Into Dreams: A Gina Harwood Novel (Gina Harwood Series Book 3) Read online

  “Gina!” he breathed, clambering onto the platform and sliding on his knees to stop next to her body. Kyrri landed on the other side of her a second after he did, his whiskers low and his eyes wet with sorrow. Morgan touched her arm lightly but was afraid to touch anything else for fear of making it worse; she was broken in too many places to count, and her face was a mask of blood. She gasped for air, and little bubbles of blood burst between her lips. “Jesus fucking Christ, Gina, what did you do?”

  “Your world is still dying,” snarled Pan, who suddenly stood towering over them, his expression displeased. “All you have to do is say ‘yes.’”

  Gina made a wheezy, gurgling noise and Morgan leaned closer to her. “Go fuck yourself,” she managed, and her eyes were locked on Pan’s.

  “You ungrateful apes,” Pan hissed, his edges pulsing black with his ire.

  Morgan felt his partner go limp under his hand. “Gina,” he commanded, feeling for a pulse in her neck. There was one, but it was faint. “GINA!” he yelled, shaking her as much as he dared. There was a howl of rage from over his shoulder, and he turned to see Agni spinning into Pan, his blades dancing in his hands and his eyes on fire. Pan parried the attacks easily with a set of rapiers that leapt into his grip from nothing, not bothering to counter. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the grunts and shouts of Agni as he sliced and danced around the creature.

  Morgan felt her neck again for a pulse, but couldn’t find it. Kyrri yowled and cried, pressing against her shoulder with both paws and rocking her back and forth. Morgan felt a desperate hollowness well up within him and pushed Toma’s offered hand away, standing and walking toward Pan with absolute murder in his heart. His thoughts had no words, only a pulsing red single need: to bury his knife in the creature’s heart.

  The two danced around each other, Agni still thrusting forward and slicing through, but Pan slid out of the way every time, taunting the man as he did so. Morgan stalked forward, as Agni hopped into view and Pan turned his back, not varying his pace until he was within arm’s reach, and then plunging the blade forward between the creature’s ribs. Pan staggered forward, and Agni ran him through from the front with both hands, screaming victoriously.

  Morgan felt his entire body go taut and rigid, and his stomach dropped as he was lifted several feet into the air. He could see Agni floating across from him, struggling against the unseen ropes that bound them. “Was that cathartic for you?” sneered Pan, evaporating into smoke and solid again in a flash, the steel clattering to the platform underneath him. “Agni, son of Skula, I’m sure it was for you. All that pent-up rage. Tell me, do you feel better?”

  The scarred man spat at the creature, but the liquid projectile sizzled into nothing before it hit the faun’s skin. Pan flickered and was no longer Pan, but a tall, tan exotic-looking man in a regal gown with a wild mane of fuzzy brown hair. “I’m sure it would have felt better this way, wouldn’t it? Here,” The man picked up one of Agni’s blades and plunged it into his own chest, feigning the throes of dying. “No? Too bad, then.” Pan snapped his fingers and the mercenary’s head snapped to the right in a most unpleasant angle, and with a sickening crunch. He fell limply to the earth, landing in a pile at Pan’s feet as his form shimmered back into the faun, grinning down at the dead man with too many teeth.

  Morgan glanced back towards where Kyrri was still rocking Gina, and the weight of it all hit him. He sagged against his bonds.

  Pan’s hooves clacked as he jaunted to Morgan. “You look down, precious. Tell momma what’s wrong.”

  A gunshot cracked in the night and Morgan fell to the ground, looking around in a frenzy to trace the shooter. Toma stood to the side of him, holding Morgan’s smoking flintlock pistol with both shaky hands, his eyes wide and blinking. He saw Morgan stand up and his face broke into a grin. “I remembered how to load…” he started, but Pan was back up and angry.

  “No,” he said, and he flicked his fingers at Morgan, who felt himself fly back, and up, and up, and up, and everything was darkness. He screamed in futility, and his mouth opened, and he sat up in a hospital bed, the lights dim.

  “What in hell,” he whispered, but he knew, he knew. His shoulder ached and he reached up to rub it. He pulled back his hospital gown to see an ugly purple bruise. The stab wound, he thought, alarmed, the image of Gina’s broken and bloody body lying on the platform springing immediately to mind. No.

