Mischief's Mate (The Immortal Mates Book 1) (3 page)

She began to fatigue as Signe began to grow younger before her eyes. First all her wrinkles began to smooth out. Then her hands began to straighten as the arthritis left her joints. Soon the last of the girl’s soul slipped from her eyes and her limp body fell to the floor. Signe raised the hand mirror and smiled at the sight before her. The spell had worked, covering even the finest detail.

Stepping over the dead girl she pulled her now dark hair up into a bun. Then without a backward glance, she made her way to Frigga’s bookshop, in hopes of putting a little fear into Loki’s intended. Her plan was to keep them apart long enough to make the darkness take over Loki’s soul. Then she and the Acolytes would finally have the perfect fall guy.

The smell of sandalwood filled the small Academy bookshop Frigga had named The Nine Realms; it all faintly reminded Chantelle of her dream lover. Lighting the long slender white candles as her body swayed to the hypnotic sound of Led Zeppelin’s “The Immigrant Song”. Her ankle length skirt brushed the floor with each movement she made.

There was nothing that seemed to soothe her aching soul like the songs and tales of Norse mythology; especially the stories of a very badass God of Mischief. Maybe she needed to correct that line of thought, Loki wasn’t a god just a very powerful immortal, who mortals had dubbed a god.

At first she thought him cruel. Then upon further examination Chantelle realized that Loki, the God of Mischief, was only doing what he was created to do. Could you really blame the monster for what Dr. Frankenstein had created? None of the other Norse gods had even given him a chance to be anything but what he was born to be.

Chantelle felt as if they were cut from the same cloth. For even though he was a powerful immortal, the Norse tales made it clear, that Loki was an outcast. No matter how hard she had tried to fit in, Chantelle couldn’t. Her soul always seemed to cry out for something different. See, they were almost the same soul. But where Loki had lashed out at the world, she chose to burn within. It was far easier to blame herself than others. Surely, it must be her shortcomings that made her an outcast.

After all, it was her soul that ached. Ached as if it remembered she needed to be someplace else. As if the other half of her soul called to her from somewhere else. Whenever her heart and soul felt heavy, most times it was after one of her dreams; she would lose herself in one of her books. They seemed to soothe the burning ache.

Chantelle could only liken it to someone being told tales of their homeland. Her lost soul could almost feel the sun on her skin as she ran through the gardens of Asgard. She could almost taste the juice of the immortal’s the golden apples slide over her tongue as she took a bite.

The soft tinkle of bells pulled Chantelle from her daydream. “Frigga, you’re early.” A light blush painted her cheeks.

The older woman put her purse behind the counter and made her way towards Chantelle. Fussing over her the way a mother duck does a duckling. Once Chantelle’s appearance was fitting Frigga’s regal standards, she spoke.

“I wanted to make sure you were ready for this.” A worried smile graced her petal pink lips.

Chantelle moved over to the counter and pulled out an old black leather sketch pad. Hesitantly she beckoned her boss over. As Frigga came to stand next to her she opened the book. Chantelle leafed through the pages and the smell of old leather and prism colors filled the air around them like a cloud of magic.

She passed images of her younger self and the dream man; some of them in the library with a fire roaring and the man reading to her. There were a few of them in a garden, the man doing some form of magic trick. He would create illusion after illusion making her squeal in delight. How Chantelle longed for the dreams of her youth; a time when her dream man was her friend and nothing more.

Then she came upon the most recent image she had drawn and her heart fluttered; her soul expanding, reaching ever outward toward her magic man. As soon as she showed Frigga the page she felt her stiffen.

“My magic man is why I have to go through with this. Like it or not I need to know why he haunts my dreams.”

On the page before them was a man of about thirty. His pale angular face was framed by hair the color of midnight. But what was mesmerizing to her, were his jade eyes. They seemed to lay bare his soul.

“You drew this? I’ve never seen a more breathtaking image.”

Chantelle just nodded; then watched as Frigga traced the image with tender fingers. It was as if she was committing it to memory, or maybe it was bringing an old memory back to her. After all, Chantelle didn’t know all that much about Frigga. Maybe the man she had drawn reminded her of someone she once knew? Maybe even loved?

She watched as a traitor tear slowly escaped Frigga’s eye. Had the sorrow she had tried to express in his eyes come through? Maybe this man affected everyone the same way. Something about him made you want to pull him close and right the wrongs done to him and she didn’t even know what the wrongs were. It didn’t matter that he would be bad for her. Oh no, Chantelle just wanted to smooth the sadness from his lips.

She needed to stop thinking like this. He was nothing more than a dream. Even if he wasn’t, she would find a way to cast him from her dreams and life. She didn’t need anyone as dominant and all-consuming as this man in her life. Chantelle had responsibilities that could not be neglected. Especially, not for the whims of a man.

