“I’m not interested,” Andy said. “I told you. I’m never working for you again. I’m done.”
She drained the whiskey from her glass—her fourth shot if she remembered correctly.
“Please.” She looked at her mother. “Just leave.”
Kate reached for Andy’s hands across the bar counter. Andy’s hands became fists. She retreated, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Get it through your head. I’m done. No more looking after women with visions that will save your little world.”
Claire looked up from where she was standing guard at the Black Sheep’s door. Her hand reflexively traveled to her hip, dipping underneath her coat and searching for the weapon she no doubt hid there.
Andy guessed she carried a Glock. Probably a .22. Smaller, more concealable than its bigger brothers. She didn’t look like the type who would want to ruin her outfit with a big, bulky pistol.
“She looks nice,” Andy mocked her, jerking her chin in Claire’s direction. “What is she? Your fifth keeper? And isn’t she a bit too young for you?”
Her mother rarely dreamed anymore. Rarely needed someone to watch over her while she struggled to consciousness. Someone to interpret her dreams, to execute or prevent them. Somehow she had managed to let the dreams fade to black. To an occasional inconvenience she had to deal with in a day filled with other, more important things.
Their lineage went back thousands of years, to before Joan of Arc, when women still had to exert their influence from the dark. When they still had to work subtly by being wife, sister, lover, and daughter. When they’d tried their damnedest to protect the innocent from the rage-fueled destruction of power-hungry men.
Kate turned the glass in front of her, looking at the single melting ice cube. “You drink too much.”
“Go away.”
“Watch your mouth.” Kate’s black eyes—her own eyes—flared backed at her. “The goal is bigger than you and I. Than any of us, and you know it.”
Kate pushed the glass in Andy’s direction, tucking the graying hair behind her ears.
She was still beautiful, Andy thought. Still immaculately dressed and groomed. Still unmoving in her beliefs, convinced of sacrificing everything for the greater good.
Andy had also been like that when she’d started out, a lifetime ago.
Andy didn’t want to refill her mother’s glass. She didn’t want Kate to remain at the Black Sheep one minute longer. Then she did it anyway. Poured herself another shot too, ignoring the concerned look from Kate.
“Isabelle Templeton is twenty,” Kate said. She leaned back, crossing her legs under the white and black dress. “We don’t know when she started dreaming. She fell through the cracks in the system without us knowing about her. She was a foster kid. Brilliant. Genius in math.” Kate smiled. “She’s building an algorithm that predicts human behavior. I think she’s trying to understand herself better. Trying to grasp who she is.”
Kate sipped her whiskey. “She’s lost and scared. If somebody doesn’t help her soon we’re going to lose her to a mental institution, or the street. She’s very strong, but this could kill her.” She sighed then held her breath. “As far as we can see, the dreaming is intensifying. It’s looking for a way out, even if it kills her.”
Andy remained unmoved. She waited for her mother’s trump card. The one she’d play in the hope it would sway Andy to give up her new life. Her carefully constructed, safe, orderly, predictable life. Away from what happened, what she’d lost.
“From what I hear she can dream four days into the future. At least.”
“Four days?”
Andy spoke in spite of herself. Normally, there were twenty-four hours’ grace to try to solve the puzzle, to put it all together before something awful happened—maximum a day and a half. Nothing more.
Kate nodded, pleased that Andy reacted. “It may even be more. Think of what we can do with that. Of the lives we can save.”
“How close does she have to be?” Andy asked.
She hated herself for sounding interested.
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about her. Which is why I need you. Women trust you. You have this thing that makes people believe in you.”
Andy backed away from the bar counter. “Nope. Forget it. Not interested. Find someone else. You probably have ten keepers in training at the moment. Use one of them.”
“I have six, the rest are all already bound to dreamers. None of them are right for Isabelle. I need someone experienced. Someone I trust. Isabelle could be the most powerful dreamer we’ve ever seen.”
“I’m not that person. I’m retired, remember? If you lose your dreamer, you’re allowed to retire.” And she’d lost two. Not that it had stopped her mother. She’d been here before, begging her to return.
No. Not begging. Kate Bouchard never begged.
Kate looked over to Claire, shrugged, and tilted her head. She smiled slowly, ruefully. Claire pushed her body from the door, Kate’s cashmere coat still folded in front of her body.
“Well, it was worth a try.” Kate got up. “Come on, at least give me a hug good-bye.”
“Sorry,” Andy said, and maybe she even meant it. She took a deep breath and walked around the bar counter. “I’m happy. I need…I want a normal life. It was nice seeing you though. If you’re in London again stop by for a cup of coffee.”
And maybe ask me how it’s going. Like a real mother.
“Happy? You? Really?” Kate asked. “Aren’t you bored to tears?”
Claire stepped forward and lifted the coat as if to give it to Kate.
Andy caught the glimmer of black steel underneath the cashmere.
Shit. Didn’t see that coming.
She jumped onto the nearest barstool, gunning for the Sig Sauer P266 hid in her office when the Taser zapped her in the back.