Dream Under the Hill (Oberon Book 8) Read online

  Since then, there’d been nothing. Until now.

  “You know this would be a whole lot easier if you weren’t fighting me,” Chenoa observed, startling Liam out of his reverie.

  He rubbed his eyes. “I guess my mind drifted.”

  “Yeah. I kinda figured that out,” she muttered, looking vaguely discouraged. “Why don’t I get you some cake, huh? Maybe you could just sit for a while and relax? That’ll probably do you more good than anything I can do, at this point. Sorry.”

  “No, don’t say that.” Liam shook his head. He got up from his chair and kissed her cheek. “You always do me good. That’s why I keep coming back. I’m sure the atmosphere. It’s too distracting. It’s probably not conducive to this sort of thing.”

  Chenoa sighed. “It really shouldn’t matter. I should be able to handle distractions.”

  “Should.” Liam shook his head again. “Don’t you know there’s no such thing? Should’s about the most useless word in the whole English language.”

  * * *

  “What’s the matter, Nick?” Adam called in greeting as he escorted Scout back to her table, following their dance. “You look like you’re missing something. Anything I can get for you?”

  Scout shot her brother an exasperated look. “Adam, cut it out.” The only thing Nick was missing was her. But it was his own fault for disappearing like he had; he’d been gone for almost an hour. If he didn’t want her dancing with Adam, he could have stuck around and danced with her, himself. Still, he didn’t need Adam pointing that out to him.

  This childish sparring between her brother and her husband was wearing on her nerves. Especially lately. Especially now that she could feel the emotions that drove them, the primitive lust to draw blood that lay beneath their civilized veneer.

  Nick looked up from the silverware he’d been playing with and scowled. “I don’t need anything from you, Sasso. Why don’t you go dance with your own wife?”

  So much for veneer, Scout thought as her mouth dropped open. “Nick!”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Nick drawled sarcastically. “You and Sinead aren’t married, are you? I keep forgetting.”

  Adam’s jaw clenched. “Don’t worry. We will be.”

  Nick shook his head. “Well, now, I don’t know that I’d bet on that, Sasso. You might be out of luck. Those Quinn girls don’t lack for intelligence when it comes to men, do they?”

  Scout couldn’t recall ever seeing Adam more at a loss for words. She could feel his shock and the sheer frustration that filled him. Nick’s question was so absurd, there really was no way to answer it.

  Sinead’s ex-husbands had been bad enough, crooked and abusive, they’d both come to bad ends. As had Siobhan’s first husband, as well, for that matter. But not before he’d kidnapped Scout and nearly killed her. Had Nick forgotten that? Or had he really meant to imply that Adam didn’t measure up to a bunch of killers?

  After another stunned second, her brother walked off, without saying a word, still shaking his head in bemusement.

  Scout dropped into the nearest chair and stared at her husband. “That was a horrible thing to say.”

  For a moment Nick’s eyes darkened. His shoulders sagged a little as he leaned back in his chair and nodded. “You’re right. It was.”

  “What’s wrong with you, anyway?” There was a cloud of worry obscuring his judgement, that much was obvious. But where had it come from?

  “I don’t know,” Nick sighed, drumming his fingers on the table as he glanced around the terrace. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

  Scout nodded. It was true. She could feel his confusion, his desperate need to maintain control. And the fear that he couldn’t. The fear that, no matter what he did, it was all gonna fall apart and come undone.

  “It’s like everything’s run amok,” Nick said, shaking his head again.

  Scout reached over and took hold of his hand. “I’m still here.”

  Nick smiled. He turned his hand in hers until their fingers laced. “Yes, you are. And, thank God, for that.”

  “So. Where’d you go off to, anyway?” she asked, after a while, in an attempt to change subjects. “You were gone awhile.”

  “I uh, had to see a man about a horse,” Nick answered. Was it just her imagination, or had a shadow fallen across his eyes? He smiled disarmingly. “What’s that even mean, huh?”

