Dreamwalker, p.16
DreamWalker, page 16
"You aren't." There was no inflection, no change in volume, but she sensed he was getting angry about it. "I'm volunteering. I'm your guard, you just got shot at, we're going somewhere safer."
"How about I get us a hotel?"
He shut that down immediately and Yasmin found herself bringing her kittens and all their paraphernalia to Luke's apartment.
When he bolted the apartment door behind them, the air leaving his lungs was audible. His shoulders changed level, dropping at least some of the tension he'd been carrying. Too exhausted to be tense, Yasmin instead felt guilty. There was no way to win here.
She offered to set up a spare bed in his office, but he said the futon was ready to go. Both of them bone weary, she trailed along to the back of the unit, kitten box weighing her down physically, the mewing weighing her mentally.
Luke stopped in the hallway and took the box from her. "Let them out." Then he proceeded to do just that. She was ready to tell him to wash his hands before he touched his face, but then realized she'd sound like a pesky mother and shut her mouth at the last moment. He was a grown-up. If he wanted to suffer from touching the kittens, that was his choice.
Apparently that was exactly the choice he'd made. He stroked each of their little heads and talked softly to them, telling them he knew they were freaked out, but they'd like his place. Then he set them down and turned them into free-range allergens.
He then tried to install Yasmin—and the kittens—in his bedroom, insisting that he remake the bed. Though she fought tooth and nail for it—and considered just casting a spell on him to make him agree—Yasmin won the right to the futon.
"Luke, I'm not going to sleep well wherever I am. You should at least be in your own bed. Plus, you don't want kittens all over your bedroom. It's bad enough they're in your home."
She didn't change her clothes, the second night in a row of just falling into bed.
In ten minutes, she was out cold.
Ten minutes after that, she was screaming herself awake.
As tired as he was, he still didn't sleep deeply. His body and brain both seemed to know when he was 'on' and with Yasmin there he wasn't off yet.
He thought he'd have a hard time falling asleep. Luke was pissed at himself for not thinking about his car. The Del Surs—even though he hadn't seen a single one of them—must have been watching. Because the first evening she was in the house without his car there, they opened fire on her.
While it answered his question of whether she was the real target or he was, it wasn't the answer he wanted.
Despite his cell deep irritation with his own miss and his fundamental anger at the Del Surs for shooting at Yasmin yet again, he fell asleep pretty quickly. So when he heard the screams, he bolted.
His brain ran scenarios rapidly, but his hand reached automatically for the gun he was now sleeping beside. Luke had it in hand and was across the hall even as his brain tried to decide how they'd gotten in. The motion sensor in his living room had been set when he and Yasmin came back this way, so no one had come through the front door. Plus, he'd long ago installed two unexpected bolts and the windows were all fitted with security tags. That meant no one had scaled the walls and come in through her window . . . Unless they'd also disabled the security system which . . .
He had her door open and was scanning the room before his thoughts could play out.
"There's no one here." Even as he made the statement, he realized how stupid he sounded. Of course there was no one there. She was obviously having a nightmare and—given the situation—it was also obvious why.
Sitting up now, shaking herself awake, she clutched the comforter to her chest and tried to get herself together. It wasn't really working. He could see she hadn't even made an attempt to get undressed, only taken her shoes off. Luke had barely managed to strip down to his t-shirt and throw on some flannel pants, but still he was way ahead of her. "Are you going to be able to get back to sleep?"
"Sure." She forced a smile that might have passed muster with anyone else, but he could see it for the bald-faced lie it was.
So he just nodded and ignored her answer. "Want to watch TV?"
This time when she nodded to him it was at least honest if slow and uncertain. He could see she was in that state where the dream lingered. Her brain had figured out that it wasn't real but the feelings clung like spider webs and slowed her movements as she stood and started toward the door.
Her movement triggered a wail from under the bed. The kittens must have hidden there when she screamed. That at least brought Yasmin into the world of the fully alert, but Luke beat her to them.
On his hands and knees he peered under the futon frame, quickly spotting two pairs of green eyes cowering behind a box he'd shoved back there a long time ago. He was never going to be able to reach them, but they scrambled to him easily enough when he reached out to check.
There was something stupidly satisfying about that kind of faith. These tiny creatures were vulnerable to everything around them. A good-sized bird could easily eat them as a snack, they were small enough to get stepped on by most things, they ran under furniture at the slightest sign of discord. But they trusted him enough to climb right into his hand.
"Don't. You're allergic." Her voice was soft, lacking any real conviction. It was nice she was looking out for him.
Luke said "I'm fine. Don't worry." Or he would have, had he not sneezed—epically—right in the middle of it. Still he carried the kittens out to the couch, not complaining when they dug in their claws and climbed his t-shirt to perch on his shoulder.
The four of them settled in on the couch but didn't ever turn the TV on.
"Thank you." Her words were soft, but heavy. "For everything."
"Don't worry about it." It was what he did, still he couldn't quite bring himself to tell her it was just a job. To say he wasn't actually being nice or helpful to her, per se, it was more that he wanted to bring down the Del Surs. He couldn't say it because none of it was true.
