The Dream Catcher's Daughter Read online

  The Dream Catcher’s Daughter

  a novel by

  Steven Fox

  CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTYONE

  TWENTYTWO

  TWENTYTHREE

  TWENTYFOUR

  TWENTYFIVE

  TWENTYSIX

  TWENTYSEVEN

  PART ONE

  ONE

  He pulled the van onto South Hollow Avenue. On this Tuesday, Jason was making a routine delivery for his father’s grocery store. He ran through his head a checklist of items: milk, eggs, bread, and crushed fairy bones. The latter was held within a glowing circle of chalk in the back of the van. Jason knew nothing of the bone powder, aside from “Keep it out of sunlight,” as his father had said, and “Don’t sniff it.” Not that Jason made a habit out of sniffing things, but he was a curious person. The key word being was.

  A house pulled into view on Jason’s right: It had a low-pitched roof with tiles the color of red clay and below this, a white screen door marking the middle of a large porch littered with glass shards and dark planting soil.

  He parked the van and killed the engine. Heaving a sigh, he leaned back in his seat, staring through the passenger-side window at the porch. He counted the flower pots—five of them—and tried to remember if there had been six or seven before. Jason glanced at the clock: 5:15 P.M. Part of him wondered if he could sit there for forty-five minutes. He didn’t care about money, but without any more deliveries, the only way to fill out the last half hour of his shift was to work in-store. To interact with people. He closed his eyes.

  He unbuckled his seatbelt and hopped out of the van. A cool breeze lapped at the back of his neck as he skirted the van’s side toward the back doors. He’d covered the inside of the windows with One-Way Tarps, which, as his father had explained, camouflaged all magical things. If someone looked at one side of the tarp, they would see through it. But not really. They wouldn’t see the white circle inscribed on the van’s floor, or the box of powdered fairy bones the circle secured in its center. They would merely see the eggs and milk and Jason and everything else non-magical.

  The tarp’s other side was normal, so Jason couldn’t see out his back window. He’d asked his father if it wouldn’t be wiser to flip the tarp so he could see. But Jason’s father had only shook his head, muttering, “You never put crushed fairy bones in daylight. Never.” Jason, under his father’s order, wrapped the jar of bones in several towels and then stuffed it into a box.

  When Jason opened one of the back doors, he felt hyperaware of the sun on his neck. He had never taken magic classes and knew nothing besides what he was told. With his eighteenth birthday around the corner, it was impossible to learn.

  Cradling the box of bone-dust in one arm, he decided the milk and eggs could wait, especially after glancing at the customer’s receipt. If something happened to the fairy bones, the money Jason would owe couldn’t be covered in a year. He turned toward the yard and walked up the pathway, breathing in the fresh autumn breeze—the weather he’d loved once. Jason only enjoyed it now, but wondered if enjoy might be too strong of word. Almost like a sin.

  Jason shook his head out, hoping the thought would disappear. In his mild shaking frenzy, one of the folds of the box flipped open. Quickly, he smashed it down, pushing the flap back into place. Jason sneezed, and wiped his nose on the crook of his elbow.

  He opened the screen door and stepped into the dark hallway. Trash bags lined the wall, and a layer of grime and dust coated everything. A three-legged table sat in the corner to his right. A vase with flowers sat atop the table. Next to that stood a door, and beyond was a mystery, for Jason never saw the recipients of this weekly order. Until today, Jason would never have guessed the people here to be magi. Rich, powerful magi.

  He glanced at the wall of trash bags and ran a finger along the door frame. A black streak of gunk coated his finger. Maybe the people here were well-off instead of rich.

  He set the box on the floor next to the table, just out of the sun’s reach. It would be fine once he closed the door. As Jason straightened up, he noticed something: the breeze. It felt cool only moments before. Now it felt stale and lukewarm. Something else bothered him, but he couldn’t concentrate. There was a noise, almost like a rattling. He looked at the vase and its flowers. Something white and square-shaped was lodged between the flower stems, flapping in the breeze. It almost sounded like snoring. He then realized that the breeze seemed to flow like someone’s breath: in, out, in, out.

