Rock Star (Dream Weaver #2) (15 page)

             
My father’s calloused fingers tenderly stroked the locket, suffused it with the power of his love. His smile is born deep within his heart, the smile he desired to bloom in his wife.

             
Those fingers caressed my mother’s soft cheek and he planted a kiss as soft as a petal on her blossoming lips. He didn’t tell her he loved her. His touch conveyed his affection. His world is her.

             
Her heart fluttered at the tiny box in the palm of her hand, expectation of the gift within. Genuine joy flooded her at the sight of the glimmering locket. Its beauty dazzled in her eyes. Its silent message, a volume of unspoken, unnecessary words. And the love that my father injected in the gift, washed her heart and soul with affection.

              Tears sparkle down my cheeks like the glimmer on the surface of the locket. Such love. Does that exist anymore? Is there love for me of the magnitude that my parents shared? Is Nick ‘the one’? And am I even ready to make that kind of commitment? I’m just barely eighteen.
And now—I’ll be eighteen forever.

             
“You okay?” Nick asked as he watched me swipe the tears from my eyes.

             
“Sure, just…”
What do I say? Hey, I’m contemplating whether you and I are together forever? Gees! Forever was never a great plan for me.
“It’s nothing. I’m good.” The gentle touch of Nick’s spirit probed at me. “Nick, please don’t. Sometimes, there are things I need to work out in my own head. Okay?”

             
“I didn’t mean to push. I just want to help.”

             
“I know. But just because you
can
get in my head, doesn’t mean you
should
,” I gently scolded. The palisades around his own memories were a testament to that. I thrust the image of his fortress at him.

             
Nick cringed. “Is it really like that?” he asked, disbelieving.

             
“Yes,” I said quietly, trying to convey understanding. Some memories are just too tender to touch. If anyone understood that, it was me.

             
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice husky with remorse.

             
I bristled. Maybe it was time for Nickolas Benedetti to stop being so remorseful.

             
“You’re sorry? You’re sorry that memories exist inside you that still tear you apart? Or you’re sorry that those memories are so painful that they can’t be shared, even with me? Or is it you’re sorry that those memories…”

             
“Emari…don’t,” his voice darkened with warning.

             
I padded silently to his side, then bent to kiss his head. “Understand within yourself why you’re sorry, then let me know if you really need to be. Okay?”

             
Nick sat stunned. He was accustomed to me being the one who needed a pep talk, not the one giving it. A smile curled his mouth and he grasped my hand as I turned away. “Em,” his voice wavered and he cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

             
I bent over him and kissed his upturned face. “I prefer ‘thanks’ to ‘I’m sorry’ any day,” I whispered.

             
He smiled and released me.

             
Nick floated silently behind me as I drifted into the kitchen. My fingers lingered on the counters and cabinet doors, the tea canister and the knife block.
What was I thinking?!
Nick lunged forward as I jerked my hand away, even as the searing electrocutions continued to jolt through my body.
My mind is being sucked out.
The violent bloody images plunged into me like the blade of the knife.
Thomas’ fingers sever from his hand as blood pulses from the stumps.
Not so many nights ago, Thomas, the Rephaim set on Nick and Sabre’s destruction, invaded my home and nearly killed us all.
Crimson trails spill from the garrote line around Thomas’ neck. His severed head rolls to a stop on my hand, blares images of my parent’s crash—over and over and over again.

             
I launched myself against Nick’s chest. His arms engulfed me. He slid us gently to the floor, wrapped both his arms and legs around me in a protective cocoon. My lungs failed with the hiss of hyperventilation. The images of one of the most horrific nights of my life sent my mind and body reeling. Nick brushed my hair out of my face and gently hushed me. “It’s all right, honey. It’s just a memory. Memories can’t hurt you unless you let them.”

             
I clung to his arm, tucked myself into his safety, willed myself to calm. “’kay. It’s okay.” I reassured myself.

             
“It is okay, Em. I promise. Open your eyes. It will go away faster.”

             
With extreme effort, I forced my eyes open.

             
“See? Much better. I’m…” He paused and I knew there was an apology stifled in his throat. “Some memories are more potent than others, and right now, you’re more susceptible to them than we would be. All your receptors are new and tender—like a baby’s taste buds. They can taste everything so much better than their parents.”

             
“Uh huh.” I curled myself against him and willed each muscle to relax.

