In The Dark Of Dreams Part 6

"Where's the man?" asked Ismail in a deadly quiet voice. "Your lover?"

Les. But if he wanted to know where Les was, that meant the blood had come from. . .

"Maurice," she croaked.

"Telekinetic. Not a strong one, but he had to go first." Ismail said the words in a matter-of-fact tone, dry and cold. It was something he should not have known about Maurice. No one knew that much, except the family and a few trusted individuals. He leaned sideways, and pointed.

It took Jenny a moment to see. Shadows everywhere. But one shadow was darker than the others, shaped like a body. Maurice. Sprawled on the deck. She couldn't see his face, but she saw his white hair. He was so still.

Jenny closed her eyes, fighting to keep her breathing steady. Her heart was beating too quickly. Pressure, building inside her skull. She was going to burst, die, lose her mind. Her throat swelled with grief, but she sucked down a deep breath and ground her teeth. No tears. Not yet.

"Make this easy on yourself," Ismail whispered close to her ear. "You don't want me to think you're capable of anything."

"I'm capable of killing you," she breathed, finally able to speak. "You stupid son of a b.i.t.c.h."

Ismail leaned back, giving her a cold look. "You lied about the creature being human. But even if you hadn't, this would still be happening. You're a loose end, Ms. Jameson. But the Consortium finally has a need for you."

Behind him, something moved in the shadows near Maurice's body. Jenny didn't dare look. Ismail was still talking, but she could hardly hear him past the roar of blood in her ears. All she could do was stare at his face, and shift her legs, ready to kick, fight, roll-anything. Anything it would take.

She was ready when Les lunged out of the shadows. He was completely naked and dripping with seawater. He held a knife in his hand, and swung it down with perfect accuracy toward Ismail's back. The man must have felt him coming-he glanced over his shoulder at the last moment, and rolled sideways with incredible speed. His fists were a blur. He caught the other man in the gut and face, but Les hardly seemed to notice. He had a longer reach, and was just as fast. He feinted-Ismail backed too close to Jenny-and she kicked up and out with all her strength, catching him in the back of his knee.

Ismail staggered. Les plunged the dagger in his chest, and held on-held on as the smaller man dropped to his knees, screaming in pain. There was an expression on Les's face that Jenny had never seen before-wild and determined, and utterly ruthless.

He twisted the knife as Ismail reached up to grab it. Twisted, and pushed, until the man lay on the deck of the yacht, and died.

Jenny shuddered, afraid to breathe. Les stared at the dead man for one long moment, then looked at her.

"You okay?" he asked hoa.r.s.ely, and all she could do was nod.

Les hesitated, then looked down at his hands and wiped them slowly on his damp thighs-leaving streaks of blood against his skin. Jenny expected him to untie her, but instead he walked across the deck toward Maurice. He stared at the old man, too-a long time. And then bent down and scooped him into his arms.

Jenny stared, unsure what she was seeing. Maurice had to weigh at least two hundred pounds, but Les acted like it was nothing. Instead of carrying him toward Jenny, he started walking to the edge of the yacht.

"Les," she croaked. "Les, what are you doing?"

He ignored her, and in his arms, Maurice stirred. She was certain of it, despite the darkness on deck. His eyelids fluttered, and his mouth opened, just a little. She heard a groan.

"Les," she shouted, more urgently. "Les, stop. Look at me."

Les kept walking. Faster now. Maurice began to open his eyes.

"He's still alive!" she screamed. "Les-"

He tossed the old man overboard.

Jenny barely heard the splash, choking on her own voice-too horrified to do more than stare at Les's back, watching that scene replay in her head again and again.

Les stared over the edge, then turned around to walk back to her. She tried scooting away from him, but he grabbed her ankles and pulled her close with ruthless efficiency. His mouth was set in a grim line, though his eyes . . . his eyes were no longer cold. Just weary.

"I'm sorry," Les whispered, and Jenny wanted to kick him in the teeth.

"You're working with them," she whispered. "The Consortium."

"No." He shook his head, and drew in a long, ragged, breath. "This is . . . something else. Ismail was . . . a complication I didn't expect."

Jenny tested her bonds. Her wrists and shoulders ached, and tears finally leaked from her eyes. She couldn't stop them. This hurt too much. "Why?"

He didn't answer. Just stood, and grabbed Ismail's arms. He dragged the man across the deck, leaving behind a trail of blood, and threw him overboard as well.

"Why?" Jenny screamed at him, though her voice was m.u.f.fled with grief.

Les still said nothing. He walked back to her, and she said brokenly, "You'll be caught. You know that. It doesn't matter who's protecting you now. When the others find out-"

"I'm not scared of the old women," Les interrupted, but his voice hitched on the last word, and his hands trembled. "Not scared of the family, or any . . . any of those maniacs they employ. I'm done with that."

"Bulls.h.i.t," she said.

Les shook his head. "No one's going to find you, Jenny. They won't even know you're in trouble. And if they do figure it out, it'll still be too late."

