The Dream Travelers Boxed Set #2: Includes 2 Complete Series (9 Books) PLUS Bonus Material

by Sarah Noffke

  “Vivian is a powerful Dream Traveler,” he spits out.

  “Details,” I say in a bored voice.

  “She has the power to control people with her voice,” he says, hurrying through the words.

  “Yes, like a siren. I’ve deduced that much. And she can block psychic energy. Tell me something that will make me spare your life,” I say.

  His eyes drop to the instrument held in his own hands against his will. Ted’s stupid Dream Traveler power is that he’s telepathic, which is what makes him such a successful politician. He knows what people want to hear and says it. However, telepathy can’t get into my head when I’m shielded, which I am.

  “She took those Dream Travelers to build an army of assassins,” I state.

  He nods, which unfortunately for him makes the blade pinch his neck.

  “The CEO and shareholders. Why did she have James go after them?” I ask.

  “Because,” he says, through a gurgling cough. “She needed them out of the way.”

  “Why?” I say.

  “So she can take over the company, Smart Solutions.”

  “She’s in line for that, is she?”

  Another nod.

  “Why didn’t she just tell them to give it to her, use her power?”

  “Vivian’s power doesn’t work on them,” he says.

  “How?”

  “The CEO, Frank Bishop, he’s her father. But estranged. No one knew it. She recently found him,” Ted says.

  I sneer. I can relate to poor Frank. “He has…I mean had her power of control through voice commands. Is that right?”

  Another nod.

  “And therefore, he would be able to resist her control, correct?” I say.

  “Yes,” he says in hush.

  “So she killed her father. Sounds like a delightful woman,” I say. “Who are the shareholders? Why go after them?”

  “They’re her uncles. They own majority shares in Smart Solutions.”

  “Again, they share her powers and can resist,” I state rather than ask. “And they have control of the company.”

  “Yes,” he says, sweat beading down onto his eyelids. “But they revert to the fourth shareholder if anything happens to them.”

  “Vivian,” I say, wondering how convoluted the company is set up that the Lucidites didn’t see this with our recent investigation. None of the connections between these men was realized, nor Vivian’s connection to the company. It must have been shielded somehow. “And why does the witch want control of her father’s company.”

  “He wouldn’t sign off on her newest project,” Ted says. He pauses and wheezes.

  I sigh. “Which is?”

  “Smart Pods.” Again another pause while he tries to breathe past his racing pulse.

  “Will you fucking get on with it and tell me what that is? What are Smart Pods?” I say, my short bit of patience having long past run out.

  “They are devices that go in homes. They pick up on voice commands,” he says, now talking at an acceptable speed. “They can control everything in a house: lights, temperature, security. They are connected to the internet and store all conversations in a house to provide family history. Furthermore, they play music, games, read books, control all the digital entertainment for a family. And Smart Pods make purchases when directed or offer facts when asked. There’s a voice that members interact with. She’ll answer or do anything a person asks.”

  “Vivian’s voice, I’m guessing,” I say.

  “Yes,” he says and his arm shakes. It probably feels like lead since he’s been holding it up all this time.

  “And she’s going to use this technology to control any households nationwide, is that right?” I say.

  “Yeah,” he says with hiss.

  “And you helped clear all the bloody red tape so she could get clearance from the government to help,” I say. “That bit about recording conversations for family records, that’s a true invasion of privacy.”

  “I had to. She made me,” he says, and I might spy a bit of guilt in his voice. Just a bit though.

  “I’m sure she did, but you’re still going to hell, Teddy. So what does she plan to do once she’s got the evil devices in homes?” I say.

  “I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head erratically. “She never told me.”

  I’m sure it will involve evil and destruction. “Did she tell you what she wants with me?”

  His eyes widen and a look of repulsion covers his face. “Please no. Please not that. You really are better off not knowing everything.”

