Desert Magick: Dream Catcher Read online

  “It’s the Dream Catcher box,” Connie said, after Zoey told her about her odd morning.

  “That’s what it said.” A crack of thunder reverberated from outside. She glanced at the Kokopelli clock above the fireplace. Just after one-thirty. “That’s pretty much the only thing it ever says.”

  “But you don’t understand what that means, do you?”

  She glanced at Jason, who looked like he didn’t understand his mother either, and back to Connie. “Um, well, it answers questions like a Magic Eight Ball. Only it talks. It’s spelled, right? Aunt Mena had it done for my birthday.” She still couldn’t explain how the woman had managed it from the grave. She eyed Jason again. Maybe he had something to do with it. “Only I think the spell shorted or something when it shocked me.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s possible, dear. The box isn’t spelled. Mena was a Dream Catcher. That was her paranormal title. It’s why the box keeps saying it.”

  Ah, well that makes sense. In a, no, it really doesn’t sort of way. Even if Mena had a paranormal title, it was just that, a title. Nothing more. Zoey’s direct line had no powers, not for generations. She focused on Jason. “You know anything about this Dream Catcher title? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Me either.” He smiled and she wanted to drown in his caramel-colored eyes. Her fingers itched to rifle through that thick, dark hair.

  I wish Connie would leave. Her gaze fell on the gift card the woman had brought over, Zoey’s favorite bookstore, and guilt swelled. She brought me this great present and here I am trying to get rid of her. She kept her impatience in check, barely, and focused on the conversation again. Connie had an odd look on her face, as though she had an awful secret she couldn’t wait to share with someone.

  Zoey let out a noisy breath and said, “All right, I’ll bite. What is it?”

  Connie looked relieved. “Well, I can’t tell you much about the how’s and why’s, but there’s one Dream Catcher in every generation of your family.”

  Zoey had paranormal ancestors on her mother’s side, but no one in three or four generations had any powers. Her cousins Daisy and Bridgette were inherent witches, but they had other family lines Zoey didn’t share with them. She never kept up much with genealogy, since she found it boring as hell. Her father line had no paranormals at all.

  Okay, so Aunt Mena had a title. That’s not so odd. But it still doesn’t explain box. “So if the box isn’t spelled, how does it answer questions and light up? It’s too old for that kind of technology.”

  “You’re the key Zoey. The box is tied to your powers.”

  “I’m confused.” Or else Connie was confused. “I don’t have any powers.” She waited for that pitying look she’d seen from several relatives, but the woman simply studied her.

  “I know you were led to believe that, but it’s not true. Your grandmother was a Dream Catcher, just like Mena. Your mother was supposed to take over after your aunt died. But she had other plans.” She narrowed her eyes so briefly Zoey almost missed it. “So the duty now falls to you.”

  What the hell kind of duty? “I don’t have powers, Connie.” This was starting to get old and her impatience flared again.

  “A lot of paranormals don’t come into their powers until they’re beyond adolescence. For Catchers, those powers begin to manifest on the twenty-first birthday. The lineage is kept secret until that time. It’s tradition.”

  Aunt Mena never would’ve kept such a secret from me. And if Rena had powers, she never would’ve left Zoey at boarding school with a bunch of mortals without some kind of training. Her grandmother, well, the woman died before Zoey was born. This Catcher stuff had to be a mistake, a misunderstanding on Connie’s part. But I’m still a paranormal, damnit, even if I don’t have powers. Anger swelled and she slapped it down. Why am I always so quick to get mad about stuff? Sheesh. Connie’s always been nice to me.

  “Okay, so if it’s really true and I have powers, what do mine have to do with this box? I mean what does a Dream Catcher do?”

  Connie smiled and pushed her short hair behind one ear. “You’ll have to learn the rest for yourself. Mena said the box would guide you.”

  The box will guide me? The damn thing can’t even answer a simple question. “I don’t understand.” Zoey tried very hard to curb her frustration. Patience is definitely not one of my virtues. That’s for damn sure.

  “You will, darling.” Connie stood. “I’ll be leaving now. You and Jason have some things to discuss. And I’m sure other things you’d like to do, since it’s your birthday.” Despite being a grown woman, heat filled Zoey’s face at that last remark but Jason simply grinned. “We’ll talk more later.”