  “I don’t know,” Scout replied, wishing she could turn off all the noise in her head. Just for a little while. Just to get a break, somehow. “But, you know, we had wine right here at the table, Nick, you didn’t have to go all the way downstairs for a drink.”

  “What did you say?” Nick’s whole expression turned dark as walls and shields and all manner of defenses came crashing down within his mind, closing him off to her.

  “I- I don’t know,” Scout stammered in surprise. “I don’t know why I said that.” Although, really, she did. That’s where he’d gone. She knew it. She could see it. And, if she’d tried a little harder, she could have known why he’d gone there, too.

  The only trouble was, she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to know anything other than what her own five senses were telling her.

  Anything beyond that was too damn scary. It was the kind of stuff that made people go insane.

  * * *

  “So, who’s the guy?” Jasmine asked sidling up beside Chenoa, shortly after Liam left.

  Chenoa smiled at her friend. “He’s just... I don’t know. A guy. His name’s Liam.” She was still at a loss to explain just what her relationship with Liam was. She’d given him cake. He’d asked her to dance. She’d turned him down – she was working, after all. They’d talked for a while. Then he left.

  He must have come here just to see her, and yet... he hadn’t asked her out, he hadn’t even asked to see her again. Who knew what any of it meant?

  Jasmine nodded thoughtfully. “Liam, huh? He’s cute.”

  “Yeah,” Chenoa agreed, smiling a little as she thought about it. “He is cute.

  “So? Are you gonna go for it?”

  Chenoa sighed. “I don’t know.” At the moment, she had a lot on her plate. She’d inherited her grandfather’s bakery, his energy work, and even his pipe. Did she really want to make time for a relationship now, too? “I don’t think so.”

  The pipe. Her eyes widened as she thought about it. One of the major lessons a medicine pipe could teach was discernment, learning to see things as they really were, differentiating between true and false.

  She hadn’t taken up the pipe yet, because this didn’t seem like the right time for any more life lessons. On the other hand, she could really use a little discernment here.

  “Oh, well,” Jasmine sighed. “That’s too bad. But, you know what they say. Boys are like buses. If you miss one, just wait. Another’ll be along in a minute.”

  “Yeah, but will he take you where you want to go? That’s the question of the day.”

  “Well, he will if he’s the right one,” Jasmine teased. “And since when did you get so picky?”

  Chenoa snorted. “Since you gave up your crown, oh, former Queen of Pickiness. Someone had to take up the banner after you laid it all down for Brandon.”

  “Ooh. Nasty.” Jasmine’s eyes widened as she pretended to be shocked, then she smiled smugly. “Hey, it’s like I always said. Picky works.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see.” It had always seemed to Chenoa that you missed a lot by being picky, but maybe Jasmine had it right all along. Perhaps some of those things you missed weren’t worth catching, anyway.

  * * *

  “Shit,” Cara exclaimed, as she looked at her watch. “It’s late. I gotta go.”

  “Again? What are you talking about? We still have work to do.” Seth gestured at the open work book on the table in front of them. “You’ve got a test coming up the end of the week, remember?”

  Cara got up and started tossing books into her backpack. “I know. But…well, maybe we can squeeze an extra ses
sion in – maybe in a couple of days? I’ve got plenty of money. I can even pay you double, if you want. I know I need the help, Seth, but I really need to go now.”

  Seth sighed. “You’re really not as far behind as you think. If meeting like this is such a hassle for you, then why bother? Save your money. You’d probably do fine on your own, anyway. You just need to study a little more.”

  She stopped packing books and looked at him appealingly. “It’s not a hassle, Seth. It’s just– Look, you said you’d tutor me for the rest of the semester. You promised. You can’t quit now.”

  “Who said anything about quitting?” Seth felt himself scowling, and tried to stop. God, he hated it when she whined. That had been the worst part of going out with her. The whining. “I’m not the one running off right now, you are. And since when are you in such a rush to get home, anyway?”

