The Book of Dreams Forgotten: (A Broken Creatures Novel, Book 2) Read online

  Well this was just rich.

  The man began to pace, and despite her startled state, she was not so out of it as to miss the strange way in which he moved. There was a smooth flawlessness to it—and then something more, something . . . off. Maybe it was the streetlights, the darkness, or her own slipping sanity, but she was sure there was something inexplicably defying about the soundless footfalls. The way the space around him seemed to shrink away, as if he commanded it.

  “It does not matter. Currently, Inoli’s housed at a research center, where there, she will tell you everything. We are to drive to her location tonight.”

  She chewed her bottom lip now as she stared at him. No matter what element he presented to his need, she couldn’t see where she played a part. Busying her surprisingly steady hands with stacking the scatter of papers, she said patiently, “If this Inoli person is sick, you should know I’m not an immortal doctor.” Also a lie. There’d been plenty of times where she and her team were tasked with keeping one of the abominations alive long enough to interrogate them.

  “I know.” He sounded amused by this.

  She wasn’t. “Then why seek me out?” If this Inoli was sick, then the creature would be dead by nightfall if they entrusted her hands with it. She knew better than to speak that aloud. “Why me?”

  He ceased pacing, and the silence he wove ensued an electric intensity inside of her. His eyes on her as though she meant something to him she could never begin to understand. It shook away the last filaments of caution, exerting over her a new emotion. Wonder, that deep sea of curiosity she sometimes likened to her birthright. She loved one thing more than ridding the earth’s face of immortals and that was chasing mysteries, unknowns, digging deeper for understanding.

  This creature, there was something more he wasn’t telling her. Something crucial, massive.

  Playing down her colossal curiosity, she asked again, this time more insistent, “Why me?”

  “Because,” he murmured softly, attention drifting some place far from this apartment. “It has to be you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we don’t have time for questions. You can come willingly or I can drag you to the research center. It makes no difference to me.”

  “And this research center you speak of, where’s it located?” she asked anyway.

  “Anahuac, Texas.”

  Texas. Go figure. Only other place he could’ve said was Florida and she’d really have cast him off to the looney bin.

  “Does it have a name?”

  “We mostly just call it the Sanctuary. It’s not your run-of-the-mill medical practice location. It’s more, as the name implies, a sanctuary. Inoli owns it, directs it and the others . . .” His arms were folded again, his body slouched against the counter where he’d been previously. “They do something more akin to search and rescue.”

  “And what do you do?” she wondered, waiting to hear something along the lines of the Human Centipede.

  “Ten seconds.”

  Ten seconds? “For?”

  “To decide.”

  “Decide what exactly? And might I note, ten seconds is hardly enough time to even decide between breakfast items, let alone whatever you’re after. How about twenty seconds?”

  He was behind her in a blur. “I told Inoli this would be easier my way,” he sighed to himself, right before a red hot pain erupted at her temple and her lights went out.

  Ch. 8

  “Peter, it’s alright,” Lia had assured me when Jera wasted no time asking her to watch over the shop while we were away. “I’ve seen you operate the register a million times and I know everyone’s schedule by heart. And,” She’d placed her hand on Danny’s shoulder then. “I have Danny here to help me.”

  Which the boy had not looked thrilled about, though that had more to do with the sudden news that I was leaving. The attachment, I was going to have to do something about it. That and the fact that I was officially blowing off Natalie’s classes for an entire week, which was how long the flight tickets indicated we would be in Anahuac.

  I’d told myself I would spend the entire plane ride thinking up ways to make it up to her, but instead I’d spent the bumpy ride comforting a very overheated succubus who decided to tell me at the last minute that “she and heights weren’t the best combination”.

  By the time the plane kissed down and we were rolling our luggage from the checkout lanes, I was out of comfort words as Jera still walked stiffly as if she was still buckled into the plane.

