Page 2 of The Bride Wore White

“That is a very old-fashioned technique.”

She met his eyes and held them while she painstakingly began to thread her way into the hurricane of his dream energy. Her goal was the center of the storm, the dark pit where his primal impulses and desires seethed. The process took time. She needed to buy some of that precious commodity.

“I take it you are not a believer in the paranormal,” she said, anxious to keep the conversation going.

“Let’s just say I have my doubts, like a lot of other people. I am, however, desperate to discover the meaning of this particular dream. I didn’t know where else to turn.”

“Who referred you to me?” she asked.

She was closer now, slipping through the roiling waves of dark energy.

“An acquaintance.” Tapson frowned, impatient. “I’m paying a great deal to hear your interpretation of my dream, Madame Ariadne. Get on with it.”

“Of course. Very well, I am ready to conduct the reading, Mr.Tapson.”

It was all she could do to maintain her grip on the crystal bowl. With most clients, she cheated, not quite touching her fingertips to the rim. After all, in the majority of cases there was no need tomake contact and subject herself to the nightmarish energy of another person’s dreams because, in general, the stories told in dreams were not that hard to analyze. They tended to fall neatly into one of several broad categories. She usually got all the information she needed during the conversation that took place before the actual reading. It was just a matter of paying attention.

She had memorized a list of useful interpretations designed to satisfy most clients.

Your dreamscape indicates that you are under a great deal of stress. I recommend that you drink a cup of chamomile tea before bedtime to calm your nerves.

It is obvious that you are facing a difficult decision. You should take a step back emotionally, drink a cup of chamomile tea, and then make a list of reasons for and against this project.

She also had a couple of specialty interpretations on hand for specific categories of clients.Your intuition is telling you that the nice gentleman you are expecting for tea this afternoon is not your new best friend. Whatever you do, don’t take his investment advice and do not entrust him with your moneywas reserved for lonely, wealthy widows and single women who had come into an inheritance.

She keptYou say you wake up in a nightmare that involves being buried alive under a mountain of white satin? These dreams strike every night on the days that you go for a fitting for your wedding gown? The meaning is obvious. You should call off the wedding. You are marrying the wrong man. Trust me on thisavailable for women on the brink of marriage who were clearly having doubts.

She knew that when it came to wedding nightmares, most clients would not take her advice because it was not what they wanted to hear. She could not blame them. How many times had she awakened with similar nightmares before her own disastrous marriage? And yet she had gone through with the runaway wedding in Reno.

Her intuition had been warning her for months that it was timeto get out of the dream reading business. But here she was, sitting across the table from a maniac who planned to kill her—all because she had ignored what her psychic senses had been trying to tell her. She had decided to keep the doors open just a little while longer. A fresh start in Southern California was going to be a risky venture. She had wanted to put more money aside.

She tightened her fingers on the rim of the crystal bowl and succeeded in slipping through the last of the storm that swirled around the dark pit of energy that fueled Tapson’s dreams.

It was all she could do not to scream. She had known that getting so close to the well of primal energy and raw emotions at the center of the hurricane was going to be an appalling, terrifyingly intimate experience that would no doubt give her nightmares far into the foreseeable future. Nevertheless, she was unprepared for the sheer horror that awaited her in the darkness.

Her grandmother had explained to her that her version of the family talent was unusual. She did not merely catch fleeting sensations generated by a client’s dreamscape, as most dream readers did. She could ride the currents of that energy to the source. She had been told time and again that there was considerable risk involved. Invading another person’s dreams and attempting to manipulate them could destroy a reader. There was always the possibility, Grandma had said, that the client would prove to be more powerful than the reader.

It was not as if she had ever wanted to do what she was going to attempt tonight, she thought. She hated the sensations she was experiencing. She was literally in a waking nightmare—someone else’s nightmare, which made it so much more awful. When she got out of this—if she got out alive and with her sanity—she would probably have panic attacks for the rest of her life. But she dared not retreat. Not yet.

“Tell me your dream, Mr.Tapson,” she said.

“It always begins the same way,” he said, his voice deepening into a husky whisper. “I see a pure, virginal bride draped in white satin and lace. She waits for me near the bridal bed. She pretends to be perfect. Innocent. Flawless. But I know the truth. She is a succubus. She seduces men in their sleep, draining their life energy. The only way to control her is to kill her before she can destroy another man. When I am finished with her tonight, her wedding gown and the bed will be drenched in her blood.”

No doubt about it, Prudence thought. It was past time to find a new career.

On the other side of the table, Tapson watched her with eyes hot with a ghastly desire. The currents of dream energy pulsing through the crystal confirmed that she was looking at a man in the grip of a bloodlust. Her jangled nerves shrieked at her to run but her common sense warned her that would not solve the problem. She could not outrun Tapson. Even if she managed to escape him tonight, he would follow her. She knew obsession when she saw it.

“Well?” he prompted, his voice thickening with anticipation. “What is my dream trying to tell me, Madame Ariadne?”

“Your dream script indicates that you are under a great deal of stress, Mr.Tapson,” she said, striving to maintain her professional aplomb. “I suggest you get more exercise and drink a cup of chamomile tea before bedtime.”

Tapson’s eyes glittered. “There are other activities I prefer to engage in at bedtime.”

“Yes, I know,” she said. Her fury surfaced, temporarily overcoming her fear. “You like to murder innocent women, don’t you? How many have you killed? I’m sure I’m not meant to be your first.”

Shock and confusion flashed in Tapson’s eyes. Whatever he had been expecting, an outright accusation wasn’t it. But in the next instant, a demonic rage flared in the atmosphere around him.

“Do you claim to be innocent, Madame Ariadne?”

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