Merc’s question sliced through the happiness and let the long dark of memories begin. “Dead.”
“No other family?”
“No.” She should worry about telling him too much, but learning about a whole family gone wasn’t a rare situation, not anymore. It was rarer to hear about someone who hadn’t lost people. The Great Collision destroyed so many lives. Granted, the islands were not as affected as the mainland – great stretches of land didn’t find themselves transformed into vastly different terrains and were now inhabited by dwarves or elves or necromancers. On the islands, magical woods didn’t rise, housing creatures that thirty years ago were only told about in fairy tales and horror films.
But like everywhere else, the introduction of magic did change the nature of the islands, putting its mark on the human inhabitants. She and her brother were proof enough of that.
“And your deal with the Guild was you would grab the Spellbook, and they would get him for you?” There was no anger in his speaking to her. To a stranger listening to the two of them, they would never guess how a huge betrayal lay behind those words, how a might have been was utterly destroyed.
The desire to make him understand heated her words, gave them urgency, maybe gave her hope. “The deal was he would have complete freedom. There would be no fear of him being taken away again. He and I would be able to return home and find some way to rebuild our life. It wouldn’t have been easy, but after what we’ve been through, no one would have been able to stop us.” The disappointment of that day lanced through her, the tiredness and anger over the Guild’s callous treatment as fresh as if she were watching Fallon walk through that café door. “I was a fool in the end. They were supposed to bring him to the meet. He should have been there. Instead, they wanted me to give them the book and to go with them, and all they offered in exchange was more empty words.”
“Don’t ever be comfortable with the Guild.” Merc’s words were hard, curt, knowing. “No matter what happens in the future, they are not and never will be your ally.”
“Then who can I trust?” And the fears she had held banked, held back as she concentrated on her brother fell upon her. “What I am is now known. The knowledge that a dream crafter exists is spreading. One thing I know is a secret doesn’t stay a secret long. I’m a target now, and if I can’t trust the Guild, what am I going to do?”
Merc was quiet for several long moments, the low rumble of the engine not as comforting as it had been before their conversation. It was still dark, but the moon was dimmer, the stars not so plentiful, and Merc’s bangs fell over his eyes, not letting her in. In a voice that hinted of scales and punishment, he said, “Secrets are never meant to stay hidden. All you can do is prepare for the blow, and pray to your god the resulting wound isn’t mortal.”
Chapter Nineteen
‡
“It’s too early, and I need my beauty sleep, and most important, I don’t want to go.” The whine was strong in Laire’s voice, and the tiny mage dragged her feet – really dragged her feet, leaving a trail behind her as Fallon used force to move her across the wooded path.
“Plan B in action.” Fallon held Laire tight to her, to discourage both flight and the ineffectual blows Laire flung at her. Laire might not be strong, but those spiky shoes could hurt if they landed on a soft spot.
“I still say there’s no reason for me to be here.” Laire was getting desperate, and desperate Laire turned into shrieky Laire.
Fallon paused in her journey. “Quit. Besides, you want to be in on the action any other time.”
“I’ve changed my mind and will never bother you again.”
“So you’re telling me that you don’t want to be with me next time I need to hunt down the Oracle at whatever sex show she’s frequenting?”
Laire’s eyes brightened, but before she could respond a man stepped into view from behind a tree several feet away. Messy brown hair fell into hooded eyes, the shade of which was indistinguishable at this distance. The stubble on his face accentuated the firm jaw and line of his cheekbones, while his mouth was a subtle line – full enough to be noticeable, but not so full to be a focal point.
He wore jeans and an untucked flannel shirt, with a denim jacket over it, all items clean but worn. His gaze was fastened on Laire, who was looking at anyone but him.
Fallon directed a wide smile at the man, and in an aggressively obnoxious tone shouted, “Short Shit!”
“Big Red,” the man replied, his gaze leaving Laire for the half-second it took him to respond, the smirk evident in his tone. He turned back to Laire, the tone softening as he said in a much more intimate voice, “Chibi.”