  After Connie left, Zoey gave a frustrated grunt. “She’s wrong, you know. I don’t have any powers.”

  “I didn’t think I had any either, until my last birthday.” He smiled and his eyes sparkled. “I had to keep this a secret until today but I’ve been dying to tell you. Ready?”

  “For what?”

  “This.” Jason opened his arms wide, and Zoey took a long look at the golden aura that built up around his body.

  He’d never done that before. She’d never heard of a paranormal who could light up like a holiday ornament. And it wasn’t just light. Some type of heat emanated from him. It caressed her skin like a chiffon scarf that had been warmed by the sun. Sensual and soft. Desire pressed at her and she began to take shallow breaths. Suddenly, she wanted him more than anything in her world at that moment.

  She swallowed and fought the urge to fan herself. Okay, this feels real. A spell? Maybe he was a witch like her cousins. Yeah, that has to be it. But why hadn’t he told her about his powers? Unless he thought she’d be intimidated and not want to date him. He lost his glow and her desire faded with it. Well, some of her desire, anyway.

  She shifted her weight. “Jason? What the hell was that?” Why she wasn’t running for the nearest exit now, she had no idea.

  He smirked. “Just one of my new talents. Powers I had no idea I possessed. Like you and that box. Only my powers have to do with books since I’m a Storyteller.” Before she could say anything to that, he scooted close and placed a hand on her thigh, causing another warm tingle. “Close your eyes, Zoey. Listen with your senses. You’ll know the truth.” He gave her a warm smile that threatened to melt her right into the couch, leaving a liquid gooey mess. “Go ahead.”

  She hesitated, swallowed and took in a deep breath, but did as he suggested, lame as it sounded. After a moment, something tugged at her, like a silken strand of a spider’s web pulling at her chest. Probably her imagination. What she couldn’t deny was the sense of power that touch brought. She had no other way to explain it, other than she felt power, in the air, in herself, in Jason. And the box.

  As she opened her eyes and studied the silver box, her mind turned to her guardians and parents. Had they really kept this family secret from her? If her mother didn’t want the Catcher job, would she have tried to shelter Zoey too? Rena had never seemed very interested in her so why would she care? She wouldn’t. She had no reason to shelter me. I don’t have any powers. My brain is just playing tricks on me.

  She took in a long breath to get her wits again. Jason seemed to have powers. Not unusual since he was a paranormal. But he also believed she had them. Which I don’t. Could mean his mother had simply convinced him. Or else he was a nut job. A well-built, good in bed, paranormal nut job. With a fabulous smile, scrumptious lips and thick hair. Hell, why not go along for now. I can always change the locks later and visit him in his nice padded cell. But I did see him light up like a freaking birthday cake. Didn’t I? Maybe I’m the one who’s lost my mind. Do they allow conjugal visits in the nuthouse?

  Jason’s eyes were brilliant, like melted caramel in sunlight. “You feel it don’t you? The power that surrounds you?”

  She decided not to answer that and took in another breath. “You’re a Storyteller?”

  “Yes. Like my dad.” He
looked amused as he studied her. “So was your uncle.”

  No freaking way! As far as she knew, her uncle had been a professor, and Jason was an English major with a minor in mythology. He planned to teach. If Uncle Alex had powers, well crap, this is just some peachy shit. “Okay. So what the hell is a Storyteller?”

  Jason chuckled. “A muse.”

  Zoey eyed him. “I thought they were girls.”

  “Some are, I suppose. Dad started to apprentice me after my last birthday.”

  “Your twenty-first.”

  “Yeah.” A glint flickered in his eyes.

  Despite this odd and disturbing conversation, she still wanted him, though not in that intense way she had when he lit up like a glow stick. “And your mom?”

  “She’s a Wind Mother.”

  Zoey raised a brow. “Of course. How silly of me not to know that.” Another damn title I’ve never heard of. Well, this just gets better and better.

  Jason chuckled. “You’d have to ask her what that’s all about though. She doesn’t share the details of her job with me.”