             
We sat there in the kitchen floor for what seemed like hours. I opened myself to him and allowed the overflow of him to pour into me. He was so patient, so kind, so gentle and loving. I basked in his memories like the sun, absorbed his warmth and confidence. But farther away, somewhere deeper, a place I couldn’t reach, something was painstakingly hidden from me. Hidden for my own sake? Or his? I pressed closer to see what it was, but he sensed my approach to this arcane and heavily fortressed memory.

             
“Hey, come on,” he said with strained smile. He stood and pulled me to my feet. “Let’s see what else you can do.” Nick led me to the couch, sat me down, and slid in beside me. “Remember teaching me how to do a distance weave?” Of course I did. I had an eidetic memory now, too. “Let’s try that. You realize though, that once Sabre gets over himself, he’s going to make you into a guinea pig?”

             
“Peachy,” I muttered.

             
Nick chuckled and tucked a stray copper wisp of hair behind my ear. His eyes locked on mine. “Em? I can’t…”

             
I pressed my fingers to his lips. “Hush. Don’t tell me. Let me find it.”

             
Nick leaned away, taking the heat of his thoughts with him. He smiled and placed his hands palms up in his lap. I hovered mine just above his, longing to touch him. “No cheating,” he smirked.

             
I closed my eyes, concentrated on the remembered sensation of the feel of his skin. My mind found its way into his with ease, such a comfortable familiar place. At first, his anguish over my death bored out my insides and filled them with lead; his rage toward Sabre slashed so deeply inside him, it cut me. And then I found the thing he wanted me to see—the memory of his elation, his relief when breath returned to my body. I smiled, and stroked the memory that sent flutters through my chest. But I wondered at that dark, hard place in Nick’s mind. Wondered what it was he didn’t want me to see. I crawled across the couch to him and climbed into his lap, my knees straddling his thighs. The look that registered on his face was something just shy of fear. I cupped his face between my hands.

             
“Nick? Whatever’s wrong, it’ll be okay.” Somehow, now it felt a little more honest. His eyes cringed a little. I pressed my mouth to his and he shuddered beneath me. His hands, hot and passionate, roamed up my back, clasped my neck, pulled me harder against him. His mouth drank me in, as though starving for my touch. His mind spilled into mine, his spirit surged through me like my own life’s blood, hot and fierce, bright and energized—all but that one dark place. With a gasp, he drew away.

             
He moved me aside and stood. Sheer panic blazed behind his eyes and I was sure I could hear the thrash of his overheated heart. “You should practice your memoryprinting some more,” he said, succinct, almost angry. When I flinched and pain pinched my eyes, his mouth gaped with an apology. The cogs of anger, remorse—and perhaps fear, minced together behind his eyes. His jaw shut with a snap and he strode away to the kitchen, left me in silence to tend my own wounds.

Chapter 18 Poison & Wine

              Something was epically wrong and Nick was hiding it from me. Worse,
he
was hiding from me. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so forceful trying to find the answers to my questions in his mind. Maybe I’d violated some unknown boundary. Violated him. My heart sank like a rock in a pond. To take something against another’s will was like—rape. Had I pressed too hard, been too aggressive? Had I tried to take something from him against his will?

             
I shuffled to the kitchen to explain, to apologize, but Nick’s quiet voice greeted me as he murmured into his phone. His head cocked to the side, remorse darkened his eyes as he registered the pain on my face. Shoving off from the counter, he came to me, wrapped an arm around my neck like I was his ‘buddy’ and kissed my forehead.

             
With brimming eyes, and canyons creasing my brow, I peered up into his face. “I’m sorry. I…”

             
“It’s okay, Em,” he murmured and gave me a squeeze. But, he turned his attention back to his conversation and walked away. My heart was heavier yet than when I entered the room.
No, Em. It most certainly is not okay,
I told myself.

              I felt lost in my own home, unable to contain this new power and curiosity. Petting Eddyson generally soothed me, but tonight his magic failed me. I left him curled on the couch, nose twitching at fanciful prey, and completely oblivious to my plight. I wandered the living room unearthing the exhilaration of the memories embedded in every surface. My mother’s laugh, my father’s warm hugs, and some deeper and fainter impressions from some ancient day and strangers in my house.

             
The house was a 1903 craftsman style bungalow. This twenty-five acre plot was not its original address. Until 1963, the house sat on the lower South Hill in Spokane. The former owners hauled it nearly fifteen miles to this location. And my parents bought it a couple of years ago. With all the renovations we did—new windows, restored wood floors and built-in china hutches—the memories of my parents obscured the remnants left from decades past. My parent’s memories were the only ones I craved.

