.

“I don’t know what I can do. Some mysterious master never knocked at my door and told me how I was a magical One who was destined to greatness. Anything I think I know is pieced together from this or that. I can tell you I think I’m a Dream Crafter, but I don’t know. I’ve never trained, and before you, I only affected the real world once.” Before him, and she had sworn never to do it again. How quickly vows fell before terrible choices.