Desert Magick: Dream Catcher Page 11

  A wave of despair slammed into Zoey and she grabbed the coffee table to keep from tipping over. She held tight to the table and concentrated on the colors until her aura blazed from her skin and wavered toward the box. The spider web wrapped around her body, encasing her as it sucked her energy and gave to this man’s wishes. When the man simply sat and the blemish didn’t waver, Zoey fought panic. It’s not working. But after a few seconds, the vortex grew stronger, brighter. The old man stood with effort, like someone far older than his years, and reached for the fishing rod. When he walked out the door of his home, the vision disappeared.

  If Zoey hadn’t been sitting on the couch, her legs would have collapsed beneath her. She looked gravely at the box. “He’s getting stronger.”

  Yes.

  Her heart jackhammered against her ribs and she glanced down at her trembling hands. “I’m not ready for this, Aunt Mena. Why did you leave me? What really happened to you and Uncle?”

  Of course, she heard no answer from the box. But she knew in her heart it was no accident. Whoever had killed her guardians might come after her now. Was the Anguisher the killer? Her stomach tightened and she swallowed hard. She forgot all about her earlier anger and called Jason.

  * * * *

  She sat on the couch, curled in her boyfriend’s arms. He’d held her while she sobbed then rubbed her back until she stopped quivering. It was near morning now. Purple light filtered in through the shutters and she could hear quails’ mournful calls through the double-paned glass.

  Her eyes felt hot and gritty, like she’d opened them during a sandstorm, and her nose ran. She reached for the tissue box Jason had so gallantly retrieved from the bathroom and plucked several more of the fluffy white squares. She blew her sore nose and wiped at her face then leaned her head on his shoulder.

  Without hope, there’s only despair. That mantra bounced around in her head like a vintage pinball. She didn’t remember where she’d heard the saying but suspected it must’ve come from Mena’s mouth at one time or another. A hint to my future?

  She sniffed. “I’m beginning to wish I’d inherited your job, Jason. Storytelling seems a hell of a lot simpler. And way more fun.”

  Jason chuckled but it sounded forced. “Well, writers don’t always want to retell the same old stories. We use a lot of energy convincing them sometimes.” He shifted his weight.

  Zoey lifted her head to gaze into his eyes. Eyes that didn’t judge her. She had to look a mess. Swollen and blotchy, makeup either gone or streaking her face. But he didn’t seem to notice. “Why not keep the stories locked in a safe or on a CD or something?”

  He grinned. “Great minds think alike.” He caressed her cheek. “I asked my dad a similar question. He said we have a duty to keep creativity alive, to help writers create new stories, as well as keep the old ones going, and bring in new readers from each generation. Just as you keep dreams alive.”

  She studied his face and saw the beginnings of stubble on his chin. “So are there any girl muses?”

  “Some. I just happened to be a boy.”

  She smirked. “Lucky for me.” He raised a brow then leaned in and gave her a kiss that got a fire started in various body parts. Not wanting the distraction just now, she pulled away. “I’m still pissed about this arranged marriage. Not that I don’t consider you husband material or anything.” She sniffed and gave him a stubborn look. “I just don’t like being forced into it.”

  “Yeah. And get this. My parents’ marriage was arranged. And so was your aunt and uncle’s.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. “Really? But Aunt Mena and Uncle Alex got along so well? I know they loved each other.”

  “My parents love each other too. Mom says they were made for each other.” He pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “She promises we’ll be happy together.”

  “That’s not the point. And what about my parents? They were happy. Then my father had to up and die.” And Mena had to have known. Anger and grief surged and she fought the emotions down. “The last time I saw my mother she seemed miserable and lonely.” Despite the parade of men she entertains.

  “Your dad was a mortal right? So, maybe your mom was supposed to marry another paranormal.”

  Was Rena supposed to marry another man other than Zoey’s dad? A paranormal? Zoey might never know the answer to that. “So, if the Fates really exist, why didn’t they just get Aunt Mena pregnant? She and Uncle were great parents to me. Why go after my mom? And why kill my dad? I got the Catcher gene anyway.” She didn’t really expect an answer and Jason didn’t have any to give. The box was silent too. “I could renounce the title. Like Mom did.”