  This man is such a politician. His manner reminds me a bit of Trey. They both seem to think that individuals are better off knowing little, like too many details will keep us up at night. I’m already up at night, wondering what Vivian’s plan could entail and how it relates to me.

  “Go ahead and stretch that hand up so that the point of your pretty letter holder is directed at your jugular,” I say with a flick of my wrist, the heavy intention loaded in my words.

  He does as I say, his eyes watching his own hand like it’s a diabolical murderer, moving closer.

  “Please no, please,” Ted begs.

  “It will take little force for you to stab yourself. Or…” I leave the alternative hanging in the air.

  Ted’s eyes jerk to me. “She’s obsessed with you,” he says in a rush. “Vivian pretends you’re already with her. Makes me acknowledge you when we meet although you aren’t present. She pretends to consult with you. Has conversations. She knows everything about you. Laughs at jokes you don’t tell. She’s insane. You can’t mess with her. You should go underground. Get as far from her as possible. There’s no getting around her voice control. I’ve tried. Only her father and uncles could resist her.”

  Ted’s admission makes me smile inside. Crazy bitch who is obsessed with me. Kind of like the sound of this more and more. “I’m not a coward,” I say to the trembling weakling in front of me. “Don’t you worry about me. But do tell me how she knows so much about me. About the Lucidites.”

  Ted hesitates. His eyes fly to the hand holding the knife, which is shaking against his neck now.

  “Just a few ounces of your own pressure should do the job,” I say, rocking forward on my heels and then back again. This kind of thing really is too much fun.

  “There’s a mole,” he says in a rush.

  “Mole?” I say.

  He nods. “At the Lucidite Institute. That’s how she knew how to block Roya, that news reporter, and she’s had this person watching you for all these years.”

  “Who is it?” I say.

  “I don’t know,” he says, and unfortunately he isn’t lying. I can tell. “I only heard her speak to them over the phone a few times. You see, Vivian was trained at the Institute years ago but went on her own. However, even after she left, she kept eyes on you. This person reports on all your activity.”

  Thousands of Dream Travelers are brought into the Institute when they come of age. They’re trained, given a set of dream travel rules, and then released back into the world with the hopes they’ll contribute to society, not harm it. This is another of Trey’s long-running agendas. And in promoting it, he’s obviously allowed traitors into the Institute. I may have even trained Vivian. My photographic memory will have to shuffle through the back catalogue to figure that out. And then I’ll have to hunt down this mole and make them kill themselves.

  “For how long?” I say, my head fuming with anger. “How long has someone been spying on me?”

  “I don’t know. This is mostly just what I’ve learned during her imaginary conversations with you.” His hand shakes violently now, his muscles obviously fatigued from holding up the weapon for so long in one position. “That’s all I know. Will you release me, please?”

  “Tell you what, Ted. You stay like that until the sun sets,” I say, gazing out the window. The city landscape to the west spreads out in all directions. It�
�s about ten minutes until the sun starts its final descent. “When that sun kisses the horizon you can lower your arm and go about your repugnant life. That is, unless your hand fatigues too much before then and you kill yourself.” The mind control I’ve placed in those words will wear off in roughly ten minutes, which means my planning worked out perfectly. As usual.

  “Cheers,” I say, teleporting away.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  One week later

  Winter time in Los Angeles is about like any season in this congested city. Most of its residents still fashion their stupid shorts and have their sunglasses sitting on their tanned faces. People pay a high premium to live in Los Angeles because of the weather. They fail to realize God ripped seasons from the city, which is what creates a balance. Not having winter isn’t a blessing, it’s what’s going to cause the city to fall into the bloody ocean. Sadly, I’ll be part of the collateral damage, but at least I’ll be taking Dahlia with me.

  “How does that look?” Adelaide says, standing back and tilting her head to regard the Christmas tree from a different vantage point.

  “It’s horrid. Absolutely the worst thing I’ve ever seen,” I say, my eyes on the book in my hands.