  Morgan made quick work of his IV and monitor patches, and ripped open a bag on the desk to reveal the clothes he’d been wearing in the cemetery. His shirt had apparently been cut off, but he slipped into his pants and shoes without complaint, dialing Unit’s main number as he did so. It occurred to him that the phone should be dead; even with their amped-up batteries, they never lasted more than a week, but he was quickly distracted from the thought when the number rang through to a busy tone. That shouldn’t happen, he thought, frowning at the screen.

  He dialed Victor’s line, with the same busy signal, and the technician’s cell, which rang until an awkward voicemail message picked up, entreating the caller to leave a message in Victor’s clipped English. Morgan’s breath sped up as a growing sense of unease dripped over him, starting at his scalp and creeping down his spine.

  Morgan walked out of the hospital room and down the hall, trying each of them in succession. He saw no other people in the hallway, and entered the elevator alone. As soon as he exited, he resumed his search for answers. He dialed Charlie. It went immediately to voicemail. Chaz. Rang to voicemail. He dialed Hanagawa. It rang, and rang, and rang, no message, no answer. By now the unease was bordering on panic, as it hadn’t escaped his notice that even the main hall of the hospital was empty. He walked out into the night and stopped, staring at his phone. He manually dialed the last number, as he had never bothered to put it in speed dial. Morgan wondered why that was, as he pressed Call to dial Gina Harwood’s cell.

  82

  Nathan woke to shouts and distant gunshots, and sat forward in a panic. “Melissa!” he cried, huffing and holding his chest.

  “I’m here, Nate,” she answered, and he looked into the eyes of Mama LaVey, who had covered his hand with her thick fingers. It was Melissa’s voice that spoke.

  “Where’d he go?”

  “This mist kinda came out from your nostrils and she just waved that thing in it and it disappeared,” explained Chris excitedly, but his voice was low, and his face fell. “But, there’s still a lot of shit going on out there, and I don’t know what that’s about.” He smiled again brightly, his bushy beard making his smile seem wider than it really was. “But you’re back! Melissa says he’s gone.”

  “Yeah,” she said, but she didn’t seem quite as excited about it. “You did good, Nate. Really good. Your mom would be proud.”

  He smiled up at the beaming face. “Thanks. You did pretty good yourself.”

  “I did do pretty good,” she echoed, smiling, but the smile faded, and the clouds in Mama’s eyes cleared away in an instant. She frowned and looked down at her lap.

  “What… what happened?” asked Chris.

  “I don’t feel her,” said Mama flatly. “I think she just faded away.”

  Nate felt anger bubble inside of him. “That’s not fair!” he wailed, knowing exactly how childish he sounded and not caring overmuch. “She beat him! She helped me beat him! She can’t die!”

  “She was already dead,” reminded Chris softly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

  Mama sighed heavy and looked up at them with wet eyes. “It ain’t fair, Nate. You right about that. But she’s free of that douchebag that had you both tied up, so wherever she is, least she don’t gotta deal with that.” She raised the disk and handed it out to them. “One of you gotta run it out to that weird man. I ain’t that quick.”

  Nate slumped against the chair in sorrow and saw Chris accept the disk from the woman’s hand. “I’ll do it,” he said. “Stay safe while I’m gone.”

  Nathan saw himself reach out
and grab Chris’ hand, and Chris looked back at him with a touch of fear. “Let me do it,” he asked. “It’s my fault you’re in this mess to begin with.”

  Chris scoffed at him. “Yeah, cause you chose to get possessed.”

  “I chose the music video location.” Nate shrugged.

  “I’ll be right back, nutcase,” chuckled Chris, but his face was serious when he turned away from the door, and he shut it hard behind him.

  83

  Victor pulled the needle out smoothly and jumped back to the end of her bed. The three shadowhounds advanced on him, their tongues slithering in front of them like an internal leash, and he tensed, trying to anticipate their foreign movements. He dodged one tongue and clawed at another, his every sense on fire with the alertness that only being this close to death could bring.

