Revenant by Phaedra Weldon Page A

in its own way. Though—since he was fused with the Grimoire—our impact on his life lessened. He can survive without us—though maimed. But without the Grimoire, he will die.”
    Yeah . . . I’d been told that. But I was still fuzzy on the details. Dags had his own stories to tell. “And you can see his dreams?”
    “I could if I wanted to, but I don’t. I’m not that nosy.” She shrugged. “But the point is, he’s not dreaming. Hasn’t been for several weeks. It was spotty at first, and I’d noticed he was having trouble concentrating. But now—”
    “Is it affecting his abilities?”
    “Yes. Mostly with Maureen. He rarely uses his left hand when fighting, and I’m getting overtaxed. When he does call on Maureen”—she frowned—“there’s something wrong.”
    “Can’t you just talk to Maureen? I mean, are you two like sisters in this? Share the same condo? Chez Dags?”
    She smiled at my quip but shook her head. “Maureen doesn’t know either. She’s just as surprised. And I know if she lies.” Alice shook her head. “We’re not sure what to do—so I wanted to see if you could help us?”
    Us?
    “Why hasn’t Dags answered my calls?”
    Whoa. Wow. Where the fuck did that come from? I had to look inward at myself. Jealous much?
    Alice’s confused expression spoke volumes. “You called him? He said he hasn’t heard from you since last month.”
    “I called him!” I held out my arms. “More times than I’ll admit to. He’s been in contact with Rhonda though.”
    “Well, he’s working for her group.”
    I hated that. “So has she noticed anything different?” And now that I know about this not-dreaming thing, I intend on asking Rhonda about it too.
    “I don’t know. We’ve been in California most of the month. The SOI had him procuring another Grimoire—though not as powerful as the one he carries.”
    “Did he get it?”
    “Oh yes.” She looked distracted. “I have to go—”
    “Wait.” I tried to take a step forward but found I didn’t have any feet. Figures. Damn dream. I was apparently growing out of the square itself. And my happy, pink-nosed bunny slippers had hopped off somewhere. “Alice—was that what you needed to tell me?”
    She wasn’t looking at me anymore—she was walking away in a lazy stroll, through a hedge made of azaleas that turned from pink and red to black and white. The trees turned gray as well as the world became monochromatic—looking a lot like an old horror movie.
    And as if on cue, a hand popped out of the ground to grab at my feet. I squealed a little. Okay. I flat-out shrieked because I really wasn’t expecting skeletal hands. And then—
     
     
     
    I sat up in bed, and something cold and wet fell into my lap. Blinking, I looked down to see a folded washcloth in front of me. My head felt as if someone had stuffed it full of styrofoam pellets, and they moved from side to side when I moved my head.
    “You’re awake,” came a melodic voice to my left. I realized then I was in my bed at Mom’s. And I was dressed in a set of very soft cotton pajamas. Uh . . . where did these come from? I narrowed my eyes to the voice and saw Jason move to sit on the bed beside me.
    He looked incredible—much better than the last time I’d seen him. Eric Bana in the Hugo Boss summer collection.
    Niiiiice.
    Sans the jacket, of course.
    He reached out and took the cloth from my hands, but then immediately put his own hand to my forehead. I realized then I was wet. I mean—my entire body was covered in a heavy layer of sweat, and the pajamas were sticking to me in all the right strategic places. “Fever’s broken. That’s good.”
    Fever?
    When he pulled his hand away, he got up and moved into the bathroom, which joined my bedroom to the adjacent one where Rhonda sometimes crashed. I heard water running as I threw off the heavy cover. Yeah, I was covered in perspiration. I needed a shower.
    But when I stood to move into the bathroom, some asshole