  “It’s beautiful, dear,” Dahlia says, throwing a hand back and slapping me on the shoulder. She didn’t really look either and I know because her head is partially on my lap. She has her own book sitting in front of her face.

  “You know, Dahlia has people she pays to do that,” I say to Adelaide, who is now hanging a crystal angel on a branch.

  “Ren, she wanted to do it. And she’s better at it than my people,” Dahlia says, and now lowers her book to look at the tree and its decorations. “It must be your artistic eye.”

  “I’m glad you think so. It’s my first time to decorate a Christmas tree,” Adelaide says.

  “No,” Dahlia says, popping into a seated position. “But you said your mother was religious.”

  “Well, yeah, but we were as poor as shit,” she says with a shrug.

  At this Dahlia slaps my arm again.

  “Don’t slap me,” I say, my eyes still on the sentence I’ve been trying to read for ten minutes. “It’s not my fault her mum couldn’t get a better paying job.”

  “Well, she had the burden of raising your child,” Dahlia says, and by the tone of her voice she’s offended.

  I look up to find Adelaide with a slight smile on her face. She’s enjoying this. “I grew up in the lower class too,” I say. “It builds character. And now you’re rich. Happy? It’s bloody great being rich.”

  “You’re rich actually,” Adelaide says, her eyes on the tree, an intent focus on the arrangement, like she’s trying to figure out what needs adjusting.

  “Yes I am. But what’s mine is yours. That’s how this whole repugnant arrangement works, right?” I say.

  “I don’t want your damn money,” Adelaide says, straightening a fake robin on a limb.

  “Oh, then you just want to live with us and have us pay your way while you sketch ponies all day and hone your evil dream traveling skills? Is that it?” I say.

  “Yeah, that seems about right,” Adelaide says. “Does that work?”

  “Sure,” I say with an indifferent shrug. I’m pulling my book back up when my mobile rings on the tabletop.

  A brief glance at the caller ID earns a long sigh from me. I consider not answering, since I’m supposed to have the week off to readjust after the move; well, and to spend dozens of hours shagging Dahlia.

  “What?” I say into the phone.

  “Ren, I have news,” Trey says.

  “Is this about Vivian?” I say and at once notice Dahlia tense. She knows who Vivian is. Doesn’t like the way I told the story, which was matter-of-fact. “She said we were going to rule from the cliff tops. The Marilyn Monroe lookalike definitely has the hots for me.”

  “Get that look off your face,” I say to Dahlia.

  “Excuse me?” Trey says.

  “Not you,” I say. “Although you probably have that wrinkled brow thing going on. So go ahead and get that look off your face too.”

  “And no, this isn’t about Vivian. We still have the investigative reporters looking into things. I’ll let you know when I have more information,” Trey says.

  “I cannot wait,” I say, my voice dead of emotion.

  “This is about Adelaide actually,” Trey says, and his voice shifts. Tightens.

  “Go on,” I say, my eyes flicking to the girl who has no idea her name has been mentioned, her eyes pinned on her task of decorating the tree.

  “I had her blood test run,” Trey says.

  “Why would you do that? I told you she didn’t want the job,” I say and Adelaide’s attention is ripped from her work. She stares at me with uncertain eyes.

  “I know, but I thought that if she changed her mind, then we’d be ready to go. I kind of figured in time she’d come around,” Trey says.

  “Well, maybe she will,” I say, giving Adelaide a look, the one I keep giving her when we discuss this topic and she fights me on it.

  “Doesn’t matter if she does,” Trey says. “She doesn’t qualify at the current time to be an agent.”

  “Wait. What?” I say, not having expected Trey to say that. “How is that even possible?”

  “It’s her blood test,” he says. That’s all he says, which is insufficient.

  “Why?” I say at once.

  “She has a condition, and the test states that she’s had it since before you met her. Four, maybe five months,” Trey says.