"Les-"

"I'm sorry," he said again, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry. You don't understand. You don't have a f.u.c.king clue. You never did."

He walked away and left her on the deck in Ismail's blood.

Chapter Four.

Someone was shaking him.

Perrin drifted on the edge of sleep. He needed to dream. Whatever it took. If he had been in possession of pills, he would have popped a handful, just to fall unconscious and open himself to possibilities.

Like seeing her again.

Even now, she was just an impression-a voice, a small warm hand-but those two parts of her were as familiar as his own voice, his own hand, and he could still feel the press of her fingers entwining with his own, as though she was here, sitting beside him now.

I miss you, he thought. Come back.

No d.a.m.n luck. That dream, the first in eight years, had been fleeting and terrifying-and ever since waking from it two days ago, screaming, he had been unable to go back to that place-or her. Cut off, again. Made him crazy. Made him want to use his fists. Again. He was still picking splinters out of his knuckles from an unfortunate encounter with a palm tree.

He opened his eyes, tapping his sungla.s.ses to make certain they were there. It was still uncomfortably bright.

Eddie stood over him, frowning. Sun high in the sky, blazing through scattered clouds. Gulls swooped overhead, crying out their hearts. The sea glittered like a razor blade and smelled sharp, sweet. He could taste it beneath the stink of Singapore's polluted air. Unsettled him, made his skin chill, and his stomach hurt. He wanted to be sick when he thought too hard about slipping under the water. Of what he would find there.

He stared at Eddie, saw his mouth moving, and realized he hadn't caught a single word. "What?"

Eddie's frown deepened. "Everything's been arranged. We're ready."

Perrin stayed seated. "You shouldn't come with me. You or him. Like I told Roland, all I needed was for someone to get me here."

"I know what you told Roland." Eddie glanced over his shoulder at Rik, who sat a short distance away on manicured gra.s.s, sipping some fruity drink through a straw. "He doesn't want to be with us. But he got on the plane. I guess he made his choice."

Perrin also looked at the shape-shifter, studying the sharp angles of his face and that golden gaze, focused on some faraway spot on the ocean horizon. He held a paper napkin in his left hand, which he kept squeezing.

Eight years changes everything, Perrin thought. Rik had been hardly more than a boy the last time he had seen his human face. Eight years had aged him. Just not enough to make the young man unrecognizable.

"How did Rik find you?" he asked, unable to stifle the shock he felt at being near the shape-shifter. It was not a good sensation; he would have been happy-happily ignorant-if they had never crossed paths again.

"We found him." Eddie gave Perrin a sharp look. "And we're going to lose our boat if we don't go now."

Perrin pushed himself off the bench. Rik also stood, ducking his head before their eyes could meet. Only when Eddie walked past and murmured in his ear did his spine straighten. He still didn't look at Perrin, though.

Eddie hefted a duffel bag over his shoulder, the air shimmering around his body, a heat wave. He seemed very young, no older than twenty or so-but that glint in his eye, especially as he stared at Perrin and Rik, never stopped being old, and slightly worn.

"I don't know what history there is between you," he said carefully. "I'm not certain I want to know. But if we're going to be stuck on a boat together-"

"He walks in front of me. I don't want him where I can't see him," Rik blurted out, clenching the plastic cup so hard it crushed, spurting fruit juice all over his hand. He swore, and tossed the cup on the ground.

Perrin, very calmly, bent down and picked up the trash. "If I wanted to kill you, I would have on the plane. Or in San Francisco." He walked to a garbage can that had been placed alongside the pedestrian walkway to the dock. "You are not important to me, Rik'agoa. You're not even a threat."

Rik took a step toward him, golden light flickering in his eyes. "Don't call me that name."

"Stop." Eddie stepped between them. "Just . . . stop."

Rik gave him a hard look, but the other young man didn't back down. Perrin watched, a.s.sessing them both, and after several seconds that dragged on far too long, he wiped sticky, juice-stained fingers on his jeans and walked away toward the dock. Rik wasn't going to stab him in the back-not yet, not with Eddie around.

Still, his neck p.r.i.c.kled. Scars itched. Or maybe those were his new rashes. The pollution in Singapore was worse than he remembered; and the hot air made it hard to breathe. He had started coughing last night and hadn't been able to stop until he dunked himself in the tub. His chest ached every time he inhaled.

"The next boat on your left," Eddie called out from behind. Perrin did not acknowledge him-too focused on the sea beneath the dock. He had not tasted the waters, not even dunked a toe into the dark waves, though he ached to. He glanced down and saw filth, oily sc.u.m. Might well poison himself if he tried now. Nor did he dare risk revealing his presence before he was in deeper waters. Timing was the only way he would stay alive. Time enough, hopefully, to explain his return to the others who would come hunt him.

He stopped in front of a battered fishing vessel, perhaps a decade old, and quite small. Not much room belowdecks for a man of Perrin's size, but he wasn't planning on remaining on board for long. All he needed was an engine strong enough to take him out to deep sea.