“Frigga, are you alright?” Her boss pushed at a stray tear.

“Couldn’t be better, dear.” Frigga made a sweeping gesture to the picture in front of her. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you could draw like this?”

Chantelle didn’t have an answer for her except that she never showed anyone her drawings. They were nothing more than a way to record her dreams. Besides who would want to see pictures of the same man in different settings? She was sure they would get bored after the first twenty.

She began to fidget with the hem of her blue tank top, “I didn’t think it mattered. After all, you hired me for my knowledge of mythology, not art.”

Frigga frowned at her. Even though they had become close these last few years, there were still things Chantelle wouldn’t share. Maybe things she never would.

Chantelle cleared her throat, breaking the spell that Frigga seemed to be under. “Besides, I never show anyone my magic man.” A light pink blush painted her cheeks, “Except Emma and Savannah. I don’t want too many people thinking I’m crazy.”

Frigga smiled an understanding smile that set Chantelle’s mind at ease. “How long did this take?”

“I did it this morning. I dreamt of him again last night.”

Chantelle carefully began to remove the page from the book and handed it to Frigga; a peace offering of sorts. Her way of saying she was sorry for not showing her sooner. For not letting Frigga know just how wrapped up in her dream world she was.

“Why do you call him your magic man?”

Oh, crap. She had hoped that Frigga hadn’t caught the fact that she spoke of him in the possessive. Most people didn’t. They would just smile and nod as if they thought she was crazy. But she had and now she needed an excuse.

“Well, there is something about him that reminds me of a song I like. It’s called Magic Man. And seeing as he is always doing some sort of magic in my dreams, I just thought it fit.”

It did. He only came to her in dreams; Chantelle had never met anyone like him. It really was as if the man from her dreams had known her, her entire life. So why not call him her magic man?

Frigga’s eyes scanned the image again. There before her in all its dark mahogany glory was her son’s study. His desk was slightly off center, just the way he liked it. Loki told her that was where it caught the light of the fire best. As always there was a scattering of books across its surface. Just looking at the image had Frigga longing for home.

As soon as Frigga had recognized the room she knew the truth. She had always felt Chantelle was the one; had even hoped she was. But she hadn’t been 100% sure. There was no way she could be until the girl went through her Emergence, or Loki said so himself. But this seemed to be proof enough; in the queen’s eyes the image before her sealed Chantelle’s fate.

“Another dream? Is this where you were?” She gestured toward the picture.

Chantelle nodded and her hair bobbed with her. Frigga flipped through the rest of her drawings. She could feel the embarrassment rolling off Chantelle in waves, though she didn’t know why. Chantelle was an amazing artist.

“Well, it’s a beautiful picture. I’m sure the dream therapy will help.”

Chantelle just shrugged, “I hope so. Or else I’m afraid I’ll dream of him forever and not know why.”

Frigga knew that wouldn’t be the case. Not if Loki had anything to say about it. She knew her son would soon be on the hunt for his mate and he wouldn’t stop until he found her. Soon, Chantelle would have all the answers she was longing for.

The small group was made up of three women and two men. They all sat crossed legged on the oversized pillows, each with recorders next to them. Chantelle and Frigga sat off to the side near Dr. Edna Stevens.

Chantelle watched the doctor out of the corner of her eye as she spoke to Frigga. There was something about the willowy woman that didn’t sit well with her. She looked angry, aloof, and stiff. Nothing like Chantelle expected a therapist to look; though it could just be Chantelle’s natural dislike for all doctors.

When her boss returned to her side she voiced her thoughts. “Frigga, I don’t think this is a good idea.” Chantelle gestured between herself and Dr. Stevens.

“I doubt there is anything to worry about, she comes highly recommended.”

Chantelle really didn’t care if she had won a Nobel Peace Prize, or if she found the cure for Lou Gehrig’s disease. There was something that unsettled her about Dr. Stevens. What it was she just wasn’t sure and her time to figure it out was up. Dr. Stevens cleared her throat and all eyes turned toward her. As soon as the shuffling quieted down Dr. Stevens began.

“Today we’re going to have our first therapy session. There are a few things you need to begin. Trust, your recorder and a safe word.”

Chantelle wanted to laugh when the doctor said they needed trust. Was this lady kidding her? There was no way Chantelle was going to be able to trust her if she didn’t stop throwing jealous vibes in her direction. Whatever the doctor’s problem was, it was some heavy shit. Maybe Chantelle reminded her of someone she didn’t like, or maybe the doctor just didn’t like young people.

Chantelle was the only one there under fifty and so it would stand to reason that jealousy and hatred were thrown in her direction. It wouldn’t shock her if that was the case; there were plenty of older women who despised younger women and for no other reason other than because they were young.

