Dreamwalker (Stormwalker #5) (25 page)

Non-magical humans had also joined in the ring. From them I sensed the grounding Flora would need, a path to the real world. Naomi, Julie … and Maya.

Maya was at the end of the line. Nash stood near her, but he had his arms folded, not touching her or anyone else. I wondered if someone had explained that his null magic would wipe out the spell, or if he just didn’t like taking part in group circles. Maya was paler than usual, with a white bandage on her forehead peeking out from under her dark hair.
 

Nash’s face was drawn, lined with worry, and he kept his eyes behind his sunglasses trained on Maya. I remembered his horrified shock in the dream, when he’d shot Maya. I wondered if Maya remembered the dream, and if she’d told him about it.

Flora continued to sing. Sunshine beamed down on us, a fine late September day. Soon the nights, then the days, would begin to chill as winter came, but for now, the sun embraced us with warmth.

Under Flora’s hands, the mirror began to shimmer. It reflected the bright sky, broken into crazed patterns and multiple images, but now it began to glow from within. The glass tinkled as the mirror moved, more loose gilt floating to the ground.

The song grew louder, though I didn’t note Flora raising her voice. I realized then that the mirror was reflecting what she sang, increasing the melody as it did the light.

I was enjoying the song, mesmerized by Flora’s voice, when a sound like falling aluminum cans broke the music, clunky and loud. I jumped, and the mirror let out a shrill scream.

Oh no, I’m melllltinnnng …

I didn’t worry too much, because the mirror was putting on a Wicked Witch of the West voice, but it unnerved me to watch the shards of glass suddenly liquefy, flowing without restraint within the frame.

Flora lifted her hands as soon as the mirror began to melt. The glass glowed red then yellow, rivaling the color of the sun. The mirror let out another thin scream, which faded as its pitch rose higher.

I sucked in a breath. I could feel our collective, pooled magic pouring into Flora, who had her eyes closed, a serene look on her face. She moved her hand above the mirror, though the heat coming off it was roasting hot.
 

Flora made little circles in the air with her palm and continued to sing.

Sand and light

Silver and gold

Flow together

Be as one

Mick squeezed my hand. I felt his love for me come through the clasp. My ring on my other hand warmed, and Fremont’s grip tightened on my fingers.

Mick and I had been through a lot. The rocky start to our relationship, him following me here, our battles with both human and supernatural forces. He’d almost been taken from me a couple of times, but here we were, holding hands, like the goblin couple, still a pair at the end of it all.

The aluminum can sound was replaced with a silvery chiming. Sweet and clear, it shimmered, and was answered by the long, drawn-out cry of a coyote.

The mirror itself—its voice—had gone completely silent. I wasn’t certain whether that was because of the spell, the changes to the glass, or its choice. The mirror sometimes decided to go dark of its own accord.

The molten glass began to spin under Flora’s hand, following her movements to create a vortex. The cracks were gone, as was the hole left by the gunshot. The frame, strangely, remained intact, though it was made of wood gilded over. It should have long since combusted—the table beneath it as well.

Within the frame, the glass spiraled, the ripples dancing across the surface. The ripples collided with the sides of the frame and flowed back over themselves.

Flora repeated her verse—
Sand and Light; Silver and Gold
—then she stopped circling her hand and began gliding it, above the mirror, toward the corners of the frame, as though smoothing a bed sheet.

The undulating waves died down, the glass floated to the edges of the flame, evening itself, the glow slowly fading. The silver continued to ring, though at one point I heard a faint
clank
among the purity. I glanced around, wondering if anyone else had heard it too, but no one seemed to have noticed.

My imagination? I wondered. Bad things were never products of my imagination, unfortunately. I braced myself.

Nothing happened. That is, nothing except the glass in the mirror easing seamlessly to the extent of the frame. A faint breeze blew up from the north, and little by little, the glass cooled down.

The yellow glow faded to red, which in turn diminished until it became clear glass. The silver, which had been in the mix somewhere, spread out behind the glass until a mirror lay quietly, reflecting the immense expanse of the desert sky.

Flora breathed out, opened her eyes, and released Fremont’s hand. “Thank you,” she said in her mellow voice. “That will be—”

Her words cut off abruptly, her eyes rolled back into her head, and she collapsed. Fremont gave a cry and caught her in his arms.