             
A light dusting of snow from the previous night, sparkled outside in the dark like millions of earthbound stars. I wandered back toward my bedroom, thinking it was about time to get ready for bed, but stopped short. Dream Weavers didn’t require the amount of sleep of an average human. With a quiet huff of laughter, I turned and skimmed my fingers across the solid oak frame of the mirror hanging in the hall. I didn’t need any Caphar ability to withdraw the memory of standing before this mirror with Nick at my Christmas party, as he placed the sparkling ‘Dream On’ pendant around my neck. Now, the grain of the wood glided under my touch as I gazed internally. But the familiar images in my mind faded into something extraordinary.

My father’s hands pull the mirror from a wall, dislodge the backing, tape something to the back side of the mirror and replace the mat. He lifts the mirror and hangs it back on the wall.

              “What the fu—”.
Uh, oops. Return of potty mouth.

             
I started to call Nick to help me with the mirror. It would be heavy with the oak frame and antique glass. But hey. Was I an immortal now, or what? They said I’d be strong. Surely I could handle this. I hoisted the mirror off the wall with ease and carried it to the dining room table. Gingerly, I placed it face down and began flipping the side tabs to release the backing. My hands trembled with nervous energy as I lifted the backing away and revealed a yellowed sheet of paper taped to the inside of the glass with dried, cracked masking tape. The paper fairly dropped into my hand when I tucked my nails under it. I unfolded the brittle paper and scanned the image inside.

             
“What’ve you got there?” Nick asked. I jumped, startled by his presence. The note from the back of the mirror had thoroughly engrossed my attention.

             
I pulled my astonished eyes from the paper. “My father left me a treasure map.”

*          *          *

              “That’s the footprint of this house. I’m sure of it.” Nick and I pored over the delicate scrap of paper and tried to make sense of what didn’t seem possible. “But look. This room doesn’t exist. The foundation wall is right there.” I raked my nails through my hair, trying to make sense of this. “I just don’t understand. My parents bought this place a couple of years ago. And this mirror was in
their
house until—after they died.” I couldn’t bear to part with my parent’s belongings. So most of it sat in boxes and crates in my garage. “But, why would my dad hide it behind the mirror? And when?”

             
“You’re sure it was your dad you saw put it there?” Nick asked, unsure of my abilities.

             
Well, I was sure. “Absolutely. I could—I don’t know—feel him, I guess. Come on. Let’s go check it out.”

             
“You sure you’re not too tired? You might need to sleep more often than Sabre and I do for a while. You’re brain doesn’t quite get that you’re not human anymore, yet.”

             
“No. I’m good.”

             
“Let me text Sabre and tell him what’s going on.” Nick’s fingers flew across his keypad as we headed downstairs to investigate. I’d fall on my face if I tried that…total dork. “Sabre will be here, shortly,” he announced as we reached the bottom of the stairs. “He’s—intrigued—by your discovery.”

             
My knuckles grazed the washer as I walked past, and another searing memory jettisoned adrenalin through my veins.
Thomas’ hand pressed to my mouth; the lascivious thoughts he forced into my mind.
I gasped for air. Nick slid his arm around my waist to steady me.

             
“Em?”

             
“It’s fine. Just another memory. Tell me this gets easier—less intrusive over time.”

             
“It will. I promise.”

              We stood facing the paneled West wall of the basement. Just a wall. Nick slid his fingertips over the surface and scrunched his brows in deep concentration.

             
“I don’t get it,” he said, bewildered. “There should be a print of who touched this last, but there’s nothing.”

             
“Yeah, but didn’t you say the spark deteriorates over time? This wall may not have been touched in over forty years.”

             
“True. But it’s more than that—like it’s been—wiped clean. I just can’t place…” His nimble fingers slid under a panel of wood and he gave it a tug. The panel gave a little, so I reached in to help pry away it away from the foundation. Darkness gaped at us and frigid air wafted out, dusty and just a little mildewy. The blueprints showed the basement ended at this wall, but Daddy’s little map, scrawled on a raggedy old piece of notebook paper revealed the truth. This room.

             
Nick clicked on his penlight and scanned the foundation of the house.

             
“Look. You can see where the original foundation has been cut through. This must be under the front porch.” He shined his light up into the cobwebbed joists.

             
Cold seeped in and snaked through my clothes. I shivered and Nick reached out and rubbed my arms. “I don’t understand. Who would put a secret room in an old cottage in the middle of the woods?”

             
Nick shrugged. “Why don’t you go get your coat so we can check it out?” he suggested. I liked his body heat better, but couldn’t hardly investigate the room with his arms wrapped around me. I trudged up the stairs for my jacket, skull cap and fingerless gloves.

