Nine Lives of an Urban Panther (21 page)

 

Chapter Twenty

“
H
ERE ARE THE
Harrison files, your double-shot macchiato, and the conference call is set up for speed dial on two,” Pamela said as she set down the manila folders and his steaming hot coffee on his desk for the long evening ahead.

Dylan barely looked up at her as he nodded his head.
If he didn't nail this . . .

“Will there be anything else?” she asked, looking at the clock. It was already close to midnight and the dark seemed extra dark outside his tenth-floor window.

“I'm good,” he said as he reached out for the paper cup.

Pamela pushed the paper cup within reach of his grasping fingers.

Dylan brought it to his lips without taking his eyes from the file he was flipping through.

“See you tomorrow then.”

Pamela left and Dylan finally lifted his eyes off the files and watched his assistant walk out of his office.

“
S
O YOU CAN
clearly see by the figures this is the only way to go,” Dylan spoke into his headset, kicking his heels up onto his desk and relaxing his hands behind his head.

The investors in Japan said they had to think about it until their next morning, but Dylan knew he had them, part of his sixth sense. He would get the deal he had been working on for the past three months and he would get the promotion.

He took off the headset and picked up an empty coffee cup. With a bank shot off the wall, he tossed the cup away and wondered if Pamela would be able to come with him when he moved to that corner office. She was just a temp, but the girl had skills, and those stockings with the stitches up the back of her long legs.

Dylan stood up and looked out of his office window. The skyline sparkled at the wee hours of the morning. He looked across the street at the iron-framed building covered in mirrors. He saw his building in its reflection and wondered whether, if he looked hard enough, he could see his own rising star.

He looked closely, trying to count the floors on the reflection to see if he could find his office.

The building before him exploded in a shower of glittering glass. Dylan jumped back from his window as it too cracked under the force of the explosion. The edge of his desk caught him as he watched the rain of mirrors.

All Dylan could think was how much bad luck that would be.

A
T THE THIRD
ring of my cell phone, my heart was pounding. Some part of my brain had finally associated the chirpy sound of the standard ring tone as a precursor to death and danger.

Smart brain.

“Hello?” I scratched my head and yawned.

“If it isn't my favorite cousin.” Waylon sounded far too chipper this morning.

“Are you calling me because you had a dream about the Infomart exploding?”

“No, I'm calling you because I'm on your porch and I wanted to make sure you were wearing pants.”

I sighed and pulled the covers off my bare legs and slowly dropped my feet to the floor. Chaz hadn't stirred yet and I didn't want him to. Poor thing needed sleep like I needed more sleep.

Grabbing a pair of lounge pants off the back of a chair, I shuffled out the door of the bedroom and headed downstairs. “Why the hell are you on my doorstep at this unearthly hour?”

“Just dropped off Lexie at her first day of school.”

I pulled on the pants in the living and looked down at Shadow, resting in his bed in the living room. He just shook his head and lay back down.

I ran my fingers through my hair in the mirror in the foyer, checked my teeth, and picked the sleep crusts from my eyes. “Which one did you pick?”

“The private Catholic one.”

“So the soccer coach liked her?”

I opened the door and Waylon answered me face to face. “Loved her.”

I dropped the phone from my ear and motioned for him to come in.

He followed me through the living room and into the kitchen. “I stopped by to make sure you got through the full moon okay. Should I be asking you about your dream about Walmart?”

I groaned as I started making coffee. “Please don't. But can you confirm that you have not had a dream about the Infomart? Big building with lots of mirrors? ”

Waylon put his hand up in a Boy Scout oath. “I have not. Why?”

I sighed. “Chaz has this theory that if real psychics only dream about actual futures, then whatever I am might dream about possible futures.”

“Who told him we don't dream of possible futures?”

I stopped and looked up at him. “He read it in some book.”

“The book is wrong. I dream about all sorts of futures. Those history psychics only dream of past things, but the rest of us dream every possible angle of events.”

I nodded. “Good to know that not all the crazy stuff in those books comes true.” I started the process of measuring out the beans and suddenly got a hankering for Bastian's coffee cake.

“In your case, I think all of yours are linked to Dallas.”

I frowned. I'd only told him maybe three of the dreams that I'd ever had. “What?”

“Well . . .”

There was a lie coming. I knew it. I could tell when his gaze floated somewhere to the left of my elbow. “If you dare make up some story, I'll know.”

Waylon sighed and spoke fast, as if saying the truth faster would take the sting out of it, for him and me. “Lexie took your dream journal when she was at your place.”

“What?” I spun around to glare at him and launched a half cup of coffee beans across the kitchen floor.

“I asked her to.”

“What?” I shrieked. “Why? And why couldn't you just ask about it?”

“I wanted to prove my theory.”

“About what? That you can't even trust your family?”

“That you are tied to Dallas.”

He reached around to the back of his pants and produced my dream journal.

“And you stuck my journal down your pants. Geez, Waylon.”

I grabbed my journal from him and flipped through the pages. There were Post-its on a few of them, highlights. “This might actually be worse than when you read my diary in seventh grade.”

“Your diary in seventh grade wasn't half as interesting as this one.”

He then pulled a moleskin diary out from his back pocket. “Some of the dreams match. I've dreamt about Seth and Jesse.”

“Who are Seth and Jesse?” I asked as I continued to look through my highlighted journal.

Waylon seemed to laugh. “You haven't figured out that one yet?”

“I dream in stories, Waylon. My brain is programmed for script writing.”

“Seth and Jesse are your sons.”

I felt like he'd poured a cold glass of water down my back. “What?”

Waylon flipped through his book. At the beginning of his, he read out loud, “Seth saves Jesse from . . .”

“Stop,” I said. “I have kids? Wait, don't tell me. I don't think I want to know.”