The rest of the circle broke apart, either to peer worriedly at Flora or to give her some space. Flora’s eyelids fluttered, and she looked at Fremont in complete infatuation as he gave her a sip of bottled water. Mick stepped to her and touched her shoulder, no doubt sending her a spark of healing magic, but Flora never took her gaze from Fremont.

I approached the mirror and looked into it. I saw nothing but blue sky, the clouds floating by, and my face, framed by dark hair that spilled over my shoulders. “You all right?” I asked.

No answer. Again, the mirror could be choosing not to talk.

I touched the glass. It was smooth, unbroken, whole, as though no bullets had ever pierced it.

“That was something to see,” Mick said beside me.

“Now everyone knows we have a magic mirror,” I pointed out.

“They already knew. Or suspected. Cassandra chose the participants well.”

The sturdy face of my grandmother appeared in the mirror next to Mick, her dark eyes behind her glasses sharp. “Hmph,” she said after she’d gazed down at it for a time. “A lot of fuss to fix a piece of glass.”

***

Don, Fremont, and Mick very carefully carried the cooled magic mirror back inside and hung it in place. The mirror gazed down at the saloon, whole and in once piece, but still silent.

The human guests who’d come for lunch, applauded. Julie, who’d entered with Jamison and Naomi, joined in when she saw the others clapping.

Jamison came to me. “Thanks for letting me be part of that.”

“Like I could have stopped you.” I sent him a smile, loving this man who’d been the first person in my life to understand and help me.

“You know what I mean,” Jamison said, giving me a quiet look.

Julie tapped me to get my attention. “He thinks you’re still mad at him for trying to cure me,” she said both out loud and in sign. “Tell him to get over himself.”

“Get over yourself, Jamison,” I said obediently. “Being possessed and trying to kill your best friend wasn’t your fault.”

Jamison’s look turned wry. “Thanks. You’re always so understanding.”

I think Jamison figured out, though, that I’d forgiven him long ago. Julie took his hand and led him away to the table where Naomi waited. Now that the show was over, everyone was ready to enjoy Elena’s cooking.

I scrutinized the mirror a moment longer. It said nothing, so I left it alone, but I’d worry until I heard its annoying voice again.

Outside in the parking lot, Fremont had his arm around Flora as he helped her toward his truck. Flora was on her feet but looked exhausted. I caught up to them.

“Thank you,” I told Flora sincerely. “What do I owe you?”

Flora tiredly raised her brows. “Owe me for what?” Her voice was a croak, the flutelike quality temporarily diminished.

“For the spell.”

Her eyes widened. “I don’t charge to do magic.” She sounded aghast. “I give it freely. That is the price of my gift.”

I raised my hands. “Sorry. Wasn’t trying to offend you. I don’t charge for using my magic to solve crimes either.” For some reason I wanted her to know that.

“You solve crimes?” she asked, suddenly interested.

“And you can talk to her all about it later,” Fremont said, his arm firming around Flora. “Right now, you’re going home to rest.”

“Yes.” Flora’s infatuated look returned. “Thanks, Fremont.”

The two of them melded into each other as Fremont guided Flora the rest of the way to his truck and opened the passenger door for her.
 

Oh, dear. I’d have to keep an eye on that relationship and make sure it didn’t blow up in Fremont’s face. The poor guy had been burned once too often—sometimes literally.

As I turned back to my hotel, I saw Maya at her work truck—a new one—in the dirt lot at the side of the building. Nash was with her, and they looked as though they were arguing, as usual.

I made my way toward them. Nash wore clothes similar to what he had in my dream—running shorts and T-shirt, but today he wore a sweat jacket, and if he had a pistol under it, he kept it holstered.

“Maybe you can talk sense into her,” Nash said to me as I approached. “She’s been hurt, and it’s not the time for a road trip.”

“Road trip to where?” I asked.
 

“Tucson,” Maya said. The small white bandage on her forehead made a sharp contrast to her liquid black hair. “It’s not like I want to drive to Connecticut.”

I gave her a sharp look. “It was a dream, Maya.”

Maya started. “How do you know what I dreamed about?”

“Because I was there. It’s called dreamwalking, apparently. But I don’t think what we saw was real.”