  Houston, Texas wasn’t as cold as I’d expected it to be in December. The day was clear, lolling around that perfect sixty-nine degrees with the sun shining pleasantly onto the traffic in the pick-up region. The airport was as busy as only a Friday could be, but when we found the booked town car waiting at the port, I looked to Jera, trying to keep a straight face as her legs moved awkwardly on the level ground.

  “Here,” I offered, moving to lift her suitcase.

  She took the opportunity to stop walking, pushing the luggage towards me.

  I didn’t understand one thing. “You said you and Lia had been looking for me for some time when you came here. How did you two travel across the globe, because something tells me it wasn’t by plane.”

  “We had our methods,” was all she divulged.

  I let it go.

  The ride was a quiet one, Jera deep in her thoughts while I pondered what it was that drove her here. More importantly, this Inoli person had said she had answers to my questions. She hadn’t been lying about Bryan, so maybe she was telling the truth about this. About her knowledge of me. Maybe there was a chance she might know something about how to get Jera and I out of our bond. How I could heal Lia, because so far, the list of solutions I’d compiled were failures in their own right.

  Training harder wasn’t the answer.

  Trying to force Lia to communicate and let me try to fix her again was a dead end.

  A miracle falling from the sky was unlikely.

  My aversion and skepticism of the Sanctuary hadn’t waned, but if it enticed Jera to give us a chance and there was a chance of obtaining something helpful from this dark elf, I supposed the opportunity alone shed some light on the situation.

  An hour later, my thoughts and worries came to a halt as the town car turned down a long road where grass plains stretched to a vanishing point, and what I saw left me speechless: the Sanctuary was a world away from what I’d imagined. Given my opinion on the trip, I’d been prepared for something seedy and rundown. A shady establishment that all but spelled out doom and gloom.

  What I saw instead was a structure as enormous as it was disturbing. It was no Sanctuary, but a piece of history risen from the earth like an excavated tomb. Or forgotten mansion left to rot. Multiple stories tall; moss, decay, both became the granite in which the structure was composed of. Vines hung from over a hundred gaunt, gaping window panes. Their glass was weathered, sunlight seeming to hiss away from the burgundy grime of the window nearest.

  The beast of a place had to occupy a number of acres I was unable to comprehend. Pointed terraces reached high into what had been a cloudless sky at the airport, but was now a grey, sickly mist breathing down over the whole of the property. Two disjoining columns of stairs spiralled from the immaculate double doors, carved of blood, sweat and alabaster.

  But no matter what colors the place attempted to harvest, I saw only a mucky grey. A color only endlessly rain-battered rocks achieved.

  So not seedy and rundown, but haunted and frightening.

  “Gorgeous,” Jera breathed.

  “It’s a haunted mansion,” I muttered. “In which we’re supposed to sleep at for the next seven days.” If I ended up in a body bag, who would inherit the shop?

  “It can’t be all bad,” she said, opening her door.

  How unusually optimistic of her, I thought drily as I got out on the other side.

  Before I could go around to the back to handle the luggage, the chau
ffeur was already there, lifting both suitcases. The stout man looked to me, his hairs grey, eyes crinkled to crows feet as he smiled. “Not to worry. I’ll have these delivered to your assigned room.”

  A cool breeze had me shoving my hands in my pockets awkwardly, trying my level best to ignore the crawling sensation beneath my skin at the mere enormity of the looming structure. “Thanks, I guess.”

  “No need to thank me. Miss Inoli wishes for us all to treat you as most honored guests during your stay.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but Jera clapped her hands together and said, “Well, it’s about time someone notes my worth around here.” At my glare, she scowled. “You’ve had me living in your little hut for shy of a month. At the very least allow me to enjoy this.”