  “Why not?” Zoey said without thinking, and Jason shrugged. I’ve been sucked in already. Why was she now believing what minutes ago she’d rejected? Maybe because Jason seemed so convinced. And I did see some kind of aura light up around him. His eyes grew serious and a flood of desire that had nothing to do with his odd light swept through her again. Oh, hell. Who cares if one of us is a loon? He’s just so damn cute. And good in bed. A smile crept onto her lips, dampened immediately when she looked at the Dream Catcher box.

  “So what the hell am I supposed to do with this thing?” She didn’t like the idea that it needed her powers, if they really existed, as a catalyst.

  “I don’t know. Doesn’t it tell you?”

  “No. It pretty much just spouts nonsense. I think it might be broken.” She touched the box again and the turquoise jewels lit up.

  Jason leaned forward. “That’s pretty cool.”

  “Yeah. But what am I supposed to do with a box that lights up and shorts out when I touch it?”

  “Oh, yeah, you mentioned a spell shorted out. But my mom said it’s not spelled.”

  “Well, something happened. It shocked me a couple of times and it’s been repeating the same thing pretty much ever since.”

  “Hmm. Mind if I take a look?”

  “Go ahead?”

  “It won’t kill me or anything will it?”

  Zoey’s heart leapt and she stared at Jason, not hiding her sudden fear. “I hope not.”

  “I’m kidding.” But he didn’t look totally convinced. Slowly, he reached out a finger toward the lid.

  Zoey found she was holding her breath. “Wait.” She grabbed Jason’s arm and pulled his hand away. “Let me ask it first.” Just in case. “Box? Can Jason touch you without getting hurt?”

  Yes.

  She gave a frantic point toward the box. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “It answered me. It said yes.”

  Jason studied the box then Zoey. “I didn’t hear anything.”

  Great. So, I’m hearing voices now. Maybe I’m a freaking schizophrenic. Why the hell can’t Jason hear you?

  Dream Catcher.

  Oh, so we’re back to that now are we? Wait a minute. I didn’t say that aloud. You can hear my thoughts? What, no answer this time? Well, that’s just fucking great. An arm encircled her shoulders and she looked at Jason. “It’s doing that repeato thing again.”

  “But it said it wouldn’t hurt me, right?”

  “Yeah, if I’m not a total loon and hearing things.”

  He gave a nervous laugh. “You’re not. Okay, here goes.”

  He took his arm from Zoey’s shoulders then reached out a hand and touched the lid, but the box didn’t do anything. No lights, no speaking, nothing. Slowly, he reached out his other hand and picked the box up from the coffee table. Still nothing. He turned it over carefully, inspecting the sides and bottom. Then he set it down and opened the lid. A swirling vortex of colors met Zoey’s eyes and she yanked Jason back.

  He flipped his head to her. “What? It didn’t hurt me.”

  “What do you see inside?”

  “Nothing. It’s empty.”

  “No, it’s not. There’s a vor—” Something caused a sudden constriction around her chest and she sucked in a quick breath. A warning from the box? The disturbing sensation vanished almost immediately but she couldn’t deny that she’d felt it. Fear washed over her, followed by foolishness for believing such nonsense. Maybe I’m still asleep. Her dreams sometimes took on a very real quality. She pinched herself on the arm. Ow. Okay, not sleeping.

  “Hey, you okay? Zoey? What happened? Did you see something?”

  “I’m okay. But I don’t think it wants me to tell you what I see.”

  “Oh.” Was that fear in Jason’s eyes now?

  His fear disturbed her more than the discovery of her previously unknown powers and she suddenly wished she’d never opened that damn box. Never followed her curiosity about the light she saw coming from the glass curio. My life is complicated enough without some indecisive box controlling me. “I wish this thing didn’t—” A much stronger constriction around her chest this time, so much that it pushed the breath right out of her. Holy shit!

  “Zoey!” Jason’s arms flew around her and she stood, trying to open her lungs and get air inside. He helped her take a couple of steps and the constriction eased. She could breathe again. She was trembling now and took comfort in his presence, his touch, his smell. “What happened?”

  “It didn’t like what I was about to say.”