  If she refused to perform her job, would she then get knocked up with the next Dream Catcher baby? I certainly don’t intend to give up sex, but I’m not ready for a kid. And she wasn’t sure she could refuse the job now. Not after she’d been feeding the box and the hold it had on her. She could feel it even now, knew where it was without looking, could give energy to it without being near it, though that took more strength on her part.

  “But you won’t.”

  That sent her hackles up. “How do you know what I will or won’t do, Jason Dryden? You’re not my conscience.”

  He held up hands in defense. “True. But I know you, Zoey. And you’re not one to back down from a challenge. You couldn’t let hope die.”

  “I wish someone had told me about all this when I was a kid.” Panic rose when she realized she’d vocalized a wish, until she remembered the past couldn’t be altered. The box hadn’t warned her, though she suspected it knew her thoughts, sometimes before she did. She moaned in frustration. She’d been duped, manipulated into a lifetime job and a marriage she wasn’t sure she wanted. At least, not yet. She frowned. “Why the hell am I bothering to get a degree? I mean how’s a business degree supposed to help me with that stupid box?”

  “You have to support yourself somehow.”

  “God! I hadn’t even thought of that.” She let out an exaggerated groan. “There’s no paycheck for all the shit with this box. And last time I looked, it didn’t produce money. I have my inheritance but who knows how long that’ll last? What the hell were our ancestors thinking?” Jason chuckled and that irritated her more. “Why’re you so calm about this?” She gave him an accusatory look. “Did you know about our arranged marriage?”

  “I found out when you did. But I’d thought about proposing once we graduated and got decent jobs.”

  Her anger leaked out like a balloon with a pinhole in it. “You did?”

  He shrugged. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever been interested in, Zoey. Don’t you know that?”

  “Thanks.” Thanks? That was stupid. “But this still isn’t fair. I might want marriage later.” She’d fantasized about it often enough as a kid. “But I’m not gonna be forced into it. Not by your parents or anyone else. I don’t care how many fucking notarized papers my guardians signed.”

  “That’s my girl. Keep that rebellion alive and well.”

  Zoey glared at him then smiled. “That sounded immature, didn’t it? See, I’m not mature enough to marry.”

  “As far as I know, there’s no time limit on our wedding.”

  She stared at him a moment. “You’re right. They didn’t say we had to get married right away. But I bet they expect us to have kids when we do.” A daughter, at least.

  Jason groaned this time. “I’m so not ready for that.”

  “Me, either. It’s all I can do to get myself up and dressed in the morning, much less take care of some snot-nosed brat.”

  When Jason quit laughing, he said, “You sound just like your cousin Bridgette.”

  She stuck her chin out. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Cousin Bridgette wouldn’t let anyone put her into an arranged marriage. Maybe she has some ideas on how to get out of the deal. I’ll bring it up with her later. The air around them suddenly grew serious and Zoey took in a long breath. “Without us paranormals, the world goes
to shit.”

  Jason sighed. “That’s one way of putting it.”

  She snuggled close to him, needing his comfort now, and studied at the Dream Catcher box. And if the Anguisher gets my powers, the world goes to shit anyway. I’m so not ready for this. Aunt Mena, what have you left me with?

  Chapter 13

  Fascination

  Daisy and Bridgette sat on the couch in Zoey’s greatroom, staring at the Dream Catcher box. Three sodas sat on the coffee table, untouched. When the box was near, dream ribbons bypassed Zoey and went right for the intended target. Like now. A colorful ribbon from each witch drifted toward the box and disappeared through the Native catcher etched into the lid. They couldn’t see anything, of course, but the sight still left Zoey with a bit of awe.

  Daisy squinted, mumbled something, and shook her head. When she glanced at Bridgette, the other witch shrugged. She looked over at Zoey. “It’s not at all what I expected.”

  “You and me both.” Zoey picked up her soda, popped the top and took a sip.