There was something personal at play here. Not just between him and the gang he'd tried before to lock up. When they'd shot at her in the parking lot of the grocery store, Luke had felt personally attacked. He still couldn't completely sort out if that was because he'd already developed this deep crush on her or if it was because they were shooting up his neighborhood, or if something had happened in that very moment and everything that happened to her happened to him, too.
He felt that way. He couldn't explain it—partly because he didn't have the words. And partly because he wasn't allowed to.
If he told her what he felt, he would cross that blue line, the one that kept cops professionally but not personally involved in cases.
Also, if he gave voice to those inappropriate thoughts, he would jeopardize the case. If the Del Surs walked free, they would be out there, waiting to finish the job, to take out Yasmin as soon as they had the opportunity. That thought completed the personal/professional loop he was riding: if they got to her, he personally would never be able to live with the loss. Even though she was lost to him the moment he drew his gun and his badge in the parking lot of the grocery store. If she were truly lost, he'd be finished.
Luke simply didn't want to examine that, so when she started asking questions, he just answered them.
"Have you been shot at before?"
He nodded. "But not like this. I've been close to gun fights twice, but in both cases, no one was shooting at me." That was when he was working guns and gangs. "I've been shot at, once, by a suspect, but he was running away from us—me and my partner—and I was too mad to be afraid he'd actually hit me."
"Wow."
Luke shrugged. "People are notoriously bad shots. Even officers and range marksmen. Once you're in it, you go all sorts of stupid. Bullets don't go where they're intended . . . And that's what's really dangerous."
He heard her breathe in, "I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or not. Does it get easier? You sound relatively calm about it."
"Some of them were almost four years ago. I was terrified after the fact, realizing what could have happened. But it fades." Holding on to what professionalism he could while they sat on his couch at three a.m. in their pajamas, he refrained from mentioning that he was still terrified about the two times she'd been shot at. He'd only just ceased to shake when thinking about that gun aimed at her at the grocery store. It was worse that they'd shot up her house.
Yasmin seemed to think the same thing. Her expression turned from curious to sad. "I'm going to have to file all kinds of things with my homeowners insurance. I love that house. I wonder how fast the windows will get fixed and I can get back in." She wasn't looking at him, her fingers fiddling with the fringe of the throw his mother had placed on his couch as a 'housewarming' gift several years ago.
It was good she wasn't looking at him. "The windows aren't the issue. Your house is a crime scene. You can't go back."
She looked at him now, the disappointment breaking his heart. He understood. Her world was bad enough, she'd been shot at, she needed the comfort of her own home, and he'd just told her she couldn't have it.
"You can't go back until it's safe anyway, regardless of when the techs are done with it."
"Where do I go?" She looked lost. She was lost.
"Here."
Yasmin started to protest, but he just waved a hand at her. She seemed to understand what he meant. The world had gone to hell, what did it matter if she stayed here? She'd be safe—and that was what was most important.
He tried changing the subject. "Tell me about your house? How did you find it?"
She frowned at him until he said, "I'd been thinking about buying a house, getting my own four walls. But it was my first time buying."
"Oh." And that was all it took. Clearly she loved talking about it.
"My friend Delilah helped me. She's bought and sold a couple times out here. And I got a good real estate agent and . . ."
"What?" Smiling now that she was distracted, he leaned in. "What's the secret?"
"I . . .um, cast a spell for the right house to go on the market for the right price."
"You can do that?"
Grinning, she nodded.
"Can I ask? Is that how you can afford the house? Is that okay to ask?"
She laughed at him outright. "You're asking? That means you and Detective Valverde haven't pulled all my bank accounts and checked every deposit to see if I'm not some real target for the gang or something?"
Luke had to concede that one. "Valverde probably has. And while I have a professional courtesy inside track on your case, I'm not really privy to all the intel. I'll be on the stand as a witness and a player in this one, not as the arresting officer."
Thinking for a moment, Yasmin went back to absentmindedly running her fingers through the fringe on the blanket. "So I cast the spell and the agent found me the house. I'd already met with a loan agent and gotten my shit together. Paid off what old debt I could and gathered up a down payment."
He nodded. "Cops don't make much money. I'm doing better since I made detective, but honestly, there were years I couldn't save anything after just paying rent and bills. I have some money banked now, and while it would be plenty to put down on a house somewhere else, I'm not sure about here. Even the postage stamps in the poor neighborhoods are into six figures easy."
Yasmin nodded. "Mine is." Then she looked at him a little oddly, leaned in like she was examining him. Then, seeming to make a decision, she sat back. "I won some money in the lotto. That's how I made the down payment."
"That's lucky! Can I ask how much?"
She rattled off a high five digit figure. "It was the only way I could afford a payment. I work in a shop on Highland avenue. It may be witchcraft but it's still retail." She paused and again looked at him oddly. "Maybe I could pay you back that way."
Only able to frown and shake his head, he couldn't untangle what she meant.
"I can win some lotto money. Instead of just paying you a single dollar. Which, by the way, is not enough." She shrugged this time, as though she were unsure. "I mean, if you'd be willing to take it."
