by Dean Murray
"Mom told you that?"
"She told me that and a lot more. Dad knew that we were home when they were fighting, he knew that I was listening when he called me a spoiled brat. That's what he does, he hurts people in order to get what he wants. That's the truth, Adri. That's the truth that Dad doesn't want you to know."
I reached up and slapped her, hard. I didn't even think about what I was doing, but I hit her with enough force that she stumbled into the wall behind her.
"Let's talk about the truth, Cindi. The truth is that you are a spoiled brat even though Dad never actually said that. How much have he and Mom spent on your clothes just over the last year? Two thousand dollars? Three? How much did they spend the year before that or the one before that?"
She tried to get a word in edgewise but I just yelled louder. "That's Dad's money, Cindi. He slaves away year after year trying to put something away for retirement, but you just keep sucking him dry. Mom doesn't help, she just keeps buying more and more crap that doesn't do anything to actually make her a better photographer. The truth is that you're a spoiled brat because Mom's a spoiled brat. She doesn't even bother to cook dinner anymore and half of the time you and I have to do all of the cleaning too."
"She's good and you know it, Adri. She's going to be rich and famous and then you and Dad are going to be sorry that you doubted her."
"I don't care whether she becomes rich and famous or not. I know that's hard for you to believe, but that's the truth. Tonight I finally realized something that I should have realized years ago. I stopped trying in school, stopped trying socially because of you and her. I stopped working for any kind of worthwhile goal because I let your example convince me that the only way to get ahead in life is to use people like the two of you have used Dad. I was wrong, that's not actually the case, but it doesn't change the fact that I'd rather be a dirt-poor failure than succeed by knocking the people who love me, the people who I should love back, into the dirt and walking across their backs to get what I want without ever thinking about the cost to them."
Cindi ran down the hall without looking back. I heard the front door slam and thought about going after her, but in the end I just waited a few minutes to see whether or not she'd come back before locking both the front and the back doors and going to bed.
She knew where the spare key was hidden. I was done sacrificing to keep her happy.
Chapter 22
The next few days were surreal. The house was still a mess because I refused to clean up after Cindi and she hadn't come back after leaving the night of the party. Our room and the kitchen were both fine and I did clean up the bathroom, but Cindi was the one who had planned the party and she was the one who was going to be in the most trouble if the house was a disaster when Mom and Dad got home.
Some clothes disappeared out of Cindi's side of the closet sometime between when I left for school on Thursday and when I got back home, so she must have ditched school to come back for just long enough to get some of her things.
Tristan had pleasantly surprised me by continuing to be helpful without pushing for some kind of payback for his assistance the night of the party. He slipped a note into my locker telling me that Cindi was staying with Missy. I'd been starting to get worried about her by that point, so it was nice to know, even if it did feel like she was escaping the consequences of her actions yet again.
Things with Jackson were still strained at practice on Thursday night. He still pretended like everything was okay, but he spent most of practice with Wendy and didn't walk me to my last class. I'd nursed some kind of childish hope that I'd been wrong, that he hadn't really been freaked out by my inviting him to Cindi's party, but it was obvious that I hadn't misread that particular set of signs. Seeing him nearly every day at cheerleading practice hurt a lot more than I expected it to.
It wasn't even the whole almost-boyfriend part of things either, it was the simple fact that I didn't have anyone to talk to about all of the craziness that was going on with Cindi. I probably would have even started opening up a little to Tristan if he'd been around more, but apparently his coach was extra worried about the game on Friday because by the time we made it out onto the field they were already practicing and they kept going until after Miss Winters released us to go home.
The rest of the cheerleaders were as bad as I'd expected them to be. I heard an almost constant stream of whispered insults whenever I was around any of the other girls on Thursday, but apparently they were still wincing from having to pay for my new clothes because nobody did any more than just talk.
It was pretty clear that the battle lines had been drawn and it was Missy, Cindi and everyone else against me. Sheree was the only one of the girls who didn't actively hate me, which meant that the rest of the cheerleaders were starting to exclude her too. She was too good of a person to just turn on me because everyone else was being mean to her now, but I could see that it was taking a toll on her. Sheree was so nice that usually everyone couldn't help but respond in kind, this was probably the first time she'd ever had real enemies.
It took all of my strength just to make it through Thursday so that I could go home and curl up in my bed. As I drifted off to sleep I realized that the only positive thing that had happened all week was the fact that I hadn't been dream walking.
**
It seemed like not having dream walked for the last few nights had recharged my metaphysical batteries, because as soon as I fell asleep I found myself in another dream that was too vivid to be a normal one.
I turned in place, taking in my surroundings. I was in a reddish-brown wasteland of a desert that was different than my home in almost every way, but as I blinked it became even more different. There wasn't much in the way of vegetation, a few cacti and some scrubby brush, but every living thing seemed to be giving off a faint white light that was only visible due to the fact that the sliver of a moon above gave off almost no light.
