"It's not freaking working!" I exclaimed, opening my eyes and finding myself back in my own bed, the sunlight streaming through the windows indicating that it was morning, and not feeling rested at all.
Chapter Five
"Holy hell.”
I rubbed my eyes, disoriented by the sudden change. Pulling the covers back, I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and reached with my toes for my slippers. I cringed when I came in contact with cold floor instead of the soft plush of my slippers. I tracked down the errant slippers, shoved my feet in them, and shuffled toward the bathroom, my mind a haze of confusion as I ran the details of the dream through my mind.
My dreams were usually vivid, but I always had trouble recalling them with clarity for more than a few moments after waking. I brushed my teeth and thought about the oddly colored lights in the Pool. As I climbed in the shower, I pondered the grass green of Alexander's eyes. While I dried my hair, I considered the smell of the flowers and the trees and the sea when they mingled. By the time I made it back to my room, I was thoroughly convinced it had all been a product of my imagination. What kind of loser was I to dream up a perfectly gorgeous specimen of a man and have him still wind up a few cards short of a full deck?
"Morning, sunshine!" Becca sang cheerfully as she breezed into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. She gave cartoon princesses a run for their money on morning perkiness. All she lacked was wild animals scurrying into the kitchen to start washing dishes and harmonizing while she sang about finding her one true love.
"Mmrrglll,” I mumbled at her as I rummaged in the cabinet for my cereal.
She shook her head disapprovingly as she pulled a carton of eggs from the refrigerator and set about making herself breakfast. She could keep her grown-up, responsible breakfast. I was happy to let Lucky Charms provide me with the sugar rush I needed to propel me through my morning. I found my overly processed marshmallow goodness and poured myself a bowl, making my way to the table to sit down. The cartoon leprechaun on the box smiled winningly at me and I glared back at it.
"Nasty little sprite" I frowned at the box, thinking about the things Aleksander had told me. Or that I had dreamed he told me, rather. I clearly needed more sugar, so I stuffed a spoonful of the cereal into my mouth, chewing grudgingly as I glared at the cartoon as if it were his fault I’d dreamt of insane hotties.
"Why are you so grumpy this morning?" Becca inquired, setting a cup of coffee in front of me. I raised an eyebrow at her and sipped the warm liquid appreciatively. "I thought you were in a pretty good mood when you went to bed. Did you change your mind about that Dom guy?"
"Nah, it's not that.” I swallowed another mouthful of the coffee. "I had a weird dream and it's kind of wigging me out a little."
"Any hot guys in your dream? Like maybe with dark hair, blue eyes, and brooding good looks?" Becca grinned, sliding in the seat across from me with her plate of steaming eggs and perfectly halved Udi’s toast triangles.
"As a matter of fact, there was," I said with a smile. "Crazy beautiful—heavy on the crazy."
"And?" she prodded, nibbling on her toast.
"Okay, so get this," I started, putting my spoon on the table and leaning forward. "I dreamt that I was on this beach with two huge moons, and this Adonis of a guy with blond hair and green eyes shows up and tells me that he's, like, my faerie guardian or something. Supposedly I was some faerie baby who hijacked my mother's womb or something like that. Who dreams this crap up? That reminds me. We need to go grocery shopping. I've changed my mind on the whole organic thing. You were right about those chemicals in the food and stuff. They're totally frying my brain and messing with my sleep."
Becca looked pointedly at my bowl of cereal and back at me.
"Except for my Charms." I glared, picking my spoon back up and pointing it at her like a dagger. "Nobody touches my Charms."
She laughed at me and brushed her hair off her shoulder. She had long ago given up trying to convince me to join her in her GMO-free, gluten-free, earth-friendly lifestyle, no matter how many clinical studies and articles she’d showed me.
"What about you? Any of the hotties at the club inspire any good dreams for you?"
