And that’s when I realized I’d been dreaming. David hadn’t set foot in the States in over a year. Matt and Jesse were dead. And I was holding my own gun to my head.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Ilowered my arm, thumbed the safety, and set Grief in Vayl’s outstretched hand. As soon as I let it go he pulled me into his arms. It didn’t feel so much like a hug as it did a straitjacket.Don’t move, you crazy fool .
“Jasmine, I never knew you felt so desperate. You should have spoken to me. I would have helped you. I am yoursverhamin .” As if that explained everything. After a few moments of escalating struggles, I disengaged from Vayl’s embrace. I didn’t like his tone. It was too . . . freaked. And Vayl never freaked. Never.
I said, “I know what it looked like, but I wasn’t trying to kill myself. It was a dream.”
“You mean, you were sleepwalking?”
“Looks like it.”Be calm. Pretend that wasn’t the most insane thing you’ve done so far. And, for God’s sake, shut off that Pink Floyd soundtrack in your sick, twisted brain. But no matter how hard I tried, I kept hearing the song “Brain Damage” and Roger Waters crooning, “The lunatic is in my head.”
We’d made shore. Cole, Bergman, and Cassandra turned to lead Vayl and me back to the RV.
“I’ve heard of sleepwalkers acting out their dreams like that. There’s a name for it,” Bergman offered.
“There’s a name for everything,” I said dryly. I sounded calm, but inside my psyche had drawn up with asnap! The normal order had, once again, gotten all mangled in Jazland. Only this time I couldn’t hide it from my coworkers and pretend all was right with the world.Damn, damn, damn . . . I bit my lip.Okay, Jaz, you are now in damage-control mode. That means you may not flip out all the way. No word looping. No blackouts. And no card shuffling —until you’re alone. At which time if you want to swing from the chandelier and bark like a German shepherd, go right ahead. Until then—play sane.
Inside the RV, several cups sat on the table, but someone had dropped a pile of paper plates on the floor. I retrieved them, set them on the counter beside the sink, and headed toward the shower.
“Jasmine,” Vayl said softly. I turned around. He remained on the entry steps, trying not to drip onto the carpet. He’d let the others come in before him, and they huddled together between Mary-Kate and Ashley, staring at me with varying expressions of concern. The kids looked achingly normal. A multicolored hair band held Cassandra’s braids away from her face. She wore at least five pairs of gold earrings, the biggest of which reached the shoulders of her teal-blue knit blouse. Her black peasant skirt touched her ankles and she wore matching black pumps edged with blue ribbon. Bergman’s gray sweater with its stretched sleeves topped old blue jeans and the same snow boots he’d worn when they’d picked me up at Evie’s house. Cole wore his red high-tops, khakis, and a black T-shirt with a pile of lumber on it. The caption underneath readHEY LADY, NEED A STUD ?
“What is it, Vayl?” I asked.
“What just happened was not mere sleepwalking. Your finger was pressed against the trigger of a cocked crossbow. We cannot simply disregard this problem and hope it goes away.”
So, okay, I did want to say,We can soignore this! But I knew he was right. What if I’d come awake with that gun pointed at Cassandra’s head? Or one of the guys’? I nodded. “What do you suggest?”
That’s where speech failed him. Cassandra waited a moment, and when it was clear he didn’t have an immediate plan, she stepped up. “I know someone who might be able to help.”
“Okay, when this mission is over—”
“Actually, he lives in New Mexico. He could probably meet you tomorrow.”
“Is he a doctor?”
“Of a sort.”
Alternative medicine. Okay, I can deal with that.“Fine, set it up.”
“And . . .” Cole began.
I swallowed the urge to snap. They just wanted to help. It wasn’t their fault the idea of getting to the root of this bizarre behavior terrified me. In my point of view, any explanation of what causes a person to point a gun to her own head is not going to start with “Good news, Jaz—” But considering the current potential for a bolt to my brain, pretending it never happened wasn’t the smartest tactic I could choose. “Yes?”
“Until we’re sure how to deal with this, someone should guard you while you sleep.”
“Naturally. You can all draw straws or something. And stop with the war orphan faces, will you? I’ll deal.”
“Of course you will,” said Bergman. “You’re Jaz.”
I nodded, appreciating his vote of confidence. Unlike Bergman, however, I knew my limits. Sometimes I could see that line in my mind, a stark black wall at the horizon reminding me that sanity, unlike the earth, is flat. And there is a point at which you can fall off. I just hoped this dream didn’t mean I already stood on the wrong side of the gate.
CHAPTEREIGHT
Evie had bought me the outfit I changed into after my shower, a white scoop-neck peasant top with lace and crochet accents and a pair of jeans somebody had beaten soundly with a jackhammer before forwarding to the retailer. So I knew I looked good. My girl’s got an eye for these things. Plus—übercomfy. And not just because she knows my size. There’s something about stuff from your family. For instance, when I’m home, I sleep under a comforter Granny May made for me. Ugliest damn blanket I have ever seen. But it makes me feel better to snuggle under fabric and thread she put together to warm me. Evie’s outfit, Granny’s blanket—they’re part of the basic core of my life that assures me I matter.
For the same reasons, Bergman handpicked where his inventions traveled and who put them to bed at night. And the more I learned about the freak who’d stolen his baby, the less I blamed Miles for totally losing it when he’d found out the baby had been kidnapped. Because after spending Vayl’s shower time with my face in my laptop, reading the file some intrepid agent had gathered on this guy Chien-Lung, I had come to a single conclusion. The guy was a total whack-job.
Frankly it made me feel better about my own peculiarities. But there was a method to Lung’s madness. For instance, dragons are deeply revered by the Chinese. According to legend they have megapowers that include weather control and life creation. And they’re seen as kind, benevolent creatures. Funny. Every fairy taleI’d ever heard involving dragons starred daring knights trotting off to kill said dragons. Probably the real reason every time East meets West they get pissed off and throw tea in our faces.
Vayl came out of the shower wearing jeans and a hunter green T-shirt. “Where is everyone?” he asked.
“The guys went back to the tent raising and Cassandra decided to supervise so Cole wouldn’t be tempted to clonk Bergman over the head with a stray pole.” Which was when I realized we were all alone.
“I was just researching Chien-Lung,” I said quickly, motioning to the laptop on the table in front of me. “I guess when he didn’t actually turn into a dragon he decided to settle for second best and go for the armor.”
Vayl raised an eyebrow. “From the sound of it, I would hardly describe the armor as second best.”
“No, that’s not really how Bergman operates, is it?”
Vayl sank onto the banquette beside me and sighed. “We are not going to talk about this sleepwalking issue, are we?”