She should just forget the uneasy feeling she was getting. After all Frigga trusted this woman, maybe she should too. Dr. Stevens was supposed to be the foremost doctor of dream therapy and yet Chantelle still felt something was wrong. Maybe it was the way she spoke or the way she pronounced her words. But try as she might, Chantelle couldn’t place the feeling. Maybe it was just pre-session jitters?

“During this session we are going to figure out what your subconscious is trying to tell you in your dreams. Shall we begin?”

Everyone nodded in understanding; they were all more than eager to begin. It was very hard to find a reputable therapist in today’s day and age and here they were getting these session for a fraction of what they cost, thanks to Frigga.

“Who would like to go first?”

All the hands in the room went up as quick as lightning. All except Chantelle’s and that was all it took for Dr. Stevens eyes to stop on her. Hadn’t she always told Emma it was better to look eager to join in? Lest the teacher think you were a reluctant student and calls on you when you didn’t want to be called on.

The room spun and a heavy sense of foreboding settled over her. Something was wrong here; she knew it. Her eyes darted to Frigga hoping for a way out. Her boss only nodded in encouragement.

“Chantelle, let’s begin with you. Please, everyone follow Frigga out of the room.”

Why was she sending Frigga away? Instantly Chantelle was struck with an irrational fear. One that told her she wasn’t going to like the outcome of this session. Her fear gripped her so tightly that Chantelle would have been happy to see even her dream lover right now.

When everyone had filed out of the room and the door was closed, Dr. Stevens turned toward her.  “I hear you haven’t been sleeping well. Can you tell me a little about that, Chantelle?”

She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Sitting across from her was a woman who obviously hated her. For what reason, Chantelle didn’t know and she really didn’t care. She just wanted to get this over with.

What seemed to bother her the most was that the doctor was going to think she was crazy, just like everyone else. No one had ever taken her dreams seriously. Her parents had cast it off as an overactive imagination. Her peers whispered behind her back, calling her crazy. It had scared her and it wasn’t until recently that she had told Emma and Savannah about them.

Ok, so maybe there were now three people in her life that didn’t think she was crazy, but everyone else looked at her as if she was in dire need of a “hug-me-coat”. Now, Chantelle wasn’t one to care what others thought, but what she did worry about was people gossiping and hurting Emma.

She looked into the doctor’s warm brown eyes and thought what the hell; if this didn’t work out she never had to see this lady again. Who knew, maybe talking about it would relieve some of the tension she was feeling now.

“I’ve been suffering from a reoccurring dream of sorts. It used to be once a month, but lately it has progressed to several times a week. At least in the last four years.”

She wanted to tell her that since she had turned twenty her dreams had become more vivid. But that was sorta top secret, because Chantelle thought it all had something to do with her upcoming Emergence. That it really was possible she was dreaming of her Fatum Anima, though she wouldn’t cop to it out loud. There was no way she could tell the doctor that, no one other than Halflings were to know about immortals.

Chantelle looked at her hands because she couldn’t look Dr. Stevens in the eye; she knew she would only see a look of pity there. A look that told Chantelle even the doctor thought she was crazy.

Dr. Stevens took a hold of her hand, causing Chantelle’s eyes to jump up to meet her worried ones. She didn’t see any laughter in them. They only held a look of genuine concern. There was something else just under the surface that Chantelle couldn’t make out; something slightly sinister.

“Chantelle, why don’t you begin by telling me about this dream? And please turn your recorder on.”

Chantelle pulled her sketch pad from under her pillow and handed it to the woman in front of her. “Please take a look at this first.”

Dr. Stevens opened the book and began to leaf through it. Chantelle watched as a play of emotions flashed across the doctor’s face. Anger, hurt and jealousy. For a moment she could have sworn that the doctor’s eyes flashed blue.

“Can you explain these?”

She sat forward on her pillow and turned Chantelle’s recorder on. The movement was quick and snakelike, creeping Chantelle out just a little. The soft hiss of the tape recorder was all that broke the silence between them. Chantelle took a steadying breath as she drew up her nerve.

“It’s just a silly dream.” There, it was her last ditch effort to get out of this without having to relive her dreams.

“Please continue…”  Dr. Stevens motioned for her to go on, ignoring her discomfort.

“Since I can remember, I’ve always dreamt of a man. A magic man. This man.” She pointed to the green-eyed man in the drawing.

“When I was very young we would mostly meet in a ballroom. I guess it was a Cinderella complex I had or something. But recently our surroundings have been changing.”

Dr. Stevens’ eyes glanced at the drawing again, “Chantelle, in your dreams are you wearing this?” Her pen tapped the picture before them.

Opening her eyes she took in the doctor’s serious expression. Why was what she was wearing important? What did clothes matter?

Dr. Stevens must have seen the question behind her eyes, “The things we like or dislike in this lifetime have a lot to do with our dreams. They are clues, if you will.”

Chantelle gave her a quizzical look. She wasn’t convinced and there was still a high probability that she didn’t trust this woman.