  “Paging Dr. Dobre, Dr. Dobre to his office, please,” announced an electronic voice over what sounded like an antiquated speaker system. Victor whirled to check the vicinity around Gina’s bed and saw an unfamiliar man standing beside her, wearing a starch-white nursing cap and matching mask. He wriggled his fingers in an effeminate wave and winked, a sickly yellow membrane sliding across his eye. “You have a patient in immediate distress.”

  Victor glanced back to position the hounds, but they were nowhere in sight, and he looked back at the intruder, confused and alarmed. Gina’s bedside was empty, and he took a tentative step forward.

  “She’s bleeding internally,” whispered a voice into his ear, and Victor slashed at it, but the man was already across the room.

  What moves faster than I do? wondered Victor, staring at the creature who looked like a man.

  “Thought you oughta knoooow!” he sang, walking through the wall and out of the room.

  Victor caught himself gaping, but the words the strange man said rang in his head, and he glided to Gina’s bedside, snatching the paddles off the wall and prepping them with practiced hands. He didn’t need to feel for a pulse; he could hear its absence. And this is why preparation is important, he thought to himself, shaking his head as he placed the paddles on her chest. He probed for her mind, but did not feel it. She could still be in the Dreamlands, he thought, but the thought felt hollow as he prepped the paddles a second time, his mind racing through his checklist as he set to saving Gina Harwood’s life.

  <><><>

  She longed for unconsciousness as she sailed backwards through the air, falling, her skull bleeding and her energy spent, but it would not come. Charlie Parker braced herself for the ground, but she found herself limp in Chaz’s arms, the shotgun thrown behind his shoulder, and his legs pumping to run her back to the vehicles. Pull me out, if you can, she thought, and smiled in her mind, her head lolling against his shoulder, and her eyes passing along the line of creatures rushing to catch them. They were awful, so awful she had to think of them as cartoons, line drawings, she was just in some kid’s roaring imagination. Some really fucked up kid, she amended, her gaze landing on a slumping, fleshy blasphemy that stumbled across the field wheezing out of its overlarge jaw and dragging cartoonishly large claws on long, spindly arms. She watched as two of the whitecoats approached it and while it slowly reached back to swipe at them, blasted it full of shotgun pellets. Good job, she commended them, feeling awfully generous with the compliments in her dazed, half-conscious state.

  Charlie tried to spit, as her mouth had filled with blood, but only managed to let it dribble out of the side of her mouth. This concerned her greatly, and she began a comprehensive check of her body. It didn’t take long to discover that she seemed to have no actual control of anything but her eyes.

  Damn, she thought. I guess this is how I die. The thought was actually almost comforting, as her body began to shiver from the pain. She was pretty sure that every nerve was exploding.

  The gunshots were coming faster now, and Charlie felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over her. She saw what happened when she fell. The trickle of creatures became a tsunami, and the great and terrible galaxy behind them shifted and surged, wriggling its first tendrils through the fully open gate. Here and now, it needed no avatar to walk the world for it. It would walk the world itself.

  Charlie groaned as Chaz skidded to a halt, breathing heavily. “Yori,” he panted, lying her carefully on the ground with shaking arms. I’m always so mean to him, she chided herself. He’s a good kid. She felt herself fervently hoping that he would survive.

  “Hey Chaz,” replied Hanagawa, almost conversationally. “Things aren’t going so well, I take it.”

  Charlie seethed at his aloofness. I am dying, she thought, wishing she could blast it into his mind like Gina. I expect some tears.

  “No, they’re not going well!” shouted Chaz. “Charlie…”

  “I know,” replied Hanagawa softly. “Get her into the car. Take everyone to the barn, and get back to Unit. Get out of here.”

  What? thought Charlie.

  “What?” said Chaz.

  The short man sighed. “The considerable medium in the SUV has an elder sign. It will keep you safe until you reach Victor and regroup.”

  We are not leaving, thought Charlie, frustrated with her inability to join the conversation. We are staying, and we are fighting. Or everyone dies. Do you understand what that thing is? she screamed.

  Hanagawa looked directly at her, meeting her unfocused gaze. “You will leave, and get her back to the barn. Got it?” He looked back up to Chaz, who glanced back uncomfortably at the tear. “I have three elder signs, the single most powerful weapon we have. You have one. I stand a better chance with them than with all of your men and bullets. Get back to Unit and formulate a plan.”

