Night's Deep Hush: Reveler Series 4 (5 page)

Darren looked over his shoulder, and then he leaned in toward her again. “Knowing who to trust isn’t the only thing I can do.”

“Oh yeah?” She glanced at the frequency number he’d jotted down for her, where she could meet her sister, Darkside, tomorrow evening. All Jordan had to do now was get that number to her.

“I’ve seen the Scrape,” Darren said.

Jordan looked up at him.

He nodded solemnly, as if it were his cross to bear. “Most desolate place in the world.”

“It’s not actually
in
the world.”

His gaze drifted to the middle of the club. “It haunts me, the way that wind blows.”

She lifted her glass to cover her reaction. When she put it down again, she managed a straight face. Just in case he
had
seen the Scrape, though she greatly doubted it, she said, “You be careful out there. Don’t get lost.” She’d been dragged into the Scrape by a nightmare creature. Only a tracker with Malcolm’s experience could’ve found her. “Can I have a number where I can reach you in case some friends want to buy in?”

His gaze narrowed. “You’re not a chime are you?”

He meant Chimera in the worst way. A chime was someone that woke people up.

Hadn’t he
just
said he had a good feeling about her? Hadn’t he claimed that knowing things was his Darkside-endowed superpower?

“No. I swear to you that I’m no chime. I hate Chimera, too.” And she still wasn’t going to go home with him, not even if he was haunted by the Scrape.

“I want a thousand a head if you bring anyone else.” His original rate had been $500. For her. Because he’d had that good feeling.

“Steep, but I’ll tell them.” She lifted the pen and waited for the number.

After he told her, she read it back to him with the two middle numbers transposed. When he corrected her, she knew the number was probably good. The number switcheroo was an easy trick to tell a fake number from a real one.

To make sure he was there at the prescribed time and place, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You’ll love my sister. She’s the wild child.” Who would kick his ass if he tried anything.

When she left Poor Substitution, she had the second part of her plan in place. Now she had to set up the third, the only part that required luck and faith, both of which she was tapped out on tonight.

She walked a little ways to find three young women, tiaras on their heads and arms around each other as they stepped out of a Mediterranean restaurant on the corner, this one a nice place for waking world people. The awning was red and a step led to a shiny chrome door.

“Excuse me,” Jordan said.

They looked over, and she knew what they saw: a nice, well-mannered person with a tentative smile and worry in her eyes. Jordan was just like them, but a version who was having a shit night. And wasn’t that the truth.

“My purse is—” she put a helpless hand in the air “—gone, and I need to make a call.” There was no way this call could be connected to Darren who ran the illegal Rêve. Every part of the plan was
random
. “Can I borrow one of your phones? I promise to be quick.”

The women looked at each other, and ultimately the one with the BRIDE tiara said, “Sure,” and fished out her mobile.

Jordan had the number for Marina de Sel memorized, the restaurant where Serafina Rochan was the head chef. Sera was the girlfriend of Chimera Marshal Harlen Fawkes, who was one of the good guys, and would know what to do. Jordan hoped that Chimera, who was already suspicious of Fawkes, hadn’t thought to check his friend’s restaurant’s
reservation
line. That’s right. Jordan was making a reservation, the most important one of her life. She hoped Sera would check the messages herself and understand what this particular reservation entailed.

Fawkes could get a message to Maisie and Steve. Jordan had met Fawkes and Sera in Maze City just last night.

“I need a private table for Jordan and Maisie Lane at eight p.m.” Then she left the frequency code for Darren’s illegal Rêve as the last digits of her fake telephone number. Done.

All Sera had to do was check the messages and use her brain, and Jordan was pretty sure Sera had a good one.

Malcolm needed to hold out, to fight. If Vince had lasted five days, Malcolm could do better.

Tired and tearful, Jordan gave the phone back. “Thanks.”

“Are you okay?” one of the bridesmaids asked.

“I will be now,” Jordan answered. Actually, she was going to find somewhere to sob. She’d done the work; she could fall apart for a little while. She was so tired and worried. And her worries had gotten together to have little worry babies, filling her with questions about Malcolm. Was he still alive? Was he fighting? Did he know she’d do anything to get him back? What was Lambert doing to him?

For the first time that night, with nothing to do, she felt alone. The city grew tall and vast, and she shrank. She’d never been very good at waiting. The money she had would buy her a night in a hotel, at least. She’d worry about getting more to pay Darren tomorrow. She didn’t plan on sleeping, though. She’d watch TV all night trying not to think too much.

Ahead of her, a cab slowed to a stop, and a man got out, leaving the door hanging open. He looked sick, wasted, and ill.

Jordan wanted to smack him. “For the love of God, why won’t you stay down?”

CHAPTER THREE

“By any chance, is your father French?” Rook dreaded Mirren’s answer.

Her eyes widened. “You know
too much
. How is it he hasn’t killed you yet?”

Rook slanted her a bitter smile. “He doesn’t do his own killing, does he?”

Oh God, Jordan, run.
It was worse than Rook had anticipated. They might not have been found by Didier Lambert himself, but Mirren, his daughter, was close enough.

The place Rook now stood was a calm darkness, Scrape sand at his feet. But the effect was just Mirren blocking out the rest of the utility Rêve, a shared dream designed solely for working Darkside. Rook could feel the boundary of the structure and beyond it, the warren of other illegal Rêves that comprised the black market.

“Chuck was right about you.” Her spooky eyes turned up and narrowed—happy? “You
are
the best tracker there is.”

He was a good tracker. If he didn’t catch his mark, it was because Chimera pulled him off one hunt to put him on another. “Every other word Chuck says is a lie. You just can’t tell which is which.”

“He told me you were the one.”

