The Dream Crafter(33)

He began to shake and choke, grabbing at this neck, and Amana screamed as the car swerved around the road. The doppelganger kept her fist through the man, as easy and calm as if they were sitting on the park bench on a lazy Sunday morning.

“Stop it.” Amana grabbed at her doppelganger, twisting her arm away from the driver and pushing the other back into the seat, climbing atop her to keep her still. The driver coughed a few more times but he regained control of the car.

Her devil was calm, almost bored, as she held Amana’s gaze. “Pathetic. When will this end?”

A black mist filled the car, circling the driver. Once again her kidnapper began coughing, but this time the car’s roof was torn off, and from above like an avenging angel crouched Merc, swooping down and pulling her kidnapper from the car, throwing him out to the side of the road and taking his place in the driver’s seat.

Merc didn’t stop the car, but he turned the wheel hard, tires squealing as the car made a U-turn and began its journey to wherever Merc deemed it necessary for them to go next.

Several times he looked over to her sleeping body, his eyes on her more than they were on the road. He reached out his hand, and, after a minute’s hesitation, a split-second jerk, placed his fingertips against her cheek.

Amana’s attention was torn away from her double and now her sole focus was Merc. She was caught by the reverent look in his eye, the gentle caress given with such unwilling fingers, but given nonetheless. He pulled his hand away, running his fingertips against the skin of his palm.

“Think of all you could give him, him and your brother. You can lay the world at their feet. Why keep crawling?”

Amana pulled back her fist and punched it through the face of the other, wanting to crush her mouth and nose through her skull and into the back of her head, destroy that face so it bore no more resemblance to the Amana who existed in wakefulness.

Amana fell forward, down, through, and the dark swallowed her whole.

“You’re up.”

Merc’s voice, and morning light hit her eyes.

Thank gods, she was awake, and her devil was no longer around. “Where are we?” This car didn’t have a ripped off roof, but otherwise it was similar to the one that had been used in her kidnapping, a big boat with a non-descript mixture of pleather and chrome.

“You were taken from the club last night.” The words were straightforward, no lilt towards the end or pregnant pause afterwards, but the question lay there regardless, the one she wouldn’t answer. With deliberate intent, she folded her legs under her, twisting towards the passenger window, her shoulder blocking any part of him from view.

As the endless stretch of trees and mountain passed, they both remained quiet, soft sighs the only break in silence.





Chapter Eighteen




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They rode in silence through the day and into nighttime, with only a couple bathroom breaks at appropriately empty and isolated stops to tide her over, the shriveled hot dogs which all gas station markets carried and a couple bags of chips her only nutrition. Now it was full dark, with only the sliver of a moon and a large, clear sky dotted with stars, the lull of the engine and a surprisingly smooth road considering they were most certainly off the beaten path.

“Stay awake.” Merc’s hand was on her shoulder, so large it enveloped her shoulder and a good part of her upper arm. He gave a small shake, enough that her head moved in unwilling rhythm.

“Stop that.” She pushed out at the hand, moving it off her, though it was only because he allowed it. “I’m not a puppet to be pulled around.”

“It’s not that late, and you were sleeping earlier. You shouldn’t be tired.” His hand settled into the space between them, far enough away to be out of irritation zone, but the twitch of his fingers told a story of being ready to go into action if need be.

“It’s not like you’re helping me stay awake by being mister silent over there.” A cringe shuddered over her as the bitchy note in her voice hit her eardrums. Amana cleared her throat. “As for earlier, it was a magical sleep. If you’d ever been hit with one of those, you’d know it’s not going to give you the rest a normal night’s sleep would.”

“I can’t be hit with them.”

Amana glanced at him to see the slight downturn on the corner of his lips. So, he hadn’t wanted to let that slip. “They don’t affect you?”

“No.” The voice was curt, but surprise brushed through her that he answered at all.

“Are you affected by any type of magic?”

He shook his head, this time the lips compressed to stop mirth, the longish strands of hair swinging over the planes of his face. “You don’t seriously believe I’ll answer any questions on my abilities, do you?”