Dream Chaser (Bailey Spade 3)

His explanation raises many questions, but I don’t get to ask them because at that moment, acting as one, the motley crew pounces.

Chapter Seven

A knife whooshes by my ear, causing me to duck. A colander flies at my midsection, so I sidestep. A meat tenderizer smashes into Valerian’s shoulder. He grunts, then leaps between me and a rolling pin, taking the blow on his chest.

“Stop getting hit!” I shout.

“Thanks,” he pants. “I’ll get right on that.”

I pick up the tenderizer and launch it at the head of the dwarf with a spatula. It smacks him in the face, hard, but he keeps on coming. Not good.

Valerian catches a knife in mid-air and sends it flying into the eye of the elf woman. She drops her colander and collapses on the floor, presumably dead.

That’s something. Seems like they can be defeated.

If we had a squadron of fighters with us, we’d stand a chance. As is, not so much. Not with their seeming imperviousness to pain, sheer numbers, and our lack of any weapons or useful powers.

A pair of skewers zoom by Valerian’s head, then scissors. I curse myself for not carrying a sleep grenade to work as I dodge a dirty frying pan. Of all the unsanitary ways to go. Could this get any more nightmarish?

Valerian flips over our table and uses it as a shield. Good idea. That should buy us a minute, maybe two. Kitchen tools pound at the table like hail.

I cautiously peek out.

A new group of people zooms into the restaurant. Given their all-black outfits, super-fast movement and fangs, I have to assume they’re Enforcers, or at least vampires impersonating them.

If this lot is with the weird-eyes group, we’re going to be even deader.

But they don’t seem to be. At least not the one I recognize. His name is Virgil, and he was Valerian’s ally before.

Yep. Virgil disembowels a dryad while another vamp rips out an elf’s heart.

A massacre follows. Soon, Valerian and I are the only people in the restaurant left alive, not counting the vampires. Their aliveness is a matter of debate.

“Why did it take you so long?” Valerian barks at Virgil.

Virgil licks a rivulet of blood from his hand. “You said you wanted privacy. Asked us to stay outside of the hearing range. That’s a mile for me.”

He can hear us from a mile away? Surely that’s with a sound amplifier?

Then something clicks.

I round on Valerian. “You had them spy on me. Is that how you knew about the bracelet I tossed away?”

“They merely protected you,” he says. “I knew about the bracelet because the rehab facility gave us access to the security camera in your office.”

This is some Big Brother mooft dung. The folks at the rehab facility and I will have words.

Virgil hides his fangs. “You’d better take her to the safe house.”

“There’s been a change of plans on that front,” Valerian says. “Instead of staying under your watch, she’s going to come with me.”

Virgil lifts an eyebrow.

Since it sounds like I might finally get some answers, I replace my initial angry retort with, “Where are we headed?”

Valerian looks at the bodies of our attackers. “Not here.”

“Take that van.” Virgil gestures at a vehicle nearby. “It’s been vetted.”

Nodding, Valerian strides to the car, and I follow.

This is one of those luxury limo-type rides that take people to weddings and the like. There’s a bar and fridge here, a couch, and space enough to stand and move around.

As we get rolling, Valerian pours two drinks at the bar and hands me one of the glasses.

I take a small sip. Delicious. “Did that make any sense to you?”

He sits opposite me. “I’m sure you see what Nostradamus meant about the dessert. He mentioned it, and we started to argue about it when he left. If he hadn’t said anything, we probably would’ve been out of the restaurant before the Overtaken arrived.” At my blank stare, he explains, “The Overtaken is what I call the people with the strange eyes.”

“The dessert is not what I was asking about. It’s everything else. Who are the Overtaken?”

“It’s only a theory.” He puts his drink down on a small table nearby. “I believe they’re possessed and controlled by Collywobbles.” He makes air quotes around Phobetor’s nickname. “As I was saying before, you’re on his radar now.”

Uh-oh. “So those eyes—”

“Are what reveal the control,” he confirms.

“Which means my mom—”

“I’m sorry.” He gently squeezes my knee.

I let out a shaky breath. Though I’d suspected something like this myself, I find it difficult, if not impossible, to accept that Mom was controlled by a god of nightmares. And killed my twin—let’s not forget that impossible-to-process factoid.

“—Overtaken have started to appear in bigger numbers recently,” Valerian is saying when I pay attention to him again. “That’s what helped me convince the Senate and the Earth Councils to act.”