Of course Lambert would’ve had kids—
adult
kids by now—he’d have wanted to secure his nightmare legacy. He was a granddad, in fact. One helluva sick granddad.

“Lady, Chuck will stab you in the back just as easy. How long have I been Darkside?” Rook knew he’d been disoriented for a while—felt like a long time—before making sense of where he was. In the waters, time didn’t fly straight like an arrow. It curved around and bit the dreamer in the ass.

“Time doesn’t matter for you,” she said. “You’ll remain under until you find my son.”

He understood her urgency. If she needed a tracker Darkside, it meant she had the waking world version of her child in her custody, but the kid would be sleeping and unable to wake. Too long under, and a person didn’t recover. A child would be particularly vulnerable, although maybe nightmare children could last longer. Coll once claimed to have been under for weeks when he was a kid. Was that normal? How much time was survivable for a nightmare?

“Even if I had your kid’s mark”—that illusive and singular signifier, like a fingerprint he could sense—“your kind can’t be tracked. The kid doesn’t have a dreamscape, so he doesn’t have a trail I can follow.”

He had to keep her talking while he figured out what to do. Or rather
how
. The
what
was getting a message to Coll to look after Jordan.

The money he’d left in the studio wouldn’t last her long, and she needed to be moving on from that place anyway. He knew she’d come to that conclusion herself when he didn’t return. He knew she’d figure out that he’d been grabbed, because he wouldn’t leave her for anything.

Jordan was the start of something for him, something good in his life. She made him feel…satisfied and…and protective. As if he could be happy and have something of his own. He didn’t want to think about going back to a time without her warm by his side, soft under his hands. Her mind was so quick that he had to stay alert to keep up, but he could still relax and let her know him. She knew the worst already. So he couldn’t do anything that would make Chuck or Mirren look at her twice. To them, Jordan had to be just another girl he’d picked up.

“Then you’d better think of another way to find David,” Mirren said.

The good news was that Mirren already had a hostage to motivate him—himself. If he did manage to wake up, someone would be standing by to shove him—or drug him—to go right back under again.

“How long has it been for the kid?” The kid part pissed him off—a child lost down here. The nightmare aspect bothered him even more. The last nightmare child he’d seen was his brother Joshua—but it hadn’t been Joshua at all, just one of those creatures from the Scrape taking on the form of Rook’s deepest fear, guilt, anguish. He couldn’t let the past fuck with the job at hand.

“David has been gone four days.”

“I take it you had a falling out with your father?” Just as easily they could make up.

“You could say that.”

“May I ask what he told you about what you are?”
This ought to be interesting.

“
Un dieu nouveau
.” Ah.
There
was her accent.

It took a sec, but Rook translated:
a new god
. “How excellent for you.” The world was going to hell. “I can’t look for the kid, but I can try to find Lambert.”

“What’s the difference between finding David and my father if, as you say, my kind can’t be tracked?”

Good question. “I’ve marked one of his known associates. I can locate
him
. Could be he’ll know where to find your kid.”

“My son’s name is David.”

“Yeah. David.” Rook opened his hands. “It’s the best I can do.”

“He’s already been four days under!” The waters were rife with her panic.

He’d feel more empathy if she weren’t staring at him with nightmare eyes, if she hadn’t kidnapped and bound him, if she weren’t working with Chuck. “Chances are David can hold out longer than I can.”

“Then you’ll try?”

As long as they left Jordan alone. “Yeah.” They could’ve asked nicely, though.

***

Fresh adrenaline rushed Jordan’s system, felt like battery acid after the night she’d been through. The plan was a bust.

“Hold on,” Vince told the cab driver as he stepped closer to her.

“I
will
drown you,” Jordan said. “I swear I will. I’ll push you under so hard, you’ll never come back.”

He reached toward her. He had a blue hospital bracelet on his wrist. “You’re right not to trust me.”

Jordan looked behind her but only saw the bride and her bridesmaids, who were watching the drama unfold. Jordan wracked her brain for mistakes—how long had she been speaking to Darren? She’d been so careful. How could Vince have found her again unless she’d been watched the whole time? Unless Chimera or Lambert were here right now, too.

Over there in the shadows? In the restaurant? One of the women behind her?

She was so damn tired.

“I don’t understand it myself, Jordan,” Vince was saying. “We’re
connected
somehow. I can
feel
you. I came right to you. I want to help you. I
need
to.”

“Well, I don’t need your help.” She’d already done everything herself. How about that? No Vince necessary.

His eyebrows went up. “Did you know Chimera is looking for you?”

“Yep.”

He blinked, taken aback. “What did you do?”

“Not a damn thing.” She and Malcolm were guilty by association. Steve and Maisie had fought Lambert. Maisie had almost killed him.

Vince’s outstretched arm slowly dropped. “There has to be something.”

“Whatever it is, you’d be better off away from me.”

He looked as if he was at an utter loss. He shook his head and shrugged. “I know I’m supposed to be with you. You’re like a spark in my head. I can
feel
you.”

Um, no.
She folded her arms over her chest. “You’re not supposed to be with me.” There’d been maybe one second when she’d been interested in him. “I’m supposed to be with
Malcolm
. I thought you understood.”

He shook his head. “Not like that.” He groaned. “Okay, well, a little like that, but I know what you mean.” He gestured to the waiting cab. “Can we just go somewhere to talk? Will you hear me out?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Then we talk here.” He looked like he was going to fall over again.

“You should be in a hospital.” Damn Chimera for making him do this when he was so ill. “I’m fine on my own. I forgive you for trying ruin my life and my sister’s and thereby almost dooming the world to nightmares.” If Lambert
had
managed to get his hands on Maisie, that’s exactly what would’ve happened. “You’re forgiven. You can stop trying to help me.”