“Please indulge me.” There was a hint of impatience in her voice.

Shrugging her shoulders Chantelle resigned herself to at least try. What could her honesty hurt? Even if this didn’t work, no one said she had to do it again. If she at least tried, Emma would be proud of her.

“Yes. It’s a white lacy regency era dress. There is a silver satin ribbon under my bust. On my feet I wear a pair of silk slippers.” She paused taking a sip of water, trying to buy as much time as possible.

“But none of that is really important, is it? It’s all been changing recently.” Chantelle passed a hand through her chocolate waves as she tried to steady herself. “The man in my dreams has been interacting with me on a more personal level.”

Dr. Stevens looked up from her notes, “Chantelle, I have a feeling that these dreams have a deep root in your desperation to be loved. I would like to begin the session now.”

She nodded to the older woman and picked up the index card. A smile graced her pink lips as she read the safe word. It was red; clever but simple. Maybe Dr. Stevens wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe she had just pushed all her fears onto the doctor, causing an instant dislike on her part.

“Ok, close your eyes. I’m going to lead you through your dreams.”

Closing her eyes Chantelle sat crossed-legged and steadied her breathing. She sat for a few minutes just letting her breathing even out and waiting for the next set of instructions from Dr. Stevens.

“Breathe in through your nose slowly and out through your mouth. Can you see the light, Chantelle?”

“Yes.” She nods her head.

“Good, now follow the light back to where it is leading you. Tell me when the light fades and you are grounded.” Several minutes pass as Dr. Stevens listens to Chantelle’s breathing.

“He’s here. I can see him standing in his study, just like last night.”

By God he looked magnificent to her. His broad shoulders were encased in a deep ever green shirt. His hands were folded behind his back, his feet shoulder width apart; the stance of a warrior.

“His back is to me as I enter the room. I can smell the scent of old books, it seems to cling to him.”

There’s a small pause and then Chantelle’s gasp fills the room, “No. I don’t belong here. I’m not yours.”

Dr. Stevens’ eyes flash from brown to blue and the air around them crackles with a magic born of vengeance. “Chantelle what’s happening?”

“Please I have to go home. Emma needs me.” She begins to thrash as she tries to escape his hold on her.

“Chantelle, it is time to come back now. RED!”

Chantelle shook herself from the ether of her vision. Her breathing was ragged as her eyes fluttered open. She could still smell the leather that clung to him. There was a strange pulling sensation in the area of her heart as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms. A gesture that only mimicked the way he had touched her in her dream; it offered little comfort.

The doctor passed her a tissue and she dabbed at her eyes. This was far different from any of her other dreams. This was so much more vivid, as if she had really been there with him. Chantelle swore that if she closed her eyes and relaxed enough she would still be able to feel his arms around her.

“Can you tell me what happened just now?”

“He wanted me to stay. There was no way to make him see reason. He begged me to tell him where he could find me.” She was trembling, but whether it was from nerves or something else Chantelle didn’t know and she wasn’t about to examine it either.

“You were talking about staying somewhere. Where did he want you to stay?”

Chantelle shook her head, “I don’t know. I couldn’t tell where I was. But I do know that wherever it was, it wasn’t here.”

“Why didn’t you want to stay?”

That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? There was no honest answer to give. Chantelle couldn’t tell her that in truth she would have rather stayed with him than anywhere else. No, she had her sister to care for and staying with him meant leaving everything else behind.

Chantelle knew he was the type of man that kept what was his close. She knew that if she ever uttered a yes to his pleas for her to stay, she would never see Emma again. To some it would seem an irrational fear, but to Chantelle it was the only thing she knew for sure.

Her eyes moved all about the room. They took in everything from the curtains to the rug; darting everywhere but to Dr. Stevens. The guilt of wanting to stay with him held her rigid.

“That’s just it. I want to stay but I can’t. I can’t leave Emma.”

At her confession Dr. Stevens’ eyes lit up. She had been trying to figure out a way to keep Loki’s mate away from him and now this little mortal had dropped the answer in her lap.

“Listen to me Chantelle. You need to fight him. Don’t give in no matter how sweet his promises are.”

“Fight him?” Chantelle rolled the words around her mind.

“Yes. I can tell you from this dream that you want to abandon someone who needs you. You cannot do that. Fight his hold on you, or else you will be doomed to repeat this lesson.”

Fight him, how much longer could she deny what they both wanted? She had come here looking for help and all Dr. Stevens was doing was making her hurt even more. How dare she say that she was willing to abandon her sister for a man?

“What the hell do you think I’ve been doing the last four years?” Chantelle threw her hands up in defeat, “Forget it. This was a waste of time.”

Chantelle grabbed her recorder and sketch book and stormed out of the room. On her way out she brushed past Frigga and mumbled something about needing to go home and rest.