  “Abaddon’s beard, you people are all about martyring yourself,” laughed a voice, and Charlie struggled to see who was speaking. It was a tall, commanding man with disturbing eyes and a general sense of wrongness about him. Reminds me a lot of Yori, she thought, but the joke died in her mind as he blinked and a sickly yellow lid slid to cover his eye, causing such a visceral fear reaction that her pain subsided to an almost-manageable level.

  Hanagawa cowered from the man, and Charlie twitched, feeling the adrenaline pumping through her exhausted muscles. Yori is afraid of him, she realized, and the terror was so immense at that realization that she pushed herself up slightly and lurched backwards towards the vehicle, feeling her nosebleed restart immediately upon sitting. She had worked with Hanagawa since her inclusion in Unit, and he long, long predated her. She had rarely seen any signs of fear on his face, but she had never seen - nor ever expected to see - the man cower. He recovered quickly, however, and held a palm-sized stone disk out in his hand, which Charlie knew without seeing was carved with a complex knotwork star.

  “Oh,” replied the man, scratching his chin. “Impressive. At least you’re trying.” He reached out and patted Hanagawa on the head, and Charlie gave up sitting, leaning heavily against the tire of the black SUV. Her eyes rolled but she willed them back open; this seemed important. Something dripped on her hand, and she looked down, surprised for a moment to see several drops of blood before she remembered her battle and sagged down further. Her partner flinched from the man’s touch, and surprisingly, the stranger flinched as well.

  “Get back,” growled Hanagawa, brandishing all three at the tall man.

  “What are you?” grinned the stranger, a devilish curiosity dancing in his horrible eyes. He leaned forward past the elder signs and poked Hanagawa in the chest, and though he dismissed the talismans, Charlie noticed them grow brighter as he moved past them.

  Yori stumbled back, clearly astonished that the signs had no - or limited - effect. “What are you?” he countered.

  “Currently, your deus ex machina,” chuckled the man, disappearing in a flash.

  “Yori, what’s…?” started Chaz, who had watched the exchange silently. He knelt to pick Charlie up, and she moaned from the vertigo of movement.

  “Just go. Now,” snapped Hanagawa, and Charlie couldn’t see her partner’s fa
ce anymore. Chaz closed the door and raised a finger to quiet the barrage of questions and shouts from the backseat. They began shouting questions at her instead until Ms. LaVey peered around the seat and shushed them.

  “She don’ look so good,” she said, and Charlie thanked her internally for the interruption. “Keep quiet now.”

  The conversation lowered to hushed whispers behind her, and if she closed her eyes she could almost believe that she were listening to waves hitting a soft white sand beach. Charlie Parker drifted into unconsciousness, and appreciated every moment of it.

  84

  Gina Harwood stood in their tiny office in Tulsa, twirling a pen in her fingers. She frowned, looking across the desk at her partner’s back. Morgan was hunched over his desk, tapping his fingers along the edge of the wood. It was rhythmic, but painfully repetitive, and the sound grew in her ears until she couldn’t stand it.

  “Morgan,” she sighed. “Stop tapping your fingers.”

  He swiveled in his chair to face her and it wasn’t her partner in the chair. “Crowell,” she breathed, sitting heavily as the memories flooded in.

  “I’m here,” he said, smoothly running his finger across the wood before resuming his tapping. “To congratulate you. Enjoy it, mortal, I do it rarely.” He grinned at her and his eyes flashed yellow.

  “Where’s Morgan?” she asked, her voice low. “And Kyrri? Where is everyone?”

  He shook his head sadly. “Everyone’s always so defensive when I just try to chat,” he complained bitterly. “Agni got what was coming to him,” he answered matter-of-factly, flapping his hand for emphasis. “He may have been interesting once, but he’s been nothing but an annoyance for some time now. But,” he added quickly, seeing the storm brewing in her eyes. “Your kitten will make it home safely. He’ll be a droopy-whiskers for a while over the whole thing, but he’ll do fine. The big lug from the island? He makes a fine dad.” Crowell shrugged. “All’s well that ends well.”