  “Jason…”

  He turned, and saw nobody. His heart thudded, reverberating in his temples and at the base of his skull. Rubbing the back of his head, he stepped out onto the porch. There was a noise: hngh, huuh, hngh, huuh. In, out, in, out. A great shadow covered the ground; a nightly chill grew around Jason. The sun was sitting halfway between its peak and the western horizon.

  A black dot formed in the center of his vision. Jason blinked, and suddenly the dot’s shadow cloaked him and the house. The dot grew and stretched toward the ground. It took a human form, growing flesh that changed from black to gray. It stood taller than the house, taller than a large water tower. One of its toes was as round as Jason was tall. He realized this dot was female only because it grew a womanly face. Her body was smooth and featureless except for the slight curves of a teenaged girl. She had long black hair that flowed down her back, a great river of tar.

  In, out, in, out; the breeze came from her mouth, and Jason gagged at the smell—rotten chicken salad and morning breath. He blinked and blinked, hoping the giantess would disappear. Instead, he only succeeded in giving himself a headache, which formed at the back of his head. He gripped this spot, right at the base of his skull. An electric shock bolted down his neck, fanning out into his back and sides. The giantess’s flesh turned green for an instant, then back to gray. In that instant he heard a scream, then a voice: “Jason. I’m…I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.” Then a cry: “Traitor! You son of a bitch!” There were footsteps, and then running.

  His spine seized up, and he arched his head back, his mouth agape and his eyes wide and staring at the gray giantess eclipsing the sun. She kneeled down, lowering her hands toward him. He looked into her eyes and saw nothing but predatory hunger. As she spoke, Jason was awash in déjà vu.

  “Where is my king?” she said. “Tell me, or you’ll melt in my stomach.” Her voice was thunder in Jason’s relatively tiny ears. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know, Talshe,” said Jason.

  Talshe’s smile shrank. “How do you know my name?” Jason didn’t reply. Talshe’s smile turned vicious. “You know where my king is. You know where King Lukoje is.”

  Terror pooled at the bottom of Jason’s chest. He wanted to flee, but found himself frozen. Paralyzed. He thought he could hear music floating through the air, trickling into his brain. His breath remained steady, despite his galloping heart. He tasted Talshe’s rotten breath at the back of his throat. He wanted to throw up, but couldn’t bring himself to do that, either. Talshe’s hands slid under him and her fingers curled around him. Her skin was slick with sweat, yet cold and corpse-like. Jason’s feet left the ground, and he reclined into her fingers. Above him, her smile grew. Saliva glistened her lips.

  As the music cresce
ndoed, Jason realized it wasn’t in his head.

  A light blinded Jason for several moments, and he smacked against the ground. Stars swam in his vision. When they cleared, the sky was empty; Talshe had vanished. He hadn’t fallen far enough to hurt himself, but the shock was enough to make him forget his headache in favor of a new one. For a few seconds he lay there, hands at his sides, huffing. All around him the world swirled and blurred like a child’s water painting. The cool breeze washed over him again, turning his damp armpits chilly. The sweat droplets on his forehead were tips of icicles skating down his temples, ears and neck.

  The high-pitched shriek of breaking glass made him sit erect. The shrieking explosion made him jump to his feet and run to the porch doorway.

  The vase had fallen and hit the box just right, causing it to topple and pop open. Despite the layers of towels wrapped around it, the jar had rolled out of the box and into sunlight. Jason’s proof lay in a black smear across the porch, just at the foot of the door. Black glass shards were spread in all directions. Shards from the vase littered the hallway, its black potting soil in a pile below the table. He stooped down to clean up the mess.