Perrin glanced over his shoulder, watching Eddie and Rik approach. He felt strange again-out of body. Eight years ago, in another life, this moment would have been inconceivable. As would the idea of using human technology to travel the . . . the surface . . . of the sea. Seemed so wrong. Alien. Weak.

Such weakness will not be tolerated, a low voice echoed in his mind; just a memory, though it chilled him. You will be strong, or die. You will be strong, or they will die.

It had been a long time since Perrin had heard his father's voice inside his head. Months since he had let himself think about him with that kind of bitter self-indulgence. He didn't need any more sleepless nights, or holes punched in walls. No good ever came from letting memories of his father creep into his thoughts. Just waves of resentment, rage, hurt-and a weariness that ran soul deep.

But his father, Perrin realized, had been skirting the edges of his thoughts ever since he had made his decision to return to the sea.

If he saw him again, he had no idea what to do.

"You," said a loud voice behind him. Perrin turned and found a man crouched on the edge of the boat. Black eyes glittered, set in a bony face that was sweat-slick and brown. A tattoo of a dragon covered his shaved head, and a gold hoop dangled from his right ear.

Perrin said nothing, waiting. The man grinned, revealing a row of broken yellow teeth, and pointed at the boat. "Come, giant man. Come for a ride."

He had heard similar invitations in prison. His feet remained rooted to the dock. Eddie drew near and pa.s.sed his duffel to the sailor. "This is Sajeev. He's been . . . highly recommended."

"By who?" Rik muttered, eyeing the smaller man. "The Pirate a.s.sociation of Singapore?"

Eddie sighed. "He's good with secrets. Our kinds of secrets."

Perrin grunted and stepped aboard the vessel. Sajeev hopped gracefully out of his way, giving him that same toothy grin-not quite friendly but filled with a delighted sort of avarice that made Perrin's skin crawl. He didn't want to imagine how much this man was being paid, but he hoped it was enough to keep their throats from being cut.

Sajeev untied the lines, tossing them hard at Rik, who staggered back under the weight. Eddie smiled faintly and followed the sailor into the bridge. Perrin joined them, unwilling to leave anything with these strangers to chance-but found nothing suspicious. Just the young man, standing aside with his arms folded over his chest, watching Sajeev start the engine.

The controls were old, flecked with salt and fish scales, but duct taped to the wall was a portable stereo and an MP3 player. Sajeev tapped the device and "Highway to h.e.l.l" blared, loud enough to make Perrin flinch.

The old sailor shuffled from one foot to another, swinging his skinny hips, and began singing with the song at the top of his lungs. When he saw Perrin watching, he grinned and gave him a thumbs-up sign-that turned suddenly into a slicing motion across his throat.

"Nice," Rik said, standing in the cabin doorway. "I feel so much better."

Six hours later, Singapore was gone.

Perrin stood at the rail and watched the glittering city disappear into the horizon. His memories of the place were bittersweet. He had been naked when he'd last arrived there-against his will, alone, unable to speak a single human language. A man had found him on the beach, bleeding from the back of his neck, disoriented and sobbing.

And now you're going home.

Nausea made him hold the rail and bend his face toward the sea. Salt spray touched his bare arms, and he stared down at the water, the soft waves. The mirror, he had been taught to call the surface. Two worlds, separated by light and dark, skies above and skies below. And never the two shall meet.

Bile rose up his throat. He imagined cool slick water rushing over his skin and turned away. This was so much harder than he had thought it would be, after all the years fantasizing how he might return to the ocean. Peace, he had always told himself. He would feel peace. Peace at the chance to live as himself for however long it took until others of his kind found and killed him.

But living as human was already a slow death. He couldn't even reside in freshwater lakes, of which there were many that could have accommodated one Krackeni male, in secret. Other Krackeni tolerated freshwater, but his father had taken even that from him.

He, and the old sea witch, thought Perrin. I hate magic.

He turned. Eddie sat behind him on a plastic lawn chair that had been bolted to the deck. His head was tilted back, eyes closed. Perrin didn't think he was asleep. Rik certainly wasn't. He stared at the sea, shoulders hunched, head hanging.

How did we end up in the same place? Perrin wondered, wishing he could ask Rik that question. But after the initial shock of seeing each other, communication had shut down. Not that it should matter. The shape-shifter was the least of his concerns.

Green eyes. A scream.

Darkness.

Perrin kept trying to think about the darkness, but those green eyes refused to be ignored. He had a feeling he should know those eyes.

You know them, whispered a small voice in his head. You're simply afraid to admit it.

"No," murmured Perrin, and winced as the base of his skull throbbed, just once. Like a ghost, fleeting. He held his breath, hoping it would simply go away, but the pain returned and did not stop-pulsing to his heartbeat. Perrin gritted his teeth, reached back, and traced the edge of the hole. The ache went deeper than his skull. Deeper, into his heart.

He sensed movement on his right. Rik, watching him. He looked away when Perrin turned, but then straightened and settled his gaze on him again, swallowing hard. Flinching, only a little, when Perrin set his jaw.