“But I've dreamt of them. You've dreamt of them.”

I had to suck in a breath to shake the chill of the future from my shoulders. “I've dreamt of possible futures, Waylon. Snippets of things that might be. I don't want . . .”

Waylon softened. “I get it. Not knowing is better than knowing, if it doesn't happen.”

I nodded. “I'm good with the apocalyptic stuff though. Get to that.”

Waylon flipped to another page. “You've only dreamt of Khalida once? I've dreamt of her a million times. Each time she's on a different side.”

I hadn't written the Khalida dream down so I closed my eyes to see if I could find it again. “She wasn't on Jovan's side but still running Dallas.”

Waylon closed his book. “I've got a theory, but it's a long shot, nowhere near the box.”

“Darling, I live outside the box. Shoot.”

Waylon licked his lips and hands out wide before him, said “You dream of a possible future based on the decisions you're going to make.”

“Huh?”

“What happened right after the Khalida dream?”

I had to think, which was hard without coffee, so I turned around to finish making the neurological agents. “We had an incident with Jane and then . . .”

“What?”

“We decided that we needed to unify Dallas?”

“Holy cow, Violet? Seriously?” Waylon leaned against the refrigerator.

“Dream anything about me actually winning? That might be nice for once.” Finally the coffee started to brew. “How did you figure out this brilliant theory?”

Waylon beamed with pride. “Lexie actually. She had the idea after she read the one about her. Something about a pink prom dress.”

“How did she feel about knowing the future?”

“A possible future,” Waylon corrected. “And she didn't like the pink dress. Which was how she figured out that it was all about the choice. If you hadn't made the choice to let her in, she would have run away.”

“She's my niece. There wasn't a choice.”

“But there was. You could have just dropped her off and Lord knows that I would have preferred it that way, but you didn't. You followed the impeccable gut of yours and you showed her your family and invited her in.”

The kitchen went silent as I let what Waylon was saying sink it. It's also when I realized that the coffee had stopped percolating. I pulled down two mugs and poured the two cups. I poured in milk and sugar, stirred with the same spoon, and handed him a mug.

“The same with Khalida. You dreamt of a possible future where you didn't exist.”

“No. A world where I existed and lost.”

Waylon just shrugged. “And then the decision was made to unify Dallas. Nullifying her taking over. I haven't had a dream about her since. These are not coincidences. We both know that coincidences rarely exist when it comes to us.”

I gulped. “It's not a coincidence that I'm in Dallas.”

Waylon hid his victory grin.

I gave him his story. “It was Jessa. And our foreseen connection that originally brought me here.”

“And now the pack keeps you here.”

I nodded. “And that whole fiancé thing.”

My phone began to ring again. I sighed and answered it. “Good morning, Peter. Do you know what time it is?”

“It's done.” His voice was clear without the resentment and gravel it usually had.

I set the coffee down on the counter before I dropped it. “Seriously?”

“You said when you got back to Dallas. Nine tonight, at the coffee shop. Each head will bring a second and I will moderate.”

My stomach tightened. I'd thought I'd have a few more days to write all those speeches and maybe watch
Braveheart
for some inspiration.

“Oh and here's the kicker. Valiance, the second of the vampires, confessed to breaking into your house, looking for the grimoire to break the marks. I told them that if they hadn't tried to behead us, we might have shared the information sooner.”

Well, that was a nice little tie-up for loose ends. It boded well for the evening. “You are amazing, Peter Delmont.”

“A wolf is only as strong as his pack, Prima Jordan.” His words were serious but I could hear the smile on his lips.

“Have you told Bastian that he'll need to close up early?”

“I left that honor for you.”

“Lovely. I'll see you tonight then.”

Peter hung up and I set the phone back down.

I looked at Waylon and wondered if he already knew. So many questions ran around my head as to how he worked. “Guess I'm doing it all tonight.”

Waylon's eyebrows jumped. “Tonight? Already?”

“Yep. I have one hell of a lawyer.”

Waylon frowned as he sipped his coffee. “How come I didn't get a call?”

I frowned into my cup. “I asked for the heads.”

“I'm the head of the only psychic family in town.”

“We don't know that.”

He shrugged at the details. “I'm still going.”

“Don't make trouble for me, Waylon.”

Waylon set his mug down on the counter. “I'm serious about this. I have a vested interest in the survival of not only this city but of my cousin. I want to be there.”

I looked at him. Really looked at him. Would the others believe he was another head? Or would they see it as me stacking the deck? But he was the most powerful psychic in the city, since . . .

“Fine,” I said.

Waylon actually let out a woo-hoo.

“Isn't it too early for woo-hoos?” Chaz asked from the kitchen door.

He nodded to Waylon and went to get himself a cup of coffee. He'd pulled on his pajama bottoms but hadn't checked his hair in the mirror.

“Peter has set up the meeting of the heads,” I said.

“Boy works fast.”

“Man is very capable. Waylon has invited himself.”

Chaz leaned against the counter next to me. “I suppose it is your party. What time do we leave? I've got some errands I need to take care of today. Some things I need to move in.”

“I'm not sure there is a
we
.”

Waylon quietly put his coffee mug on the counter and slipped out of the kitchen.

That gorgeous furrow appeared between Chaz's eyes. “Violet?”

“I'm not sure how it's going to look with me coming in all posse'd up.”

He shrugged. “Then I won't go in as your posse.”

“I'm pretty sure they know we're together.”

“I'll go as the only Guardian left in the city. If you want all the species represented, I'm going.”

I sighed.

Waylon stuck his head in the kitchen door. “He's got a point. He is the only identified Guardian in the city.”

I put my hands on my hips. “I'm not letting you two bully me. Family or not.”