  “I’m not going home. I have to meet my boyfriend out at his crib. It’s way out in the cuts, and if I don’t leave now, I’ll be late. Trust me, he’s not the kind of guy I want to piss off.”

  What a surprise. Cara’s boyfriends rarely were the type who responded well to being pissed off. “I’ve got some time on Tuesday, right after school gets out. Would that work for you? I could meet you here again, if you’d like.”

  “Perfect,” Cara answered, all smiles again. “Thank you so much.”

  He shook his head. “Forget it. Like I already told you. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Well, it is to me,” she said, as she grabbed her stuff. “Bye, Seth. See you Tuesday.”

  Seth watched her go; turning heads from one end of the library to the other. She was wearing the world’s shortest skirt and a top that was at least three sizes too young. If he was anyone in his right mind, he’d be trying to get a piece of what lay beneath. Trouble was, he’d already tried that and it hadn’t helped.

  There was nothing wrong with pizza, but if your heart was craving a burger and fries, pizza just didn’t cut it.

  “Whazzup, ese?” his friend Ray asked, pulling out the chair Cara had just vacated and sitting down. “You holdin’ out on me, bro? Since when did you and Cara hook up again?”

  Seth shook his head. “We didn’t. I’m just tutoring her.”

  “Tutoring, huh?” Ray glanced out the window at Cara, hurrying along the sidewalk toward her car, long legs flashing as they ate up the pavement. “You’re getting something for it, though, right?”

  “Yeah,” Seth replied. And then, just so there wasn’t any misunderstanding, he added, “Ten bucks an hour.”

  “Wha-at?” Ray turned away from the window in surprise. “Coinage? For real? She’s giving you dollahs?”

  “No, Ray, she gave me her fucking credit card.” Seth rolled his eyes. “Whaddaya think she paid me with?”

  “Chill out, blood,” Ray advised. “You know she was always sprung for you. I just figured y’all were hittin’ it.”

  Seth sighed. Yeah. He knew, all right. It was what anyone who knew Cara would figure. It’s what anyone who knew either of them would figure, for that matter. And, most of the time, they’d be right. Not this time, though. “She saved my sister’s life, Ray,” he said, as he got up and started putting his own books away. “So, I’d have done it for nothing.”

  Ray looked up at him. “That’s not the way I heard it, bro. I heard it was you saved ‘em. Crashed right through a fuckin’ wall or something. Sorta like Superman.”

  Seth shook his head. “Nah, that’s crap. It was a door, not a wall. And I didn’t do anything. It just sort of... blew open. Besides, I didn’t even know they were in there. Cara’s the one who figured that out. Then she came and got me.”

  “Well, whatever,” Ray said, as he stood, too. “So, how about we take some of that skrilla of yours and use it to get us some food?”

  “Sure,” Seth nodded. “I could eat. Just as long as it’s not pizza.”

  Chapter Three

  Inside the dilapidated old manor house that was still known to most of Oberon as the old Gilchrist estate – currently home to The Universal Church of Truth, Light and Vision – the faithful were preparing for the evening service under the watchful eye of their leader.

  Gregg smiled benignly on his little flock as he roamed through the rooms he’d known since childhood, laughing to himself at their dismal attempts to maintain a sense of serenity as they padded about in bare feet and loose clothing. Setting up tables and chairs in what had once been his family’s formal dining room. Burning incense, lighting candles, arranging crystals. Coordinating a dozen different details having to do with lighting and sound and ventilation. Positioning the several video cameras he always insisted upon having on hand. Selecting music. Preparing post service refreshments. All without benefit of speech.

  The restriction on speaking was a last minute addition and one of Gregg’s favorite new rules. He loved the silence. He loved the frustration the enforced quietude created as a half dozen disparate minds tried to find ways of dividing tasks and working together, all while denied most forms of communication.

  It wasn’t just talking that he’d decreed verboten, either. There was no written communications allowed during the set-up period, either. No whistling for attention. No snapping of fingers or clapping of hands. Even pointing was rigidly curtailed.