  The white square was among the wreckage, though a tad singed. Jason moved to pick it up and place it on the table, but stopped. The square had a name inscribed upon one side: Jason. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, but the fuchsia ink didn’t fade or change. His name stared up at him. He turned the paper over in his hand, and found another name: McKinney—his last name. He threw a glance over his shoulder, then carefully unfolded the note:

  Jason,

  You’re coming undone. We can’t have that. Soon I’ll give you a key. Save all your questions and don’t worry about this note. When the key is offered to you, take it. And, whatever you do, make sure to inhale the powdered fairy bone dust. Your life depends on it.

  TWO

  His throat felt hot. The note was crushed inside his pocket. The sun of this October day kissed the horizon, bathing the front of Silver Moon Groceries in orange light. He rolled the van to a stop at the four-way intersection in front of Silver Moon. The light had turned red, and Jason leaned against the wheel. What he couldn’t get over had nothing to do with the gray-skinned giantess or the strange note. Yes, he worried about the fairy bones and what his father might say if he found out they exploded, but weighed heavily on him. What hurt most was the ache at the back of his head. The one that had manifested itself when Talshe appeared. He blinked hard, white-knuckling the steering wheel. His breath quickened. His back felt prickly and warm.

  The bleating of a horn jerked him out of his daze. The light had turned green, and a line of cars behind him chorused their horns. Jason stomped on the gas pedal and turned right, into Silver Moon’s parking lot. He drove to the garage at the back of the store, where three other vans were stored. No one was around as he killed the engine and hopped out of the van, locking its doors. He placed his van key on a hook just at the front of the garage, where three other hooks each held a set of keys. Below them was the time clock. It read: 5:59 P.M. Jason tapped his foot for a minute, then punched out.

  He shut the door behind him, and turned back toward it. While the garage held nothing incriminating to Silver Moon’s true nature, Jason’s father insisted each employee check to make sure the door was locked and enchanted. Each delivery driver was trained for this. They knew what enchantments might be on the door. These, besides what he heard from his best friend, were about the only spells Jason knew. But knowing and being able to perform them are two different things.

  Standing there, staring at the metal door with its gold, bulbous handle, Jason wondered if he could skip the door check. Probably not: His father kept records of everything. Jason sighed through his nose, braced himself, and reached out. In the split second before gripping the door, Jason wondered what it would be this time—Ivy Snare? Brain Cramps, his father’s personal favorite? Jason gripped the doorknob tight, and when neither occurred, his stomach sank. A small box-shaped hole opened upon the door. Jason tried to shrink back, but the handle held him in place. He couldn’t even uncurl his fist. He jerked and twisted, but only succeeded in growing the salty, grainy sweat-stains in his armpits.

  “Jason McKinney…”

  He froze. The voice hit him like the lowest note of a bass guitar, reverberating in his bones and the earth below. His eyes floated upward, toward the black shape in the door. His eyes narrowed.

  “YOU’RE AN ASSHAT!!!”

  Water jetted out, dousing Jason in an icy blanket. He stumbled back, his hand having come unstuck, and fell on his ass. He sucked down breath, his heart throbbing behind his Adam’s apple. He could barely hear the laughter to his left, where from around the corner, two teenagers in Silver Moon uniforms appeared.

  “Got you good, McKinney!” said the taller, fatter one. Ronnie Skinner wore his grin wide, revealing his yellow white teeth.

  The other stumbled behind him, one arm wrapped around his stomach, his eyes wrenched shut. Boone Harold’s smile was like a cut across his face. Jason hated both of these faces. Hated both of these people. Only wanted them to disappear. Now. He tried wiping off his dress shirt, but remembered that water soaks.

  “What’s with the glare, bro?” said Boone. “It was only fun.”

  Jason shook his head. “Fun? You call that fun? It’s against the rules.”

  “Yeah, yeah. No messing with store enchantments. Lighten up, McKinney! Not like we’re gonna get fired.”

  Jason stood and stalked off. The laughter and ribbing floating after him like smoke. “Get the corncob out your ass!” “Take a chill pill!” “Loosen the tie!” “You ain’t boss, yet!”

  “You’ll never be the boss, either!”

