Dream Dark (Caster Chronicles 2.5)

Link glanced at the door like he was afraid his mother had her ear pressed against the other side. “To watch people sleep.”

Ridley opened her mouth and shut it again, finally at a loss for words. She was paying attention now.

“Go on,” Macon encouraged. “It’s only natural now that you’re part Incubus. You aren’t going to have the same desires as Mortals. Just be honest—there’s no wrong answer.” Not unless he was taking a page out of Hunting’s book and drinking people’s blood.

Ridley looked away.

Link ran his hand over his spiked hair nervously. “I kinda want—to know what they’re thinking.”

Macon nodded. “And do you know why that is?”

Link shook his head. Because I’m nuts?

“It’s an urge to feed, Wesley,” Macon explained. “You will always find yourself drawn to the thoughts and dreams of Mortals because that is what sustains an Incubus who does not consume blood.”

Ridley stiffened when her uncle said “Mortal,” as if he was talking about her specifically.

“So I have to read people’s minds when they’re sleepin’?” Link asked.

The color drained from Ridley’s face. She looked completely panic-stricken, as if she was suddenly imagining Link standing over her bed, reading her thoughts.

Macon laughed. He seemed to be enjoying the chance to show someone else the ropes. “Something like that. We can discuss the particulars when you come back tomorrow.” It wasn’t a request.

“Do I have to feed?” Link asked.

Macon considered for a moment. “I’m not entirely sure how often you will need to feed, considering John Breed’s hybrid nature. I will ask Olivia to do some research on the subject.”

Liv had been lying low since we had come back from the Great Barrier, but from what we’d heard, she was never far from Macon’s side. Which basically guaranteed a lifetime spent out of sight, since the folks in Gatlin thought Macon Ravenwood was in a pine box six feet under at His Garden of Perpetual Peace.

Macon seemed to like it that way, considering the small fortune he spent grooming his gravesite. In that respect, he was no different from the rest of the folks in Gatlin. Not that Macon would have seen it that way. Except his flowers weren’t plastic, and his headstone was surrounded by potted gardenias and hydrangeas, rather than glow-in-the-dark crosses.

“Thanks,” Link said gratefully. “I wouldn’t wanna starve or anything. I definitely can’t eat any a my mom’s cookin’ anymore.”

“That is unfortunate.” Macon took a long sip of his sweet tea. “Mortal food is certainly an unexpected perk of my transformation.”

“You know, it’s not the sweet tea I miss as much as Amma’s pie.”

“Ah, yes.” Macon smiled. “She brought me a beautiful lemon pie just this week.”

“Cream or meringue?”

“Cream.” Lemon meringue was strictly for Uncle Abner and the Greats. They both smiled—Link at the memory of all the pie in his past, Macon at the thought of all the pie in his future.

“Enough about pie. Get back to the part about powers,” Ridley said, annoyed. “Speaking of powers, you haven’t mentioned yours, Uncle M. What kind of Caster are you, anyway? Not that we Mortals have a reason to care.”

“I think we should focus on Wesley today.” Macon drained his glass, refilling it immediately. “There are some perks to being an Incubus, you know.”

“Like the superstrength?” Link was getting stronger every day. Just that morning, he had lifted his broken old bed off the ground with one hand while he was trying to pull out some contraband CDs.

“Among other things,” Macon answered. “You’re a Supernatural now, Wesley. Your days as a Mortal are over. And you have powers that far exceed superior strength.”

Ridley stood up and walked over to the fireplace, unwrapping a stick of gum. It wasn’t the Charmed gum that could Bind a lock to hold off Hunting and his Blood Pack. It was just regular Mortal bubble gum.

Link leaned forward in his chair, propping his elbows on the table. This was the part he was really interested in. “What kinda powers? Can I bend metal?” Anyone could’ve told you that would be his first question. In Link’s book, it was worth being part Incubus if it turned him into Magneto.

“I’m afraid not,” Macon answered. “But if it’s any consolation, you can bend space, in a manner of speaking.”

“Huh?”