Nash’s eyes narrowed. “What did you dream about?”

So she
hadn’t
told him. I shrugged. “Lots of things. It’s not important anymore. Maya, you don’t need to go to Tucson. I’m not clear on what exactly happened at the jail—how did you get hurt?”

Nash answered for her. “The cell block exploded. We were outside in the parking lot, and Maya got hit with rubble.” His tight tone said he blamed me, and he was partly right. If I’d not been trying to interrogate Emmett’s men, the spell wouldn’t have been triggered, and the jail wouldn’t have fallen down.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Maya. “I never meant for you to get caught in this.”

Maya lifted one shoulder. “Bad shit always goes down around you. You’re like a walking disaster area.”

“Can’t argue with you. You have to be resilient to put up with me. Are you allowed alcohol, or are you on meds?”

Maya beamed a smile. “Just off them. What did you have in mind?”

“Go tell Carlos to give you whatever you want, on the house. If you want a road trip, maybe sometime soon we can head to Las Vegas. I’ll drive.”

“Sounds good to me.” Maya gave Nash a little wave and sauntered off. “See you, Nash.”

Nash watched her go with a mixture of longing and worry. “She’s mad at me because of something I did in her dream, and she won’t tell me what. Has to be a first, even for me.”

Nash didn’t often let anyone see his softer side—if this was his softer side. I decided not to reveal he’d actually shot her, and kept it general. “She was remembering seeing you with Amy. That really hurt her.”

Nash’s gaze for once was without its anger. “I regret what I did during that time. I let Maya enrage me beyond reason, and she was right that I was still dealing with what happened to me in Iraq. I should not have hurt her.” His mouth firmed, the softness departing. “Not that she isn’t making me pay for every single minute of it now.”

“It wasn’t your fault, if it’s any consolation. You were bewitched, in every sense of the term.”

“So you say.” Nash went silent, but I knew he’d regret the decision to break up with Maya, coerced or no, for the rest of his life.
 

“What now?” he asked after a time. “I know Smith busted up my jail. Even if you instigated it by questioning his men, he’d have done it sooner or later.”

“What happened to his guys?” I asked. Even Mick hadn’t known that.

“One was killed. The driver and the other were taken to the hospital in Flagstaff. They’re still there.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

Nash’s grim law-enforcement look came back. “The man who died was wanted for some gruesome murders, so I can’t help thinking he found justice. The other two have spilled all they know about Smith, which isn’t much.”

“Emmett made sure of that. He’s very careful.” I slid my hands into the back pockets of my jeans, a habit Gabrielle had learned from me. “Want to help me take Emmett down?”

“What do
you
think?” Nash studied the open desert around us, as though hoping Emmett would come walking up so he could punch him. “If I knock him out and sit on him, will the void inside me drain his magic? Make him an ordinary human being?”

“Could be,” I said, enjoying picturing it. “It’s getting him in one place to knock him out that’s the trick. He’s slippery.”

“Then we need bait.”

Nash looked pointedly at me, but
I
wasn’t what Emmett wanted. He wanted the newly repaired, pristine, polished magic mirror hanging in the saloon.

“True,” I said, cheered. “I’ll set it up.”

***

If I was going to capture Emmett and either let Mick eat him or Nash siphon off all his magic, I’d need help. Emmett would come for the mirror, but we’d have to hold on to him before he vanished or killed everyone in sight.

I decided to recruit the same roundup of people Flora had brought together to repair the mirror—Cassandra and Pamela; Elena and my grandmother; Mick, Colby, and Drake; Ansel if we did this at night, and Gabrielle …

“Where is Gabrielle?” I asked Grandmother and Elena as I barged into the kitchen sometime later. “I haven’t seen her since Flora started the mirror spell.” I realized also that her bite of magic had been missing from the line of people who’d helped Flora. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

Elena answered. “She has been chasing those dragons relentlessly. Ask one of them.”

“I have. Neither have seen her.”

Grandmother didn’t like that. She rose from her chair. “Find her, Janet.”

“I intend to.” I glanced around the kitchen, in case my sister was hiding somewhere, making faces, and even checked the walk-in refrigerator. I didn’t sense Gabrielle’s presence—which she could mask, I had to admit—but I didn’t see her either. “Let me know if you spot her,” I said, and left the kitchen.