  She stared at the silver box on her coffee table as a tickle of a revelation danced in her mind. Stories got changed through the centuries, especially those that involved paranormals. An ancient box that needed a person to fuel its powers. A prompt warning when Zoey thought of making a wish that would harm the box. A Native dreamcatcher carved into the top to trap nightmares, or maybe to keep bad wishes or disparaging thoughts from entering.

  One Dream Catcher in every generation of my family. Ancient box. Dreams. Wishes. Holy crap! Realization slammed into her gut like a freight train. Oh, god. Oh, god. Can it be true? Numbness crept over her entire body and she thought for a moment she might faint. The sensation that something tugged at her, a web-like strand reaching from her chest to the box, washed over her.

  Dreams and wishes kept alive in a box. Hope. Are you Pandora’s Box?

  Yes.

  At that, she did faint.

  Chapter 5

  The March of the Siren

  “Enough, Bridge.” When her cousin didn’t back off, Daisy place a hand on her shoulder. “I said that’s enough.” The redhead glanced at her and cancelled the nettle spell she’d been using on Simon. The siren looked fearful now. ‘Bout damn time. Despite the sweat that had soaked his shirt and matted his hair, he still looked damn good and Daisy had to force herself not to gawk.

  When she released her trussing spell, the static in the room lowered a bit now that no one was casting. The siren looked relieved and sat up. She glared at him. “Don’t think about running, Simon. I’ll have you trussed again before you can get to a door.” He nodded. Good. “Now, I want to know why you’re here. How did you know Bridgette had come to Phoenix? And I’m one impatient witch right now so you better not lie to me.”

  Simon swallowed hard. “I didn’t know. I lost her after a few weeks.” Daisy starting another trussing and the siren raised a hand. “That’s the truth. I swear on my mother’s island. I only came to Phoenix because I read it was a great place for women to have businesses.” He smirked. “Women with money. They’re the best kind.”

  Daisy wanted to smack the idiot. “If I find out you’re lying and have been stalking my cousin again, I’ll make your life miserable beyond anything you can imagine.” Just how she would do that, she had no idea. But Simon seemed to believe her because he blanched.

  No
ah, who looked quite impressed, handed her a printout from the computer where he’d been searching online for flights. She studied it. “So, here’s the deal. We’ve booked you on the first flight out to Hawaii.” Nice as Simon was to look at, she couldn’t wait to see his sorry ass off. “You’ll charter a boat in Honolulu and continue to your island from there.” A paranormal-owned boat, of course. Mortals didn’t know about sirens. Any who stumbled onto their remote island wouldn’t remember it, thanks to the influence siren song had on them. “Do we have an understanding?”

  Simon’s eyes widened but he didn’t answer. Sure, sirens weren’t exactly the best conversationalists in the world, but there had to be some kind of brain between those perfectly symmetrical ears that told him this was a very good time to speak up.

  Bridgette put her hands on her hips and spoke in a soft, dangerous, voice. “If you don’t do as we say and stay on that damn island of yours, I will hunt you down.” She spouted a litany of diseases she would spell him with if he didn’t comply, some that didn’t even exist. Simon appeared a little green at the mention of the sexually transmitted ones and looked as though he might actually faint. Given her cousin’s disposition, Daisy wouldn’t put it past her to do every terrible spell she could recall if he disobeyed.

  Wisely, Simon got his voice. Unwisely, he let his other brain do the talking. “Come on, Bridgette. Just let me stay in Hawaii for a few weeks.” He sounded more like a grounded adolescent than a grown man with a legacy as old as history. “I’m a siren. I need women.”

  Daisy sucked in a noisy breath and fought the urge to smack him. “If you’re so desperate for sex, you can hook up with a female siren.”

  Though the males were sterile, the females still enjoyed them now and then. Sirens were impervious to another’s call and, according to legend, the females weren’t exactly the most cooperative bedmates. They required a lot of coaxing and bribes from their male counterparts. Probably why the males went after mortal women.

  “Face it, Simon. You’re screwed. And not in the way you like.” Daisy hid a smile when he flinched. “Now that we know about you, there’s not a place you can hide that we can’t find your sorry ass.” A blatant lie. But he didn’t know that.