Becca frowned and bit her bottom lip, her eyes dimming. "Not really. Actually I had a horrible dream about the day Dad left. Totally random. I guess it’s been bothering me more than I thought that he's getting remarried. I don't know. I'll have to give him a call or something later so we can talk."
She kept speaking but I had already stopped listening. In my mind, I saw the Pool of Dreams before me flashing green and a ten-year-old Becca sobbing on the stairs, screaming for her dad not to leave her. What were the odds that I would dream of what she had dreamt? What if it hadn’t been just a crazy dream after all? No, that was nonsense. There was no such thing as faeries and changelings and parallel dimensions. I felt like I was going crazy, running every moment through my mind, searching for something, anything to clearly define it as a dream and coming up empty-handed.
The leprechaun on the box smiled at me, and I felt like I was going to be sick.
"Are you listening, Cassie?"
I shifted my gaze back to Becca and smiled weakly. I had a vague feeling she had been trying to hash out her feelings for her soon-to-be stepmother. Her father was no longer with the home wrecker, but his new girlfriend Barbara, while sweet, was only twenty-five years old. She was barely older than we were, and I knew Becca wasn’t comfortable with it. Truthfully, I don't think she'd ever given up hope that her parents would one day reconcile, and it was all weighing heavily on her mind.
And I was stressing on a stupid dream when my friend needed me. What the hell was wrong with me?
"I'm sorry, Becca. I guess I'm preoccupied with this paper I've got to do for Professor Davies’s class. You're right. You should call your dad. Let him know how you feel.”
"Yeah," she replied, her eyes brightening again. "You're right. I need to call Dad. I can't keep letting his poor life choices screw with my beauty sleep."
"Hey, what was up with Miguel and that guy?" I asked, moving to rinse my bowl in the sink.
"Oh, Ray!" Becca grinned. "Miguel introduced me while you were talking to McHottie with the dimples. His name is Ray, he's a sophomore, and he's studying dramatic arts. Miguel's already hooked, I can totally tell. He said that they're going out for coffee this morning and he's sworn to call us this evening and dish. If he isn't otherwise engaged with the new man in his life, that is.”
I was two for two on the dream thing. My stomach twisted nervously, and I flashed a tight smile at Becca, pretending to be as enthusiastic as I should feel about our friend’s love connection.
“Listen, I'm, um… I'm going to head over to campus. I need to hit the library and start working on this paper before work. I'll talk to you after work, yeah?"
“Sounds like a good idea. Have a good day at work and try not to let Sharon get to you too much.” Becca hated my boss almost as much as I did and that was saying something. Becca had a hard time disliking anyone.
“I’ll do my best, but no promises,” I laughed, grabbing my laptop bag from the floor next to the couch, slinging it over my shoulder, and hurrying out the door.
I was going to the library all right, but I wouldn't be researching the hero’s journey. If I remembered correctly, the library on campus had a rather extensive mythology and lore section, and I was determined to get some answers. For this first time in my life, I was hoping I was losing it.
***
I tried to restrain myself from running the four blocks to campus and the three blocks from there to the library. In my mind, all I could see were the green of Aleksander's eyes and the honey-colored hair that framed his face. I spent the rest of the walk thinking about the feel of his body pressed against mine as we’d both peered into the Pool of Dreams and watched the images dancing across its smooth surface. Why wasn’t the image fading from my memory like dreams normally did? The images clung to the cor
ners of my mind, refusing to let go, and it was really starting to freak me out.
As soon as stepped onto campus, I grabbed a coffee from the small coffee shop next to the bookstore where I worked and checked my watch. I had two hours before I had to be at work. I accepted my sugar-and-caffeine-laden drink and drained it and rushed down the street, trying to get to the library as quickly as I could. I said a silent prayer to the library gods that just this once the books I needed would be available and on the right shelves.
Had I really seen Becca’s dreams? What were the odds that I would accurately dream about her dreams? Should I call Miguel and ask him about his dreams too? No, that was nuts. I was nuts for even considering that any of this could be real.
