Yes, I was still clinging to the hope that the notes were from my subconscious. But my grip on the illusion was weakening, and some panicky part of me insisted I was going to have to let go eventually. Still, my motto is never do today what you can put off until tomorrow.
Yet I couldn’t spend the night with Brian without telling him something about what happened last night. It was out of character for me to spend the night at his place, especially on a weekday. So I told him the official police interpretation of the story-some professional burglars broke into my house last night and were scared off by the noise I made climbing out the window.
I sure as hell didn’t believe it, and I didn’t expect Brian to, either. But I must be a better liar than I thought. Either that, or it just didn’t occur to him that I might lie to him about something like that. Remember, he’s got that Anne Frank, people-are-basically-good philosophy that puts him and me on opposite ends of the cynicism scale. I felt like a heel-a feeling I was getting familiar with-but I made it up to him in bed. He’s always been impressed with my oral skills, and I practiced every trick I knew on him.
Afterward, he fell asleep spooning me, but I lay there awake for a long time, afraid to sleep despite my body’s desperate urge to shut down.
I woke up in a blinding white room.
White walls, white ceiling, white floor. White everywhere.
I looked down at myself to find I was wearing a pair of white jeans with a white sweatshirt. I’d have said I was dreaming, except I didn’t feel like I was dreaming. I pinched myself on the arm, and it hurt.
There was a sound like a quiet exhalation from behind me. Slowly, I turned around.
He was a shocking patch of darkness in the white. About six-five, with straight, jet-black hair pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. Black leather bomber jacket decorated with silver rivets. Black leather pants that clung to his legs and tapered into knee-high black leather boots. Tanned skin just light enough to be Caucasian, just dark enough to suggest maybe not.
After I got over the shock of black, I felt a new shock when I got a look at his eyes. They were the color of dark amber held up to the sun, and they were fixed on me with such intense focus that I felt pinned by them.
He took a step toward me, and I lost my paralysis enough to take a step back. He came to a stop, still watching me with that startling intensity, and raised his hands as if to say: “See, no weapons, completely harmless.”
I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but one thing I did know-this guy was not completely harmless. Tall, muscular, imposing, with glowing eyes and a severe, angular face that made me think serial killer. No, not harmless at all.
I cleared my throat, wondering why I wasn’t more scared under the circumstances. I mean, last thing I knew, I was cuddled up in bed with nice, safe Brian. Now I was in some creepy white room, trapped with one of the scariest dudes I’d ever seen. Yeah, my pulse was a little elevated, but I wasn’t terrified like I should be. Maybe I was drugged?
“I suspect we don’t have much time,” Mr. Terrifying said. His voice went with his look, a deep, growling bass that made my knees quiver.
I looked around the empty, featureless room — where the hell was the door? — and wondered just where he thought I was going to go.
Then the psycho-killer smiled suddenly, an almost impish expression that changed everything. The aura of menace disappeared as if it had never been there. Nothing about him had changed. He was still huge, still dressed in aggressive black leather. His eyes still seemed to glow as if there were some kind of light behind them. But he’d gone from insanely scary to impossibly sexy in about one second flat. All because of a smile.
“Your ability to fight me is astonishing,” he said, still in that James Earl Jones rumble.
I shook my head and tried without success to find my voice. It seemed to be jammed in my throat somewhere, and despite the bizarre circumstances, my eyes insisted on taking another inventory of tall, dark, and dangerous. He didn’t seem to mind me looking. In fact, if that bulge in the front of his pants was any indication, he liked it rather a lot.
Heat crept up my cheeks, and I decided that no matter how real this felt, it had to be a dream. I wouldn’t be caught dead staring at a stranger’s crotch the way I was staring at this guy’s.
He laughed, and the sound reverberated somewhere deep inside me, drying my mouth and wetting other portions of my anatomy.
“I see I’ve chosen a guise you find pleasing,” he said, and his amber eyes sparkled with good humor.
“Uh…” That was the best conversation I could manage at the moment.
The humor faded from his face. I felt bereft.
“You are dreaming,” he told me. “In a way. I’m trying my best to communicate with you. The notes are not…adequate. You keep waking up in the middle.”
Oh, so that’s what this is all about. Yeah, this guy was just the kind of messenger my subconscious would come up with. I tried to play it cool, just waiting for the dream to end. I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him my best tough-chick-with-an-attitude look. He seemed less than impressed.
“I know you’re telling yourself I’m some kind of figment of your imagination,” he continued. “But honestly, Morgan, has your imagination ever been this vivid?”
I lowered my eyes, not wanting to see the knowing look on his face. He was a stranger to me. He had no right to look knowing.
“Look,” I said, my eyes fixed on one of the rivets in his jacket, “I don’t know who you are, or what you want — ”
“If you’d be so kind as to let me talk, I’ll tell you,” he interrupted.
Reluctantly, I raised my gaze to his face again. God, he was gorgeous. Lethally so. I made a zipping-my-lips gesture. He raised an eyebrow as if he didn’t quite get it, then spoke again.
“I am Lugh. I’m a demon, and I’m currently in possession of your body.” He frowned, the expression marring the perfection of his face. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose, since I seem unable to influence you except when you’re sleeping.”
I remembered the letter I’d written to myself, the one where I’d named my imaginary demon Lugh. “So you say I invited you in under the influence of drugs, right?”
He nodded. “My first memory when I awoke in the Mortal Plain was of lying on your bed. You’d been tied down. A man in a mask untied you. He didn’t say anything, and I couldn’t make you move or speak. I would guess the man was Andrew, though I can’t be sure.”
“And I don’t remember any of this…why?”
“Because you were drugged. You didn’t have any more success moving your body than I did.”
I wasn’t buying any of this — or at least, I was trying not to — but I figured even in a dream, it’s best to humor psycho-killers who could squash you without even breaking a sweat.
“Why would anyone want to go through all that trouble to stick you in an unwilling host?” I asked. “There are plenty of volunteers available.”
He frowned, and the light behind his eyes grew brighter. “I have enemies among my people. People who do not like my message. I would say someone wants to keep me quiet. Which means someone knew that I wouldn’t be able to gain control of your body.
“Letting Valerie know I’m communicating with you was not a good idea.”
“Now listen here, mister — ”
“If they’re trying to keep me quiet, then they don’t want me talking to my host.”
I threw up my hands in frustration. “Who the hell are ‘they’?”
He took a step closer to me. Again, I backed away. He might be the studliest guy I’d ever laid eyes on, but I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.
“I don’t know. Just be careful. Whoever they are, they’re not going to leave you alone.”