I tried to manipulate the dream, tried to create a tree just in front of me, but the result was ghostly and short-lived. Now that I was positive I was in someone else's dream, I looked around for somewhere to hide, but before I could start running towards the dry streambed that I'd identified, a huge black wolf came bounding up out of it.
I knew I should be scared. The wolf was way bigger than any dog I'd ever seen before. It looked like it could easily tear me in half with a single bite, and yet there was something other than just wild savagery in its eyes.
A cool breeze kicked up between one second and the next, but even more incredible was the fact that the wolf was gone now, replaced by a guy who was about the same size as Jackson. He was looking away from me at first, as though worried about someone following him.
I started to take a step backwards in an effort to get somewhere I could hide, but he turned before I could get very far. My breath caught as I saw his face for the first time. He was gorgeous with wavy dark hair and piercing blue eyes, but it was more than that.
In a way that I couldn't explain, this guy was the piece that had been missing from my life. It was like having a dislocated shoulder put back into place. This whole time I'd been feeling an almost irresistible draw towards Jackson and it had all been because physically Jackson looked like this guy.
It was like I'd been wowed by a child's watercolors for months only to now see a Monet. I couldn't go back to just being happy at the prospect of being with Jackson. I was pretty sure that I'd never be satisfied now unless I was with this guy.
The resemblance to Kaleb was clear, but where Kaleb was somehow unfinished, somehow lacking some critical ingredient, the guy looking back at me now was a kind of perfection that went beyond just the physical. I'd never before realized that you could see someone's character in their countenance, but with him I could.
He was dangerous. The mere fact that I was sharing his dream would have told me that even if I hadn't just seen him transform from a wolf, but I somehow knew he wouldn't hurt me, not casually, not without a reason, and not
if there was any other option.
"You're Kaleb's son, aren't you?"
The words slipped out without conscious effort on my part, but they didn't seem to alarm him.
"Yes, although I'd give a lot to have it be otherwise. Who are you?"
"My name is Adri."
It was a reckless risk, but it never even crossed my mind to refuse him my name. I wasn't sure that I was capable of refusing him anything.
"Why do I feel like I know you, Adri? Why do I look at you and wonder when you cut your hair? It should be longer than that."
My heart was in my throat. For a second I thought I wouldn't be able to manage anything more than a shrug.
"I'm not sure, but I think I know what you mean. I feel like I know you from somewhere, like I should be incredibly happy to see you, like you're a long-lost friend of some kind or another."
He didn't look satisfied with that answer, but it was the only one I could offer to him. We stood in silence for several seconds before he shook himself and then looked back up at me.
"Curious. You'd think that I'd become immune to the surprise of having the world drop impossible things into my lap, but so far that hasn't been the case. Why have you brought me here, Adri? You're not one of us, are you?"
"One of you?"
"The moonborn, a shape shifter."
"No, I'm not. How did you know?"
His smile was sad. "You didn't respond to my transformation with a flare of power from your own beast. That's a pretty good sign that you're free from my curse."
"Is it really a curse?"
"Most of the time. You don't know what it's like to have something alien inside of you, something that has its own ideas of right and wrong, its own ideas of how things should be handled."
It wasn't something that I'd ever considered. The movies made werewolves and the like seem so glamorous. Maybe not as cool as vampires, but still something awesome.
"It's got to be pretty awesome though to be stronger and faster than normal humans though, right?"
He seemed to consider my question for several seconds.
"I suppose. There are a lot of times in my life where my beast's speed and strength were the only things that kept me alive, but then again, I wouldn't have been in those situations if I hadn't been a shape shifter in the first place."
"I guess that makes sense. The truth is that I didn't actually bring you anywhere. This is your dream; I'm just sharing it with you."
He looked around at our surroundings. "This isn't like any other dream I've ever had before. It's more real, more vivid than it should be."
I looked over at him in confusion. "This is more vivid than I can usually manage. That's odd, but it has to be your dream because I can't change our surroundings."
A frown of concentration briefly spoiled his expression, and then a large rose bush grew up out of the ground like we were watching some kind of time-lapse photography.
"I guess you're right, this is my dream, but you being here has somehow made it more than I can manage on my own."
A second later he made a black, wrought-iron bench shimmer into view. He sat down on it like he'd been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, like he'd been dying to put his load down and rest, but hadn't been able to do so in longer than he could remember.
"Well, Adri, I guess the proper question isn't why you brought me here, but rather why you've brought yourself here."
"Does there have to be a reason?"
"Not necessarily, but I'm starting to believe that gifts like the one you've displayed tonight operate out of need more often than not. It's possible that we met here on this particular night out of nothing more than chance, but I doubt it. I suspect that you have a need greater than any you've ever before known, and that some part of you thinks that I can help you."
My throat had gone dry. It took a couple of attempts to get a response out.
"Even if that is the case, why should that matter? Why would you bother helping me?"
His smile was odd. It was mocking, but he wasn't mocking me. It was more like he was mocking some memory or misadventure from his past.
