“Mortals, everything is so black and white to you. I’m not a Hunter, nor a Harmer. You would be confusing me with my brother, Hunting. Blood doesn’t interest me.” He shud-dered at the thought.
“Neither blood nor flesh.” He lit a cigar, rolling it between his fingers. Amma was going to have a fit when she smelled that tomorrow. “In fact, it all makes me a bit squeamish.”
I was losing my patience. I hadn’t slept in days and I was tired of everyone dodging my questions all the time. I wanted answers, and I wanted them now. “I’ve had enough of your riddles. Answer the question. What are you doing in my room?”
He walked over to the cheap swivel chair next to my desk and sat down in one sweeping movement.
“Let’s just say I was eavesdropping.”
I picked up the old Jackson High basketball T-shirt balled up on the floor and pulled it over my head.
“Eavesdropping on what, exactly? There’s no one here. I was sleeping.”
“No, actually you were dreaming.”
“How do you know that? Is that one of your Caster powers?”
“I’m afraid not. I’m not a Caster, not technically.”
My breath caught in my throat. Macon Ravenwood never left his house during the day; he could make himself appear out of nowhere, watch people through the eyes of his wolf that masqueraded as a dog, and nearly squeeze the life out of a Dark Caster without flinching. If he wasn’t a Caster, then there was only one explanation.
“So you are a vampire.”
“I most certainly am not.” He looked annoyed. “That’s such a common phrase, such a cliché, and so unflattering. There are no such things as vampires. I suppose you believe in werewolves and aliens, too.
I blame television.” He inhaled deeply from his cigar. “I hate to disappoint you. I’m an Incubus. I’m sure it was just a matter of time before Amarie told you herself, since she seems so intent on revealing all my secrets.”
An Incubus? I didn’t even know if I should be scared. I must have looked confused, because Macon felt compelled to elaborate. “By nature, gentlemen like myself do have certain powers, but those powers are only relative to our strength, which we must replenish regularly.” There was something disturbing about the way he said replenish.
“What do you mean by replenish?”
“We feed, for lack of a better word, on Mortals to replenish our strength.”
The room started to sway. Or maybe Macon was swaying.
“Ethan, sit down. You look absolutely pallid.” Macon strode over and guided me to the edge of the bed.
“As I said, I use the word ‘feed’ for lack of a better term. Only a Blood Incubus feeds on Mortal blood, and I am not a Blood Incubus. Although we are both Lilum—those who dwell in the Absolute Darkness —I am something entirely more evolved. I take something you Mortals have in abundance, something you don’t even need.”
“What?”
“Dreams. Fragmented bits and pieces. Ideas, desires, fears, memories—nothing you miss.” The words came rolling out of his mouth as if he was speaking a charm. I found myself struggling to process them, trying to understand what he was saying. My mind felt like it was wrapped in thick wool.
But then, I understood. I could feel the pieces clicking together like a puzzle in my mind. “The dreams —you’ve been taking part of them? Sucking them out of my head? That’s the reason I can’t remember the whole dream?”
He smiled and stubbed his cigar out on an empty Coke can on my desk. “Guilty as charged. Except for the ‘sucking.’ Not the most polite phraseology.”
“If you’re the one sucking—stealing my dreams, then you know the rest. You know what happens, in the end. You can tell us, so we can stop it.”
“I’m afraid not. I selected the bits and pieces I took rather intentionally.”
“Why don’t you want us to know what happens? If we know the rest of the dream, maybe we can stop it from happening.”
“It seems you know too much already, not that I understand it completely myself.”
“Stop talking in riddles for once. You keep saying I can protect Lena, that I have power. Why don’t you tell me what the hell is really going on, Mr. Ravenwood, because I’m tired, and I’m sick of being jerked around.”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know, son. You’re a bit of a mystery.”
“I’m not your son.”
“Melchizedek Ravenwood!” Amma’s voice rang out like a bell.
Macon started losing his composure.
“How dare you come into this house without my permission!” She was standing in her bathrobe holding a long rope of beads. If I didn’t know better I’d have thought it was a necklace. Amma shook the beaded charm angrily in her fist. “We have an agreement. This house is off-limits. You find somewhere else to do your dirty business.”
“It’s not that simple, Amarie. The boy is seeing things in his dreams, things that are dangerous for both of them.”
Amma’s eyes were wild. “Are you feedin’ offa my boy? Is that what you’re sayin’? Is that supposed to make me feel better?”