Freaking faeries and changelings—yeah right, I scoffed internally. I couldn't understand why I was even indulging this bit of psychotic breakdown, but there I was, standing in front of the two-story brick building that housed the campus library. I was ready to prove to myself that I needed to make an appointment with the university shrink at her earliest convenience, even if it was way too early in the semester for me to lose my shit.
Good thing I wasn’t losing it closer to finals. She’d probably be too booked up then by nearly suicidal grad students to see a delusional freshman at that point.
I showed my ID card to the librarian at the desk and made my way to the second-floor study stations. Pulling my laptop from my bag and booting it up, I connected it to the campus Wi-Fi and tried to be as patient as I could. I figured the library would have the books I needed, but I wasn't even sure which section to begin checking for mythology on a place called Otherworld, if there even was anything.
There had to be something. No way had I pulled that out of thin air.
Within minutes, I was logged into the system and typing Fae into the search engine. I tried unsuccessfully to search for something besides images of Tinker Bell tattoos and fantasy art of half-dressed women with long, curly hair and gossamer wings perched on a variety of things—mushrooms, tree branches, rocks. Faeries sure liked to perch on things and peer into pools of water.
The closest I could find was in a user-written encyclopedia about Celtic legends and myths. I tapped my fingers impatiently on the desk as I read through the description, recognizing nothing that Aleksander had told me. Some even described them as demons, some as fallen angels, but it was impossible to find one story that didn't contradict the other. Growing frustrated, I deleted my search and tried again, this time with Otherworld.
This was a little easier to navigate. I clicked on the first link marked Celtic Otherworld and read about how the Celts had believed that Otherworld was the realm of the dead, always in the west, and home of the Fae. This was closer to what Aleksander had told me, and my heart sped up. I pored over the page before getting discouraged and closing the search engine again.
I had similar results researching changelings, the Dreaming, and the Pool of Dreams. I felt a heaviness in my chest and sagged a little in my chair, trying hard to ignore the disappointment that was flooding me.
Why the hell was I even disappointed? Did I want to be that crazy freshman who cracked under the pressure of being away from home for the first time?
There had to be an explanation that would make sense. Getting nothing from my internet searches, I closed my laptop and stuffed it in my bag before I got up and walked to the reference desk.
"Can I help you, young lady?" The woman behind the desk smiled sweetly at me, her voice kind and warm.
"I was wondering if you could point me toward mythology?" I asked, nervously gripping the strap of my bag.
"Any specific mythology? Are you looking for Greek or Egyptian or Native American? We have a rather extensive collection of Native American Mythology in the back, including some rare books that you will only find here,” she said proudly.
"That sounds nice but not really what I was looking for,” I said. “I was looking for books on Celtic mythology?”
"Let me check for you," she replied, tapping her keyboard and checking her screen. "Yes, here we go. I’m afraid we have only two volumes that might be useful. They're both located on the first floor, section B, all the way in the back."
She scribbled down the names of the volumes on a piece of scrap paper and handed them to me. Mumbling my thanks, I followed her directions until I found the section on mythology she had directed me to. Of course I only found one of the two volumes. Pulling it from the stack, I wandered back to my study area on the second floor and opened the book.
The volume was thick and full of tales of leprechauns, sprites, and banshees. I checked the index section at the back, looking for references to Otherworld, but there was only one. Flipping to the appropriate page, I was startled to see an ink and paper sketch of the beach I had dreamt of the night before. It had the same cliffs in the distance, the curving white beach, and there, large and luminous in the sky, the double moons.
Holy hell. What if I wasn’t crazy?
Unfortunately, this was where the similarities ended. The description was the same as the websites I had found. An underworld for the Celtic dead, a place in the west for their souls to wander. I couldn't begin to understand why I felt like crying in disappointment.
My cell phone buzzed, so I pulled it out of my pocket and checked the screen.
Good morning, beautiful.
The number was unfamiliar.
Who is this? It was only a moment later when the response came.