"I can't."
Even as she looked away, her eyes rolled at the statement. "It's not stealing, I'd make sure it was okay with the universe first. It's not blood money or anything."
"No, it's not that." He touched her arm, getting her attention back. "I can't take money from you. It would jeopardize the case."
"Later then, after this is done."
"It could lead to an appeal, if there were large quantities of money changing hands." He had to admit, having the amount she talked about infused into his bank account had a strong appeal. He understood why people stole . . . It didn't make it right, but he understood the urge. The thought of being able to afford a house, even a small one like she had, was another thought that he was ready to move to the next part of his life.
She nodded, then turned back to him. "You can win the lotto. That way I'm not giving you the money." Then she held up her hands to ward off whatever he was going to say next, even though he hadn't come up with the words yet. "I've only done it a few times. The down payment was the largest sum I've won. And it takes a handful of tries . . . But I always come out ahead."
Luke just blinked. "Seriously? You can just go in and play the lotto a handful of times and win enough cash to do that?"
She nodded.
"Why do you work? Why don't you win the whole thing? I—" Lord, if he could always come out ahead on the lotto . . . He'd once read that the lotto was a tax on people who were bad at math. And he'd always believed it.
"I can't. I'm not allowed. I mean . . . You wouldn't understand. When you get into real Wicca, you always work under the tenant 'harm none.' Sometimes there's this . . . Universal push back when you try to do something. I usually get a deep, bad feeling if I try it on the big lotto. Like I'm messing with the real winners' mojo. So I play scratchers. And I like my job. I —" She shrugged.
So she couldn't win the big thing, but she could win five figures? It didn't make a lot of sense. And he asked what he wanted to all along. "If you can win the lotto almost at will, and you can create a world of your own making, why couldn't you keep from becoming a random target in a gang war?"
Chapter 15
It was all pretty embarrassing. Yasmin was used to the standard "If you're a witch and you're so powerful why aren't you rich? Why aren't you living in a mansion in the hills and visiting the spa all day?"
She always answered, "I could, but the price is too high."
The energetic work alone to maintain that would be astronomical. She'd literally pass out from exhaustion at trying to move that mountain. Also, it was horridly hard to work against the universe, and there was always a kickback. Which is exactly what she told Luke. "The problem was, I deserved the kickback."
"So you brought it on yourself? It's just as hard to believe that you could make yourself the target of a gang you have no prior association with."
It took a big sigh before she could bring herself to say it. When she did, she blurted out the words, "I cast a love spell."
It was almost worse that he nodded. "I take it that's a no-no."
"Yeah." Feeling like a kid confessing to some family crime, she had a hard time looking at Luke. The fact that it was the middle of the night and he was being nice staying up with her only made it worse. "You're not supposed to try to change other people's lives."
"And you did that?" He was tilting his head sideways, as though he were trying to get her to make eye contact. "On your boss?"
That worked.
Her head snapped up, her open mouth and wide eyes cleanly giving away that she'd thought that was a secret. She didn't have to speak. Luke did.
"That's what I thought." This time he looked away for a moment. "Did it work?"
"Yes and no." She picked at the fringe on his throw blanket for something to do. Yasmin was hoping he wouldn't ask anything more, but of course he did.
"You have to tell me what that means . . ."
"Well . . ." It took her a moment to get going, but once she started, the words just seemed to fall out of her. Cleansing in the telling, they tumbled of their own accord. "I couldn't just cast one on him—both because it's not good Wicca, but also because Tristan is a much stronger witch than I am. He totally would have seen any spell I cast directly on him and traced it right back to me. It would have been more subtle and more effective to walk in wearing a T-shirt that just said so."
Luke nodded as though that all made sense. "So you can just 'see' spells and who cast them?"
"Oh, no, not me. But Tristan is really good at it. Delilah, too." Without being prompted she chattered away at the rest of her cathartic confession. "So I cast this grand universal 'Bring My True Love To Me' spell rather than just casting on Tristan."
"And it didn't work?" His head tipped as though he were thinking a bit.
She had to laugh. "It backfired. It sure brought something though, didn't it? Bullets weren't what I had in mind. But it was no less than I deserved, trying a love spell like that. They are always bad news. Like money spells."
Again, Luke nodded as though she made perfect sense. Yasmin had to agree—she did make sense, just a lot of people didn't agree. They were too closed-minded to really listen. Luke wasn't like that. He seemed genuinely interested.
Then again, Yasmin had heard doctors say they were nice to the crazy patients to get them to talk about what they were hallucinating. She didn't put it past Luke to be using those same skills. In fact, she'd bet they came in really handy as a detective trying to get people to open up to him.
Still, when he asked her "So, playing lotto scratchers isn't a money spell?"
She fell right for it, it sounded so genuine, and she just spoke. "No. That's more of a question-and-answer kind of thing. I ask the universe to give me money and it answers either yes or no. Sometimes the answers is 'no' and I struggle to pay my bills just like everyone. But sometimes the answer is yes, and I get a down payment for my house."