"Trust. It always comes down to trust, doesn't it?"
"I guess so. I can't survive in the world that my ability has thrown me into. I'm not fast or strong or deadly. The only thing keeping me alive is the fact that I'm safely anonymous here where I do all of my interacting with other supernatural beings."
"I guess I spoke more truly than I realized. Your problem is deciding who to trust. You're in physical danger already, aren't you?"
"How did you know?"
He suddenly looked tired, almost as though my asking him that simple question had forced him to pick his burdens back up in some form or fashion.
"I didn't know, but it was a pretty safe bet. The world I live in, the one that your dream walking ability seems to be slowly but surely sucking you into, is a savage, lawless place. Anyone you encounter here, anyone who's more than just a normal human, is going to be looking for anything that they can to track you back to your physical body. It's reflexive. Humans are a stewardship to be protected—or cattle to be preyed upon, depending on who you're talking to—but anyone who's not a human, anyone who has the potential to be a threat of some kind or another, either has to be confirmed as an ally or eliminated."
"I'm no threat to anyone."
"Sure you are. Our dreams are the only place where most people really give into their subconscious desires. When you see someone here you see them as they truly are, you see them with all of the illusions stripped back, you encounter them at their most vulnerable. It's a subtle power, but it's incredibly powerful."
"So what should I do? Are you going to come riding to my rescue?"
It wasn't my imagination; he was looking more and more tired by the second.
"No. If that's the help that your power thought I could provide then it was sadly mistaken. I can't even rescue those who are the closest to me. I'm not even sure I have the power to protect myself through the storm I can see approaching on the horizon."
"What about if I told you where I am? Could you send someone to help me? Even just someone to help me disappear? I'm…"
He held up his hand abruptly, cutting me off before I could say anything else. "Don't tell me that. You're safer if I don't know. Not that I would hurt you myself, but I can't promise the same for my father. He looks at people and he doesn't see individuals, he sees weapons and tools, implements to be used up in his quest for more power and influence."
It was hard to get much clearer than that. His father was bad, really bad. That didn't necessarily mean that someone working against him was good, but it was a starting point.
"So your father can't be trusted, but what about someone I saw spying on him?"
He looked at me for several seconds. "You mean in the dream? Tell me about him."
"I don't know. Male, older, like forties or fifties. He looks like a Native American."
"He was spying on my father?"
"Yeah, we were at the top of a building looking down at your dad, but it was odd, like the ground was only a few feet away. Your dad started climbing the building to get to us and the Native American guy seemed like he was going to take my head off. He turned into some kind of giant wolf-man and nearly killed me."
"Was that the only time you saw him?"
"No, I somehow pulled him into one of my dreams. He tried to get me to tell him where I lived, and then he taught me a little bit about how dream walking worked, but when I asked him about your dad he shifted shapes again and tried to kill me. Neither experience particularly made me feel like he was someone I could trust. By the way, you've never even told me your name."
"My name is Alec."
"Okay, Alec, what do I do? What help can you provide me? I've come across two other even scarier people over the last couple of weeks. One of them knows what school I go to and he knows that I'm a cheerleader."
"Very little I'm afraid. The most I can do
is tell you that I think you're dealing with Dream Stealer."
"Who's Dream Stealer and why do you think he's the Native American?"
"Kaleb, my father, is part of a group, a terrible group. Dream Stealer was also a member of that same group at one point, but he's since started working against them. Until tonight, until I met you, he was the only person I'd ever heard of who could interact with people during a dream. Not only that, he's a shape shifter, like me."
"Are there a lot of you?"
"Too many and not enough all at once. We're not entirely in control of ourselves. Mostly we do okay, but if we're injured—or threatened in some way—sometimes our inner beast takes over."
"So maybe he's more trustworthy than he appeared?"
Alec nodded. "Possibly. It's always possible though that you weren't actually dealing with Dream Stealer. I've never heard a reliable description of what Dream Stealer's physical body looks like, I'm not even positive that he's a man. Everyone talks as though he is, but by all accounts it is rare for anyone to interact with him in the flesh. He generally sticks to the dream where he's the most powerful and least exposed. His tactics are…disturbing though. He's done things that a few weeks ago I would have said would make him irredeemable. I'm not so sure now, but even so he's not someone to interact with lightly."
I'd been standing, looking down at him on the bench, but now I let myself drop down to sit next to him.
"You've given me more questions than you've answered for me. After talking to you I still don't know whether the Native American is this Dream Stealer you've told me about, and even if they are the same person, I still don't know whether or not I can actually trust him. Are you sure you don't want to just tell me what to do?"
Alec's smile was sad, somehow sadder than the situation seemed to call for. "Adri, I'm not qualified to tell anyone what to do right now. I'm not even qualified to be running my own life. In the last little while, I've found out that much of what I've always believed was nothing more than a convenient set of lies meant to keep me safely out of the way. People I thought I could trust have been deceiving me so they could do whatever it was they thought would benefit them the most."