Dom. This is me using your number ;)
A small smile played at my lips, and I felt grateful for the real, live guy who was sending me ‘good morning ‘texts. I pushed the memory of Aleksander and my dream to the back of my mind.
True. Although this hardly counts as morning. I've been up for hours.
I stared at the drawing in the book while I waited for his reply, tracing my fingers over the ink. I knew for a fact that I had never seen this book before. How had I managed to dream this exact scene? I bet Aleksander would tell me that a Síofra had drawn it. He seemed to have an answer for everything, but he was a figment of my imagination, so of course he would know which answers would pacify my curiosity, wouldn't he?
Well I'm just getting up but I could use some coffee and I want to see you again so let’s kill two birds with one stone.
I looked at the book in front of me, knowing that I wouldn't find what I was looking for here. I wasn’t ready to pass up a real, live guy for some random figment of my imagination.
Sounds good. I have an hour before work. Meet you at Creekside in 20. I replied, indicating the coffee shop next to the bookstore.
I closed the book and walked to the kiosk at the front to check it out. I wasn’t getting any answers from it, but I wanted more time to study the ink drawing. I had already known that it was only a dream, hadn't I? Yet in some small way, it had been nice to think, even as remote as a possibility as that had been, that I was special. Unique somehow, set aside for something greater.
As it stood, I was only Cassie Marshall, a nineteen-year-old college freshman with no major and no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. I left the library with the thick volume on Celtic mythology in my bag and headed to meet Dom at the coffee shop, feeling oddly deflated and painfully ordinary.
Chapter Six
I made it to the coffee shop in good time, enjoying the brisk October weather, and darted in the glass double doors. Removing my jacket, I scanned the room for Dom. I let my gaze roam over the small line in front of the coffee bar and tried not to let it linger too long on the glass display of pastries. There were small wooden tables scattered around the room and tall booths with dark leather that matched the paneling on the walls, but I didn’t see Dom in any of them. I had beaten him there. The shop wasn't crowded at the moment, being almost eleven on a Saturday morning. The early risers had already had their caffeine fix and the late bloomers were probably still asleep, nursing hangovers from the night before.
Sliding into a dark booth a
t the back of the room, I pulled the mythology book out of my bag and opened it in front of me. There hadn't been any relevant information on Otherworld or the Dreaming, but I was intrigued by the book’s description of faeries and wanted to reread that section. The pen and ink drawings displayed faces of ethereal beauty and eyes that spoke of patience and wisdom. Wacky dreams aside, the mythology was fascinating, and I told myself that my interest was purely academic.
There is nothing wrong with learning more about mythology, I reminded myself, tapping my fingertips over the top of the table in a quick staccato beat. Perhaps this was a delusional breakdown in response to being away from home for the first time. Perhaps I was losing it.
Perhaps it is real. Ugh. I was starting to give myself a headache.
"Good book?" a masculine voice interrupted, putting a halt to my inner turmoil.
I looked up from the book to see Dom sliding into the booth across from me, that charming half smile on his face. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt and loose-fitting jeans today, slightly rumpled and entirely sexy. His scruffy facial hair and unkempt hair gave him the appearance of having just rolled out of bed looking like he was heading to a photo shoot.
Must be nice, I thought rather uncharitably, absentmindedly reaching behind me and running my fingers through my own simple ponytail. I felt downright dowdy all of a sudden with my ponytail and my sweatshirt. Hell, I hadn't even powdered my nose before leaving the house this morning.
"You can say that," I murmured, closing the cover of the book.
Dom reached out and picked it up, his eyes scanning the title before flicking the deep blue orbs up in my direction, humor dancing in his eyes. "Celtic Myths and Faerie Lore?" he asked with a smirk, reading the title out loud. "Don't tell me you're researching art for a lower back tattoo? I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm all for adolescent rebellion in the form of permanent body art, but I didn't have you pegged for the type."
The Changeling (Book One of The Síofra Chronicles) Page 4