  “A condition,” I say, my voice suddenly higher than usual. Dahlia’s eyes are wide with worry as she listens to only my part of the conversation.

  Adelaide has shuffled to put some garland back in a box, her fast hand movements making her nervousness known. Then she turns and rushes for the door.

  “Yes, a condition. Ren, Adelaide is pregnant,” Trey says.

  “Oh fuck,” I say, hanging up on Trey at once.

  Epilogue

  I’ve wondered for quite time if stupidity would be the thing that killed the human race. Now I realize how wrong the question was. Yes, being stupid could kill us. However, I never considered that it was in fact stupidity that kept us on this bloody Earth. Stupidity may just be the very reason that humans have continued to exist when we should have died out long ago. This is because stupid people are prone to breed more stupid people into this world, creating a never-ending cycle. Actually, stupid people are the ones breeding. The ones too daft to take care not to overpopulate our crowded cities and overburden our resources with babies. These babies then grow up to do the same as their parents, creating an epidemic of stupidity that can’t be erased.

  And I never realized that one day I’d discover that I was one of those stupid people. I’ve bred stupidity into this world.

  I’m Ren Lewis and I’m a part of the problem.

  REN: THE MONSTER INSIDE THE MONSTER, Book 3

  Prologue

  Change always gets its praise. If we don’t change we die. That’s what my therapist likes to tell me. John F. Kennedy said, “Change is the law of life.” George Bernard Shaw said, “Progress is impossible without change.” Winston Churchill said, “To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.”

  Fuck change. Fuck those people who think that a constantly evolving life creates perfection or progress or satisfaction. Nothing changes more than a butterfly. It starts as a larva and changes rapidly during its life. Only a small percentage ever progress to a caterpillar. And the life expectancy of a butterfly is ridiculously short. The male’s is especially short, not surprisingly. Sure a butterfly goes through incredible changes, but at what cost? Is it worth evolving to a beautiful being to only fly for a few days?

  Not all butterflies have such short lives. The ones who seek shelter from the elements or migrate can live several months. So I’ve decided to follow the logical ways of the butterfly
, an insect with a tiny brain, and that means I should retreat. Find a place where the winds can’t damage my symbolic wings. Where people can’t pollute me with their incredibly illogical behaviors and wrong ways of thinking.

  I’m Ren Lewis and I fucking hate change.

  Chapter One

  The fluffy strand of garland falls to the ground with zero noise. Adelaide’s feet tangle in it as she makes for the door. I’ve already bucked Dahlia off my lap and shot to a standing position, my mobile close to breaking in my tight grasp. Trey’s words echo in my head from the call I just ended.

  “Ren, what’s going on?” Dahlia says, standing too.

  “Not so fast, Adelaide,” I say just as she reaches the doorway.

  She halts, her body reeking with tension. Her shoulders are pinned up high. Her chin tucked. And even in the oversized sweatshirt she’s swimming in I can still spy the stress she’s holding in every one of her limbs.

  The fucking sweatshirt. Of course. How didn’t I see the clues before? Her constant insistence to wear baggy sweaters although I had fitted button-ups bought for her. The napping, the sickness, the greenish bags under her eyes. I’m a fucking master of strategy and never realized the girl living with me for the last three months was pregnant. The word feels like a firecracker in my head. Pregnant.

  “What the fuck, Adelaide,” I say, five feet from the girl who is visibly shaking now. She turns but the movement is so slow that for a moment she reminds me of a sloth, a terrified one.

  “What is it?” she says, her eyes on the ground.

  “Don’t what is it me. You know bloody well what Trey just told me or otherwise you wouldn’t be rushing for the exit,” I say.

  Her eyes meet mine, a cruel pain in them. A shame I’ve seen there every day I’ve known her but just now completely understand. She’s a girl living a lie, one she’s in over her head with. How many times did she try to tell me her secret, only to fail to say the words? How long was she going to let this go on?