The Dream Thief Read online

  She nodded with small tiny movements, barely breathing. He got in the cab and closed the door. She remained in his peripheral vision, watching him, but he couldn’t look back at her or else he might not leave. “O’Hare please.”

  The taxi pulled away from the drive. He’d said he would be back as soon as he could, and he’d meant it. But he shouldn’t go back. It couldn’t end well. He wasn’t a man. He couldn’t fall in love, get married, and start a family. All he could do was continue to exist, waste time, and live target to target in an endless circle that never ended and no way out. He couldn’t have long-lasting relationships or friendships with mortals.

  He had tried once before. Thousands of years ago, he’d fallen in love. He had married a barren woman who was happy to live out her life with him, or so she had said. Until she aged, that was, and he stayed the same. He moved them, time and time again. Their cover changed from being his wife, to his mother, and finally his ailing grandmother. Her resentment of him grew until she wouldn’t speak to him. He ached inside while he watched her grow old, slipping further and further away from him into death’s arms. He faked his death as she had asked and left her well cared for. He’d learned before the end that she had found another man, and they died only sharing five years together. He attended her funeral as her long-lost nephew and couldn’t stop crying. After that, he’d vowed to never love again, and he’d stuck to that vow—until now.

  5

  Praise whoever had invented liquid Valium, otherwise, Malcolm would’ve spent the next thirty hours torturing himself over the kiss. He shouldn't have allowed it to happen. At his age, he should be smarter than that. For Christ’s sake, he was headed to the freaking headquarters of a band of immortals dealing with an unknown crisis. With dream thieves, that crisis could mean the end of the world, and he had worries about a girl. Get it together, man!

  He landed at two a.m. the following morning. Rome’s airport, Fiumicino, bustled with activity at the early hour. He couldn’t pass up a glass of vini. Even the airport sold the finest wines and espresso. He ordered a Moscato Blanc and a double espresso and wasn’t disappointed. Re-energized, he called Stephanie.

  She answered on the first ring.

  “I’ve just landed. Should I come in now or wait until morning?” he asked, not liking her being wide awake at this hour. That second dose of valium hadn’t cleared his system, and after traveling so much, and with a target less than three days ago, his head still pounded. All he really wanted was a shower and a few hours’ sleep in a bed.

  “You can come now or go to the hotel. Everyone else is in town, except for Obadiah and Zari. I’ve booked you a room at the Hotel Artemide.”

  “When are Obadiah and Zari getting in?”

  “They should be here in the morning.”

  “How’s everything?”

  “The same. You can get some rest. You probably should. You’re going to need it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. It’s fine.” She gave him the address to his hotel.

  Malcolm arranged for the shuttle service to pick him up and transport him to Via Nazionale to the Hotel Artemide. Artemide was a five-story, nineteenth-century building complete with white stucco and arched windows and doors. Wide balconies stretched the length of the building on floors two, three, and five, with seven windows across. Flags of different nationalities—Italian, American, Canadian, and several others he didn’t immediately recognize—lined the balconies. A doorman in a tuxedo opened the shuttle door and carried Malcolm’s one suitcase inside. He followed the man whose cologne left a hefty musky stench trailing behind him.

  Inside, the lobby boasted white marble floors broken up by small, orange, triangular tiles. A huge blood red circular couch dominated the center of the lobby with seating around the periphery. The center of the couch reached high in the air, straight to the tray ceiling with stained glass. It reminded him of a blossoming flower. A dark-haired woman, eyes and lips heavy with makeup, awaited him with a wide smile behind a fine mahogany check-out counter in the very back. “Good morning, sir. Will you be checking in with us today?” she asked in Italian.

  “Yes. I have a reservation.” His Italian slid off his tongue smooth as wine. Knowing every human language was yet another of his talents as a dream thief. Someone spoke, and he immediately knew what they said and how to answer.

  “Name please.”

  “Malcolm Jones.” He worried about whether Stephanie used his name Gabriel or his latest alias.