  The other two women followed her example. Both seemed a bit more relaxed now that they’d seen the box. Maybe I should start charging entrance fees. Could probably make a fortune off this thing and I wouldn’t have to worry about working. The box didn’t respond to her sarcasm. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to being scolded by a box that looked as benign as a butterfly yet was more dangerous than a rattlesnake.

  And Bridgette didn’t blink. At least she wasn’t eavesdropping this time. She’d promised that she didn’t listen in to relatives too often. That a person could hear her private thoughts unnerved Zoey, even if it was a loyal cousin doing the whole telepathic thing.

  Daisy had seemed eager to get over here and find out more and she shifted closer to the box now. “So, how does it work?”

  “Well, it’s attached to me somehow. I can’t exactly explain it but I feel the box all the time. I can sense when it’s hungry and needs feeding.”

  Bridgette huffed. “Hell of a job you’ve got, Cousin.”

  “Don’t I know it. Sometimes I can focus in on particular dreams and wishes and see them play out but I don’t have much control. Mostly the box shows me what it wants to.” She didn’t dare tell them anything more specific.

  Daisy focused eyes on her. “And this Anguisher? Learn any more about him?”

  Zoey took in a long breath. “A real pain in my ass. Sometimes, I can tell when he’s been sucking hope from people.” She didn’t mention the vortex or the blemish. They didn’t need to know that much detail. Yet, anyway. Besides, the box wouldn’t let her tell about the vortex. She wasn’t sure why but she had no intention of experiencing that awful constriction around her chest and lack of air in her lungs. “I want to know about this arranged marriage I’ve been shackled with. You find anything?”

  “No.” Daisy sounded annoyed more than angry. “We sure have some tight-lipped ancestors for your powers to be omitted from every damn book in the family.”

  “Guess I’m not the only one blindsided around here.”

  A loud huff came from Bridgette and Daisy glanced at her before focusing on Zoey again. “You sure it’s okay to let us in on this now? I mean, I’m dying to know everything, but not at the expense of your health or humankind’s hopes and dreams.”

  Always thinking of others. Hell, Daisy would make a better Catcher than me. “The box lets me know when it doesn’t want me to share.” And it probably knew something she didn’t about the future. Why else would it let her cousins in on the secret? Like Daisy suspected, there had to be paranormals who knew about Dream Catchers and just never let on or were sworn to secrecy. Scarlet Mendoza came to mind. The medium had said she knew more about paranormals than most.

  Daisy leaned toward Zoey and placed a brief hand on her arm, breaking into her thoughts. “There’s a spell we can do. A reveal. To find out more about your ancestors. If you’re up to it.” She patted the odd-looking book next to her.

  If I’m up to it? Hell, woman, just try and stop me. But what came out of her mouth was, “It won’t hurt, will it?”

  “Only if you get bratty,” Bridgette said, shaking her red hair behind her shoulder. She uttered something in a language Zoey didn’t recognize and the air seemed to dry up.

  Suddenly, Zoey felt a smack to her left thigh. “Ow.” Neither of her cousins had moved.

  Daisy sighed. “Bridgette, honestly. She’s just showing off for you, Zoey. She only does that with people she trusts.”

  “Oh, really?” Zoey narrowed eyes on her redheaded cousin. “Well, I know a little kickboxing. Wanna trust me in gloves?” She couldn’t hold the phony threat long and smiled. Even if she’d been serious, she was no match for a witch. Especially one with Bridgette’s power. As her cousins chuckled, she shot to her feet. “Let’s do this thing.” The box didn’t protest so she was anxious to see what her past had to show her. The past couldn’t be changed anyway.

  They gathered the items needed for the reveal spell, mostly photos and other things handed down from Zoey’s relatives. Her cousins took the couch, while she sat in a nearby chair. Daisy’s spell book lay open on the coffee table in front of them, next to the Catcher box. The book looked old. And contained writing at which Zoey could only guess.

  “What language is that?”

  Daisy smiled. “Irish Gaelic. Mostly. Now just relax. We’ve cast this spell many times. There’s nothing much to it.”