  My little hut. I shook my head but followed the two of them up the interlocked pavement, my words steeped on my tongue as I caught sight of the statues posted at either end of the curled stairways. They were massive, at least four times my height. Canidae of some sort, two wolves sitting with one forepaw lifted, ears straight as a sentinel, which was exactly what they reminded me of, the lion statues found in the courtyard of Buda Castle, except these were not poised in mid-roar, nor did they look nearly as viscous. Though, despite it, there was something unsettling about them. Something that, when I regarded them too long, made me want to forget I’d ever seen them. As if they emitted a sanctified aura warding off trespassers.

  I looked away.

  Jera had jumped at the opportunity to wear something besides a work uniform, having opted for black jeans that fit her small physique perfectly, her fingers hooked casually on the cotton suspenders she’d donned over a white shirt. Her rivulet of black curls were contained in a high ponytail, the mass of it making my neck hurt just by looking at it.

  But I had to admit, the twins did have fair taste when it came to clothing articles. Something Jera never let me forget. Which was why she’d banned me from my go-to faded and worn jeans and of course, the too-big-yet-comfortable shirts I liked to wear.

  Instead, I’d been stuffed into what I was pretty sure was one of Dad’s old silk button-ups from when he and Ma used to take dance classes, and even worse, dress pants. I probably looked more like I was on my way to Sunday service than a suspicious invite to some decrepit mansion.

  I glanced over my shoulder, unease growing.

  The property was private, in the visual and legal sense. Large oaks fastened themselves as cloaks along the wide-stretching shoreline, their canopies making it impossible to so much as discern my own shadow.

  “Tell me you’re not going to sulk all while we’re here,” Jera said.

  “The letter, this building, doesn’t it concern you just a little bit?”

  “Peter, did you not hear the faery? There is a dark elf here. Not just any dark elf, but one gifted with foresight, a rarity typically found strictly in Imperial Beasts.”

  “Is that supposed to mean something to me? If you wanted your fortune told, couldn’t we have, I don’t know, gone to one of the old ladies in town?” I was sure they’d get a kick out of reading Jera’s palm, just as much as they’d like to get a pretty penny out of us.

  “Yes, but there is a fundamental difference here,” she said as in front of us, towering cherry wood doors groaned to an open. “The dark elf isn’t a sham.”

  A mellow apricot scent lilted over the three of us, a warmth sidling up close. At the door was a man in a suit no different from the chauffeur’s, his smile just as kind, if not more so. Behind him, I could make out the long stretch of the wide corridor, golden chandeliers dangling, their twinkling lights gleaming through crystal fixtures and casting silver glints like starlight over a carpet so monotonous, my eyes strained to look at it.

  “I’m home,” Jera whispered, hands clasped, eyes shimmering as fiercely as the chandeliers above.

  “Welcome, welcome,” said the doorman. “My name is Harold and I will be your escort while you’re here. You must be Peter.” I shook his extended hand. “And you must be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes upon.”

  When his lips descended upon the back of Jera’s hand, I found my hand mysterious moving to the small of her back.

  “A real gem, she is,” I retorted sarcastically.

  Harold took one look at my face and whatever was there made him take a step back. “Yes, yes indeed,” he murmured, then turned on his heels with grace.

  Jera shrugged from my touch without a word, following our escort as the chauffeur took our luggage in another direction.

  “It would seem Miss Inoli has proven herself remarkable with timing seeing as our other guests arrived before you,” Harold said. “If you would follow me, I can get you situated in the master study until the headmistress arrives.”

  Headmistress? Had I stepped out of one era and into another?

  It became entirely feasible when we rounded the corner and the elegance grew richer, darker and vaguely creepy. The vestibule had all the imitation decor of a Victorian manor, except, there was a good chance the old-style Turkish chaise and vintage lounger weren’t imitations, but the real thing.

  “How old is this place?” I found myself wondering.

  “Quite old, sir. It was built sometime back before the Armored War.”

  “The what?” I was no history buff, but that name didn’t ring a bell from even the most rudimentary of scholastics.

  The man looked back at me, gave me something of a sad smile then said gently, “Nothing you need worry yourself with. It’s of the past.”