  “Ahh, yes. I have you here, sir. Right this way.” She walked around the corner, and the doorman followed to the left toward the elevators. “Gustof will take you to your room. I hope you will take the opportunity to join us on our rooftop terrace for some breakfast. We also have the spa and bathhouse for your pleasure, sir. If you shall need anything, our concierge service is always available. You only need to pick up your phone and hit zero.”

  After the short ride up the elevator, the doorman used the little card key to unlock his room—503. He carried his bag inside the modern room and sat the suitcase down in the sitting area. Malcolm pulled out his wallet and handed him a wad of bills without really looking.

  “Thank you, sir.” The doorman bowed.

  The room had a black leather love seat with a marble coffee table facing a large flat screen TV. Across from the door, large arched window overlooked the street below. The well-insulated windows stifled the sounds of the few cars passing below. The floor glistened with long, gray tiles leading into the bedroom. Inside, Malcolm ogled the queen-sized bed with matching black marble nightstands and another flat screen TV. He flipped on the ornate stone fireplace with sparkling quartz cascading from floor to ceiling. The bedroom had another arched window and a bathroom dripping with luxury. Shiny black white tiles lined the walk-in shower that had a built-in seat and glass doors. Across from the shower, Malcolm eyed himself in the double vanity with a huge ornate mirror and recessed lighting. He looked as tired as he felt. Dark circles lined his brown eyes and wrinkles marred his white shirt.

  He brewed a cup of black coffee using the Keurig from the small kitchenette by the front door and took a large dose of liquid ibuprofen before jumping into the shower. He let the scalding water run down his body from the rain-mimicking showerhead. The shower lit up in time with a built-in stereo playing smooth-toned classical music. With his hair still damp, he fell into bed with a wakeup call for eight a.m.

  In the morning, his head still ached but had settled down into a dull throb. Back in the lobby, dressed in an Armani suit, alligator shoes, and diamond cuff links, he waited for yet another taxi. He brushed the hair back from his face, wanting to look his best for whatever he’d face today, and caught the scent of his Calvin Kline cologne. With his dream thief supplies tucked into his pockets, he slid into the cab and said, “Berenili fountains please.”

  “Which one?” the driver, an older woman asked. She eyed him in the rearview mirror, smoothing down her graying auburn hair pulled into a bun.

  “The Fontana del Tritone.”

  He watched the streets pass by, full already of people walking from shop to shop. The old-world historic buildings always made him nostalgic and sad at the same time. He’d moved to America to get away from these ancient buildings. Most buildings in the States weren’t older than perhaps one hundred to two hundred years old, mere infants compared to those of Europe. The newer buildings made him feel new as well. Despite being almost four hundred years old, the United States was still the New World to him, if you didn’t count the Native Americans. Strangely, they rarely needed dream thieves, so he’d only transported to the Americas a handful of times during his long life before Spain and England started colonizing. Living there, he felt as if he’d had a chance to start over.

  They passed the Coliseum, and the echoes of cheering spectators and gladiators’ dying screams returned to him. The stench of the old world lingered in his mind. He would never forget the world before plumbing and vehicles. It sme
lled like shit all the time. He sure didn’t miss it. People in this day and age did not appreciate this simple fact of their existence.

  Outside the Fontana del Tritone, the taxi slowed and pulled to the side. The nice lady put her arm across the back of the seat. “Are you sure this is where you want to go?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” Rapidly becoming a habit, he handed her yet more money and exited.

  He got out of the car and strolled to a random white stucco building down an alley from the fountains. He slipped inside the forgotten building. Inside the lobby, a large crystal chandelier hung above a security guard who leaned forward watching a small tablet on his desk, his mouth askew. He didn’t notice the door had opened. Malcolm approached the portly man and cleared his throat. The middle-aged balding security guard looked up.

  “Oh, uh, who are you here to see?” The guard stood, attempting to pull his pants up over the large belly. His shirt strained tight, and Malcolm guessed that if the man took a deep breath, one of the buttons would pop off, go flying in the air, and hit Malcolm in the eye. Perhaps Malcolm had been watching too many physical comedy movies in the last few years.

  “I have an appointment with Stephanie Dejournett.”