  After uttering what they called focus spells to keep from having to sift through endless generations of Zoey’s ancestors, her cousins got to the reveal.

  As instructed, she stared at old photos. In a matter of seconds, the world around her seemed to retreat to her peripheral vision. In its place, she saw a blur of images move past in her mind like a filmstrip on speed. The film slowed and people dressed in different types of costume drifted past, until one woman appeared in Zoey’s mind. This woman stood inside a stone house with brightly painted walls.

  “What do you see?” A voice broke through her thoughts. Daisy. The witch sounded distant, and her voice echoed like it carried through a long tunnel. “Zoey?”

  “Woman.” It took some effort to concentrate on speech. A fire burned in what looked to be an ancient oven, also made of stone. “Stone oven.” The woman pulled out a round loaf that looked like a large bagel. “Bread.” Suddenly, the ground shook and things began to fall. Daisy’s voice urged her to tell more but she simply watched the scene play out. The woman in the image gave a terrified cry.

  “I’m going in,” Bridgette said through that same long tunnel in which Daisy’s voice had traveled.

  Zoey felt a presence near her but couldn’t tear her eyes from the frightened woman. Pieces fell from the ceiling. The woman stumbled to a cabinet and took out a silver box. The Dream Catcher box. She got two steps toward the door when something fell on top of her, something large. The shaking stopped. A panicked adolescent girl ran from another room and crouched by the woman, trying to free her from the rubble. The woman uttered something in a language Zoey couldn’t understand, and the girl nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks, as she took the box and cradled it in her arms. The image winked out as the woman expelled her final breath.

  Zoey blinked to bring her own world back. Pressure in her chest that had nothing to do with the Catcher box made her remember how she’d felt when her aunt and uncle died.

  “Well?” Daisy said after a moment. Zoey looked at the witch but she was focused on Bridgette.

  The redhead peeled eyes from Zoey to look at Daisy. “Ancient Greece, I think. The box was there.” Bridgette then focused on Zoey again. “That woman, or maybe the girl, was one of the most powerful ancestors of your Catcher line. That’s why the reveal showed her to you.”

  “Oh.” The terror and grief seemed fixed in her mind and she couldn’t shake the images. Or the awful feeling of loss. I won’t cry. Not in front of them.

  A gentle hand landed on Zoey’s arm. “You okay?” Daisy said in a soft voic
e.

  She swallowed hard and turned to her cousin, who was leaning across the coffee table to reach her. “That was really fucked up. Seeing someone die and knowing they’re responsible for your whole existence.” Just then, she was grateful the box hadn’t shown her father’s plane crash to her.

  Daisy patted Zoey’s arm and sat back against the sofa, offering a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry. I forgot to warn you the reveal can sometimes bring upsetting images. But those people are long dead, Zoey. Whatever pain they felt is gone in the ashes of time.”

  Surprisingly, her words helped and Zoey was able to push away the grief. “So what does it all mean? I didn’t get any instructions from her—them.”

  “Maybe not. But it validates your line. You are the Dream Catcher. The box belongs with you.”

  No wonder the box didn’t protest the reveal. Well, what did I expect? To find out it had made a mistake and really belonged to some other woman? Actually, she would have welcomed that information. I’d love to get back to a normal life.

  “That won’t happen,” Bridgette said. “We’re paranormals.”

  Zoey sighed, not caring about Bridgette’s eavesdropping now.

  Daisy leaned elbows on her knees. “Cheer up, Zoey. We’ll help with anything we can. And I have a few questions for the box. Think it will answer?”

  Zoey shrugged. “Can’t say. Stupid thing’s got a mind of its own. But I’ll ask for you.”

  “Okay. First, I’d like to know how old it is?”

  Zoey asked the question but the box had no answer. She shook her head at her cousin.

  “Hmm. Well, how long it’s been in your family?” Again, no answer. “Why has it been kept a secret all these centuries?”

  Zoey got one word from the box on that question. “Protection. That’s all it said.”