  I looked to Jera for elaboration, but she was doing a good job of walking two paces ahead of me. Back to distancing herself. Back to making me wonder if that moment when we’d been sitting outside of the office, Danny’s brother hanging on his last breath, had ever happened.

  I clenched my fists. I wanted that moment back, because aside from the death that’d incurred, there was an interstice where the sun had stretched across the shop’s walls, blanketing us. A brief suspension of time where Jera had looked to me and I’d been struck with a stark and memorable revelation: she was the one.

  Not romantically.

  But something more . . . genuine. Irrefutable. As if the universe had whispered to me, promising that so long as she lived, I would never be alone again, and that black aperture drilled into my chest, it would mend a thousand times over.

  Clearly the universe didn’t know a thing.

  “Here we are,” Harold announced, thankfully pulling me from my disappointment. He opened the door and left us to what could only be the master study.

  The Victorian influence faded instantly, replaced by nothing more than a large yet cozy study. There was an expansive bay window towards the back that reminded me of my shop, which I was beginning to miss with all of the miles between us. The window’s curtains were pulled closed, a desk set in front of it, two lamps on either side. At its center was a projector aimed to the curtains, displaying an empty screen. Along the adjacent walls were plush microfiber sofas, black throws resting over the backs, long coffee tables placed before each of them. Edibles rest on one of them—finger sandwiches, a large bowl of strawberries, pastries, and cheese blocks with cantors of no doubt expensive wine posted at either end of the wood. On the other table were stacks of papers, folders, all neatly compiled.

  I half expected Jera to go after the pastries, but her eyes were locked on something else, her body having gone deathly still.

  Seated at one of the loveseats nestled between two extended bookcases was a woman who couldn’t have been older than me. She had her feet propped on a chaise, ankles crossed, elbows resting on the armrests in nonchalance. But there was a small curl at the corner of her mouth, a natural mou or taunt, I couldn’t tell. Bronze, straight hair fell low past her chest, one strand toyed between her fingers.

  “And I suppose these are the other two captives you so lovingly ‘searched and rescued?’” the woman said lightly, pushing her glasses up her nose.
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  Captives?

  Who was she talking to? I glanced around for Harold, but he’d vanished the moment he dropped us off at the study.

  “They are not captives.”

  I wheeled around towards the voice and watched as a man peeled away from the shadows. Towering, blank-faced, he could have been a statue no different from the ones outside.

  “You’re one of them,” Jera whispered at the woman, the soft brush of her tone pricking ice in my veins.

  “One of who?” I asked, confusion growing. “Is this the dark elf? Inoli?”

  Ignoring me, her lips pulled back viciously, a snarl erupting from lungs that couldn’t have possibly been human. “You work for them, don’t you?” Jera growled.

  The woman smiled brightly, eyes sparking with a twisted thrill I didn’t understand. Then she tapped her chest, the medical white coat she adorned. “Yes, I work for them—with pleasure,” came the sweet pur.

  Stitched into the heart of the whitecoat were the letters H.B.

  What was an HB agent doing here?

  What happened next, I couldn’t comprehend. I seldom could when it came to supernatural creatures. But I knew three fundamental truths the moment Jera lunged:

  One—she’d been holding back when facing off with Natalie.

  Two—if she got her hands on this woman who worked for the people who’d done something so despicable to her sister that she’d shoved us all away, she was going to rip her apart with her bare hands.

  Three—a part of me wanted her to.

  But something stopped her.

  Inside, my heart began to thrash. My dark energy pulsed like roaring falls. Adrenaline bled into me, poisoned my senses, until all at once I felt the wings knife from my back without warning. They spliced through Dad’s shirt, shredding it as the iridescent blades flared and encompassed nearly a quarter of the room. Power thrummed throughout them like volts of pure energy, my palms burning. That hunger of before opened up in the pit of me, searching with a ravenous intensity that stirred my stomach and rose bile to the back of my tongue.

  Time came to a trickle, sound distorting, elongated.