Dreamwalker (Stormwalker #5)(77)

I went back to the hotel, found my newest cell phone, dialed Gabrielle’s number, and left her a message to call me. Pamela was right that Gabrielle was a grown woman, but she was a crazy grown woman, and who knew what she was up to?

I also called Emmett’s office building in Phoenix and left a message with his receptionist that he should call me. The receptionist sounded as cold as she had when we’d visited, with no mention at all of Emmett’s blown-out office. As with the jail, Mick had destroyed a part of the building without bringing the rest down, so maybe Emmett had already magicked it back together.

Mick and I went to bed early that night, to close out the world and have a council of war.

“How do we use the mirror as bait?” I asked him as we sat together in bed, sheets and blankets covering us against the evening coolness. I kept my voice low. The mirror could project itself through ordinary mirrors throughout the hotel, including the one behind the closed bathroom door, and eavesdrop. “Lay it out in the parking lot and send up a signal?”

Mick considered. “We could tell Emmett we’re tired of looking over our shoulders and ready to negotiate about the mirror. Emmett will sense a trap, but he’ll come.”

“Then there’s the problem of keeping him here. As soon as he knows our true purpose, he’ll vanish.”

Mick rested his arms on his crossed knees. The sheet covered him to his hips, baring his torso down past his navel. It was distracting sitting on a bed with a bare, hot guy a foot away while trying to discuss battle strategy.

“There’s a way to confine a mage,” Mick said, oblivious of my lustful thoughts. “A circle with very strong wards will hem him in and keep him from using escape magic.”

“I’m sure Emmett knows all about those and can counteract them,” I said gloomily. “Or how not to get trapped at all.”

“We have to try. He can survive dragon fire, but you said it hurts him.”

Mick spoke with clinical interest. At the moment, he was the dragon general trying to find weaknesses in his enemy.

“Emmett is human,” I said. “In my dream, when the dragon fire burned me, it was the worst pain I’ve ever felt. Emmett damped it, but he must feel that too, in the split second before he can do the spell.”

“That split second might be all we have.” Mick rubbed his upper lip, tatts moving on his arm. “I regret that Drake quit the Dragon Council. They’d be handy, for once.”

“They don’t know why Drake quit,” I pointed out. “You could always ask them to help.”

“Their help comes with a steep price.” Mick shrugged his big shoulders then stretched out in the bed and settled the covers over him. “I will think on it.” He closed his eyes.

I watched him, waiting for him to open his eyes again, continue the conversation, or maybe reach for me.

His body relaxed, his chest rose with a long breath, and he exhaled again with a slight snore.

I sighed. I envied Mick’s ability to fall asleep between one heartbeat and the next. No lying awake worrying about life’s problems or what we’d do come tomorrow. Just good night, and silence. It must be nice to have an uncluttered brain.

I got out of bed, pulled on a big T-shirt, and pattered into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I’d already brushed them in anticipation of going to bed with Mick, but I needed a ritual to calm me down so I could sleep. I’d wash my face again while I was at it.

I brushed, rinsed, and spit, then splashed warm water on my face and cleansed it with an aromatherapy wash I’d bought from Heather. The almond and lavender scents were indeed soothing, and I relaxed a bit.

I rinsed my face and looked up into the mirror. Emmett Smith looked back at me.

My scream took me off my feet. I jumped from the mirror and hit the wall behind me, a towel rod jamming into my back.

Emmett was no longer the suave businessman in an elegant suit with designer glasses. His face was gaunt and skeletal, his gray eyes reduced to points of light in sockets.

Threads of his brown hair clung to his head, and his lips were drawn and dry, like a mummy’s. His tailor-made suit hung on his bones, his hands shrunken and leathery.

“Janet,” he said in a voice that was a throaty hiss. “You did this to me.”

I whipped my head around and looked behind me, all over the bathroom, but Emmett wasn’t there. He was only in the mirror.

Before I could speak, Mick was next to me, wide awake, not wearing a stitch. He stared at Emmett then gingerly reached out and touched the mirror with his broad finger.

His fingertip met glass, nothing else.

“Why does he look like that?” I demanded of Mick.