  “Another one?” the man asked. A tag on the guard’s stained shirt read Teobaldo.

  Malcolm covered his mouth to hide the smirk.

  Baldo shook his head and continued. “Yes, sir. What’s your name?”

  “Malcolm Jones. She is expecting me.”

  Baldo picked up a black phone, stretching the cord. After a few moments, he said, “Yes Miss Dejournett. I have another appointment for you. Uh huh. Yes.” He put a large beefy hand over the mouthpiece. “You said Malcolm Jones, right?”

  Malcolm nodded.

  He removed his hand. “Malcolm Jones.” Malcolm could hear Stephanie from the headset. “Yes ma’am, I’ll send him right up. Um, Miss Dejournett?”

  Another pause.

  “Are there any other appointments scheduled for today? This is the tenth of the morning…Uhh, yes ma’am. I understand it isn’t any of my business. I thought I could get them to you faster.” Baldo eyed the tablet, paused upside down, and by the sounds Malcolm heard when he’d first walked in, he highly suspected the guard had been watching porn. He checked his Rolex. It wasn’t 9:30 yet, and he’d been close to the last to arrive. Crap.

  “Yes ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

  The guard hung up the phone, and his red-face made him look more swollen, especially with the fresh gleam of sweat on his brow. “You can go right up. Elevator is down the hall to the right. She’s on the top floor.” He bent down and scribbled Malcolm’s name in an untidy scrawl then handed him a sticker with Visitor branded on the top in Italian. Malcolm took it politely and placed it over the left side of his chest. Making his way to the elevators, he pressed the button and stepped in. He removed his sunglasses and looked right into the security camera for it to scan his retina as Stephanie had instructed. Instead of moving upward, the cloaking mechanism took over. If Baldo happened to take a break from his naked ladies, he’d have seen the elevator ascend to the upper floors, but in reality, it descended, far, far underground.

  The agency’s headquarters had been hidden deep in the earth for the last millennia. By secret contractors working little bits at a time, the medieval area had been upgraded to the new century. The rocks still lined the walls, but electric lights now lit the cavernous walkways instead of oil lamps. No one came to greet him. Instead, moans and screams echoed within the walls, and if he didn’t know better, he would’ve suspected a trap.

  He ran through the partially lit passageways, toward the sounds of screaming. He’d been there hundreds of times, but only once every few centuries. The last time, Halek had been the Librarian. That had been decades ago. Despite that, he knew exactly how to get to the central area through the underground labyrinth.

  The main hub of the Cos looked completely different than the last time. Aelia, which was Stephanie’s true name, had certainly been busy. The ancient desks filled to the brim with scrolls, quills, and mounds of ink had gone. Sleek modern desks took their place holding at least seven computers, all running, with a side area holding a huge database that gave off a gentle hum. If he didn't have exceptional hearing, he wouldn’t have been able to pick it up. The screams emerged from a newer, open area in the back. He crossed the distance in seconds and sprinted through the door.

  Caelieus, sprawled on Aelia’s bed, screamed in agony. The other dream thieves surrounded the bed, staring down at their brother, and his own shock was mirrored on their faces. There were twelve of them, but never in all their long years had they all been together. It had never occurred to him until now. He suspected that they, like him, didn’t want the constant reminder of their endless existence. It was bad enough living with Aelia for almost half a century after his wife died. She had been called Elisheva back then.

  Caelieus moaned again. Malcolm couldn’t take his eyes off him. The last he’d seen him had been when Malcolm visited him in Australia. He couldn’t fathom what had happened to cause this. Blood ran down both sides of his nostrils with an ebb and flow. His gaunt, almost sunken face, could’ve belonged to a skeleton. His once dark brown hair had all but fallen out, leaving only weak, dull strands and bald patches. He wore no shirt, and Malcolm could count every rib. Caelieus looked like someone dying of cancer or starvation. Emaciated was the word. Like Malcolm, the others couldn't look away. They hadn’t noticed his arrival until he asked, “What the hell happened?”