  The two burst out laughing. Jason walked toward the storefront. His face was smooth. He felt nothing inside. He hated it, but he’d chosen to be like this. It was better than letting the shadows return.

  Just inside the store stood a huge display of chips and soda—a Halloween special. After the dinner rush, the display was merely a skeleton of paper and cardboard. Beside it sat a bench. There was a lone boy on the bench with red cheeks and puffy eyes. The boy cradled a Transformers action figure in his lap.

  “Hey, Trevor,” said Jason. The boy looked up, and upon seeing Jason, rubbed his eyes. “Wha’cha doing here?”

  Trevor’s eyes gleamed, and Jason hoped Trevor wouldn’t cry. But Trevor only looked down at his toy and sniffed. “Waiting for my mama,” he said.

  Jason ran a hand through his black hair. “Something happen?”

  “My friends.”

  “They picking on you?” Trevor nodded. “Why?”

  “They say Transformers are for babies.”

  Jason crossed his arms. He wanted to grin, but his lips didn’t work like that. “They don’t sound like very good friends.”

  “Aren’t all friends good?”

  “Nah, not really. Good friends wouldn’t diss you like that. If I were your friend, I’d bring my Transformers and we’d play.”

  Trevor looked up, his eyes wide, his bowl-cut bangs brushing his brow. “You’d…play Transformers with me?”

  Jason tried to smile again, but couldn’t. Instead, he shrugged. “Well, I’m pretty busy, so I can’t promise that. But I can let you borrow my Megatron figure.”

  “Will you really?”

  “Sure. I’ll drop him off at the elementary school tomorrow. Promise.”

  Trevor smiled and hugged Jason, who hadn’t been expecting it. He stood there, stiff and motionless. His scalp prickled. A voice came from Jason’s left: “Giving out free hugs? I want one.”

  Darlene Mosby wouldn’t prank Jason. Tease, maybe. But her wide smile and soft green eyes gave him nothing but a sense of security.

  “Sorry,” said Jason. “All out for today.”

  “Ah. Well, I’ll take an I.O.U.” And she winked.

  Trevor said, “Ew.” And Darlene laughed. Jason stared longingly at her smile.

  After her laug
hter died, Darlene put her hands on her hips, her curly brown hair falling in a tangled veil across her round face. “Your father’s lookin’ for ya,” she said.

  “Oh, good.” Jason hoped his father hadn’t heard about the fairy bones.

  “You-know-who is here, too.” Jason only stared, and Darlene’s smile fell. “Is that bad?”

  “It’s not my birthday yet.”

  “Well, your dad is his old apprentice.”

  Nodding, Jason looked at Trevor and wished he could smile at his old mentee. “I’ll be around tomorrow,” he said. “Promise.” The boy smiled, and Jason walked away with Darlene.

  They moved past the cash registers, down the pop aisle. They walked slowly, taking their time. Jason told her what happened by the garage. Darlene’s mouth came unhinged like a broken gate. “I think I’ll tell my dad. I’d feel bad for having Ronnie and Boone fired. Okay, not really. But I feel like it’s a waste of Dad’s time.”

  “They broke the rules—the ones your dad wrote. I don’t think it’s a waste of time. What if they messed up an enchantment and got us all exposed?”

  “True. I just don’t like being the tattletale.”

  “’Fraid they’ll come after ya?”

  “Not really. You’d pound them into pulp.”

  They high-fived each other, and Darlene turned back to head up front. Jason turned to the doors leading to the back room, beyond which lay his father’s office. The Guardian’s here, he thought. It’s not even my birthday yet.

  Jason pushed past the swinging doors. He weaved his way through a maze of grocery palettes and stacks of milk crates. His father’s office was at the back of the store in case any normies—non-magical folk—haplessly wandered in. You needed to know the way, otherwise you’d magically find yourself at the fire exit, nowhere near Mr. McKinney’s office. Jason learned this the hard way when he started working more than two years ago. Since then, he has mastered the backroom route.