             
When I returned, Nick stood inside the tiny five foot by six foot recess, examining a solitary dust-laden box. The old, faded box sat amongst cobwebs and dust bunnies in the middle of the floor. Clouds of dust, that reminded me of pictures of Spokane when Mt. Saint Helens erupted, billowed as we finished prying off the panels of wood. I stepped inside the secret room, and dragged my fingers across the top of the box, then rubbed the grit between my fingers.

             
“Huh. This is volcanic ash from the Saint Helens eruption in ‘80. I remember how the sky darkened like the world was ending, and we had to go to the Carnation warehouse downtown to shut all the windows on the trucks. We couldn’t see more than a couple of feet in front of us on the way back, the ash was so thick. And it took forever to go away. People were washing it down the sewer drains until the mayor came on TV and told everyone to stop because it would clog the pipes.”

             
Nick looked at me bewildered. “Emari. You couldn’t possibly remember that. You weren’t even born yet.”

             
“But I do…I mean…it’s like I can remember being there. But I couldn’t have been could I?”

             
His fingers skimmed through the ash and he rolled it between his fingers. His brow corrugated and his mouth pulled down in a frown, but “hmm” was all he said.  The box was devoid of any label or marking. Its moving tape was dried and cracked. Nick made quick work of opening the box with his pocket knife and flipped the lid open in another cloud of dust and ash. We rummaged through swatches of fabric folded neatly in nice little rectangles, and old notebooks with parched, faded covers. While Nick thumbed through the notebooks, I scavenged deeper into the box. My fingertips stubbed against a wad of quilted cloth wrapped around something hard. I hoisted the package out and unwrapped the layers of fabric. The last fold of wrapping fell away, and revealed a glossy, polished mahogany box. The lid was carved and inlaid with mother of pearl, and what appeared to be emeralds and blue sapphires. “Whoa!” was the only word I could speak.

             
My fingers trembled as I caressed the cool, smooth wood, and I held my breath as I lifted the lid. The tiny hinges gave a tiny moan. A quiet gasp rushed through my lips and Nick turned to see what was wrong. Nestled in a luxurious bed of sapphire velvet, lay an ornate spider pendant. I gingerly lifted it from its nest and placed it in my palm. Its legs arced out from the heel of my hand to just below the pads of my  fingertips. The head, body and legs were a carved silver metal that looked like pewter, but the pendant felt too heavy to be a junk metal. The abdomen was a large, bloody red ruby. My fingers curled around the pendant and one of the sharp, pointy legs pricked my skin, drawing a tiny bead of blood. I yelped and jerked my hand away. The spider clattered to the cement floor, but I could have sworn one of those gnarly legs twitched before it left my hand. Nick came to my side.

             
“What is it?” he asked, checking the wound.

             
“It bit me,” I whined, gesturing to the spider that now lay in two pieces on the floor.

             
Nick picked it up.

             
“Oh no. Did I break it?”

             
Nick chuckled. “No, it’s made like that. See? It’s a tiny blade, not big enough for anything but to piss somebody off.”

             
Forgetting the cut, I held out my hand to take the pendant. He gently placed the sprawling spider in my palm, and I examined it, carefully this time. The workmanship was exquisite. Some kind of runes or hieroglyphics swirled across the metal. Nick confirmed the gem was indeed a ruby, and that it was very old.

             
“Did you pick anything up? I’m still a little unfocused,” I complained of my less than perfect memoryprinting.

             
“Absolutely nothing. It’s like a black hole, like no one has
ever
touched it, including us.”

             
“Hmm. I’m getting something but I can’t tell what.”

             
“Here, let’s try something. Remember when Sabre and I were trying to retrieve the memories of what happened at the tracks before Christmas?” I cringed and nodded. That was not a pleasant memory. Thomas dog-napped Eddyson and nearly killed him. “Do you remember we both worked a weave with you?” I nodded and he continued. “Maybe if we work together we can pull something out.”

             
“’kay. What do I do?” I asked, eager for a change of topic. If memories fired bright before my trip to death and back, now they seared like electric shock.

             
“Just pull on the pendant like you’ve been doing all evening around the house. I’ll enhance you. Okay?” I nodded again and sandwiched the spider between my palms. Nick enclosed my hands in his and closed his eyes. From the darkness of my mind, I reached into the metal and stone. But nothing appeared, just blank lightless nothing. Nick scowled and my fingers tingled with voltage. “No. Way. There is just no way there is nothing embedded in this.”