  They all jumped, but only Aelia raced to his side, throwing her arms around him. Her new blond hair had been cut short in the back, but was longer in the front. Despite her tired, desperate, and blue eyes, she had transformed herself into a sleek modern woman. This vaguely surprised him. She’d kept the dark hair of the Romans for centuries. He’d assumed, incorrectly, that the Librarian never left the Cave. “Thank God you’re here.”

  “Yeah, it’s about damn time.” Lother crossed his arms over his small but muscular chest. He’d cut his dark hair short, and his small eyes slanted at the corners.

  Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. The two of them had never really seen eye to eye. The last time they’d seen each other, they had gotten into a horrific fight and lashed at each other for hours with samurai swords. Lother had never forgiven him for slicing off his topknot, which he called his honor, fitting with the times of ancient Japan. Malcolm always thought he resented that more than the decapitation that followed soon after.

  Aelia whipped around and glared at Lother.

  Malcolm bared his teeth in challenge. “Yeah Lother, don’t lose your head.”

  Lother jumped from a slouched position against the stone wall and was about to rush him when Aelia moved to stand in front of Malcolm. “That’ll be enough of that.” The Librarian’s power flowed through him.

  If looks could kill, Lother would have incinerated Malcolm where he stood, but Lother could no more make a move than he could. It took all his willpower not to stick his tongue out at the other man. He wished he’d go back to Japan.

  Aelia thumped Malcolm’s chest as if reading his thoughts. “Okay, now that we're all here, you can understand why I brought you all together. Caelieus popped up here the night before I called you. I thought he’d been assigned as the new Librarian, but he was like this.”

  “Wait, you mean he transported here?” Zari’s beautiful dark face blanched.

  “Yes,” Aelia said, voice grim.

  “Bullshit.” Lother ran a hand through thick dark hair.

  The room erupted in conversation, growing loud in seconds. Aelia held up a hand, and the room quieted as the power of the Librarian settled over them. “Yes, he transported here.” She held up a hand again before anyone could argue. “Before anyone speaks, we all know the only time we transport is to a target or to take over as Librarian. This is a first. All I know is Caelieus logged three targets one after another.”

  This time, her h
and couldn't silence the arguing.

  “Hey!” Makir shouted, “Shut the hell up. I want to hear what she has to say. When she’s done, then we can discuss our thoughts one at a time, but until then keep quiet.” Makir, one of the tallest of them, was an Amazon woman. She was a warrior from the very start when she’d regenerated in Rio. She’d let her life revolve around battle. She was currently a cop in one of the worst neighborhoods in New York, and before that, she’d been a detective in Detroit after leaving Interpol.

  At Makir’s reprimand, the group looked guilty, and their eyes fell to Aelia again. Caelieus moaned, and Aelia wiped his brow and placed white sticks of gauze in his nose to staunch the flow of blood. “Let’s step out. It’ll be easier to talk out there.”

  Zari stepped forward. “I’ll sit with him.” Her black hair shined like velvet and was pulled back at the nape of her neck. Her olive skin contrasted with her black eyes but matched the gold and diamonds she decorated herself with. Even her tailored suit glittered with gold buttons.

  Aelia cocked an eyebrow. “He’s been the same for days. He’ll breathe through his mouth, and if he dies, he’ll regenerate. We don’t have to babysit him.”

  Zari cast a worried gaze at Caelieus’s frail form. “Just the same, I’d like to stay with him.”

  Her move didn’t surprise Malcolm. Zari lent her services to healers and midwives alike wherever she lived. These days Malcolm thought she lived somewhere in India.

  They walked out of the room silent and somber, like those leaving the room of a dying loved one. Perhaps that was exactly what they were doing. They all found seats at the various desks in front of the computers. Only two computer chairs remained empty, one for Zari, and one for Caelieus. Had that been done on purpose, or was it a coincidence?

  Malcolm sat off to the side and Aelia stood at the front facing everyone, leaning against the main computer desk with two flat-screen monitors. Her gaze moved from face to face, calculating. She picked up right where she had left off as if never being interrupted. “He logged three targets back to back. After that, I have no idea. I talked to him a few hours before he showed up here. He said he’d been experiencing a lot of pain.”