  It was meditation in action, he told them time and again, gently chiding them for their continued failure to achieve the proper state of mind. It was a skill well worth mastering, although sadly, it did appear to be beyond most of them at their present level of advancement.

  He loved wandering through the quiet chaos, adding to the disorder – and then feeding off the angst he’d created. He’d smile at one, frown at another, for no other reason than to build resentment, to break down friendships and extraneous loyalties, to keep everyone off balance and at each other’s throats.

  There’d been no violence yet. He’d been careful of that. Violence was also forbidden. For violence, he had cautioned them all, would only beget more violence.

  A lot more violence. And at his hands.

  Now that the fence was operational, the time was rapidly approaching when he’d make that point more clearly. Once those who were to be disciplined could not escape, he’d incite his little band of worshippers even farther. Until anger boiled over into violence. Until he’d be left with no choice but to punish those who had transgressed the rules; repaying violence with violence, trading pain for pain. Supplanting the anger they all felt now with fear.

  Soon...

  But, not just yet. There were still a few pieces left to fit into place.

  In the meantime, however, he loved drinking in the seething hostility that grew so wild within the sleep starved minds of his followers. He loved the jangling of nerves that occurred as tired hands grew clumsy, as badly stacked chairs crashed to the floor, as tables collapsed and crystals got smashed. Once, a candle set too close to a window had set fire to the drapes – that had been fun.

  Silence was not the only tool at his disposal, either. He also loved the twenty-four hour fasts that he implemented at random intervals. The spontaneous prayer circles he called for in the dead of night – or any other time that people chose to sleep.

  The church had only been operational for a few months, but already the nerves of most of those whom he’d invited to live inside the house were nicely frayed. They were all very sensitive types to begin with; empaths for the most part. That’s why they were here. Their ability to sense and feed into each other’s feelings of pain and pleasure set up a resonance, magnifying the emotions of the group as a whole, solidifying them into an exquisite gestalt.

  He had only limited uses for those seekers who lacked such talents. They were good for providing things like money and information, free labor or sex. They were handy when there were stray tasks to perform, such as running the video cameras. They believed what they were told to believe and they followed his orders without demur. Beyond that, they were expendable.

  The empaths h
ad their limits, as well. They were not true psychics, after all. Those were not only more rare, they were infinitely harder to manage. Harder to fool. Harder to turn to the dark, unless they’d already embraced it on their own.

  He still needed one, however. He needed a mind that could dream for him. Someone who could dream the future, and illuminate his path. But he had yet to find the right person for the job.

  He thought he had her once, years ago. But that was before he’d learned how to snare such a mind and keep it enslaved. He’d been ignorant and unready and she’d escaped him. He’d deserved that. But it wouldn’t happen again.

  Next time, Gregg swore, when he found what he was looking for, he’d hold on to it. She, or he, would not get away.

  It was only a matter of time. As the energy within the church grew darker and more volatile, he knew it would begin to make itself felt within the community. Like a dark canker, it would begin to prey on the minds of those who could sense such things; destroying their peace, disrupting their sleep.

  Then the mind, the soul, the heart that he was searching for would be revealed to him. It would have no choice but to seek out the source of the disturbance, and in so doing, reveal itself.

  A loud crash from the direction of the kitchen shattered the silence. Tempers spiked. Someone somewhere began to sob. Gregg shook his head, as though in sorrow. He did so love this time of day. Then he glanced at his watch, and made an unpleasant discovery. It was getting late. The service was scheduled to start in another few minutes. And Cara had not yet returned.

  * * *

  It’s getting late. Siobhan heaved a melancholy, little sigh, as she sat at the head table, resting her feet on the chair beside her, propping her head on her fist, watching as the party – her party – began to wind down. Soon, this will all be just a memory..

  “What’s wrong, Vonne?” Sinead asked, frowning at her, worried, protective, as though her mothering instincts were already working overtime.