by Sarah Noffke
“You think?” I first met Ren while I was dream traveling. Trey had arranged the meeting. However, I got lost in a strange apartment building in London. Ren sent a projection of my cat to steer me in the right direction. He knew I’d follow that cat, not just because he was mine, but because he’d recently been murdered—by Zhuang.
The projection of my dead cat led me to a room where I found Ren, looking bored and irritated. “Finally,” he said, when I tentatively made my way into the darkened room. “Oh stop being so cautious. I’m not going to bite you,” he said flashing an evil grin at me. “Name’s Ren. I’m the Head Strategist for the Lucidites. Trey sent me to fill in some of your missing gaps. Apparently, you’re still in need of convincing.” He slid his hand into his trouser pocket and retrieved a silver pocket knife. Without taking his eyes off me he opened the blade and began cleaning his nails. “Here’s how it’s going to go. You currently don’t think the dream travel with Trey last night was real. You’ve probably spent most the day explaining the whole thing away. Now you’re here with me and the doubt is starting to recede and give way to belief, but you’re not there yet. I’m going to fill your consciousness with enough information and by the time we finish our little chat you’re going to be convinced this whole thing is real.” Ren looked down at his nails, admiring them. “’Cause it is.”
“So this,” I made a broad motion, “this is all real? It isn’t a dream?”
“The furniture is real, this place is real, I’m real, and you’re really, really here with me right now. So to answer your question, yes.”
I nodded and chewed on my lip.
“Well, the cat,” Ren said, “he actually wasn’t real. He was a projection.”
Letting the memory wash away I stomp beside Ren through the strange hallway of the Institute. “Did you really have to use my deceased cat like that when we first met?” I say.
Ren turns a corner and I have no choice but to follow him. “Using your dead pet was the easiest way to lead you to me,” he says.
“Hmm,” I muse. “Because finding me like a normal human being would be too difficult?” I lose my breath as our pace quickens gradually. “And my cat wasn’t dead before all this mess.”
“And thanks to us, you aren’t resting with it.” He stops abruptly and turns to me, swiping a finger over his lips. “Shame too, ’cause you’d fit so nicely in a shoe box or whatever you bury inconsequential pests in these days.”
I bunch up my nose as though the air smells rancid.
“By the way.” He yawns loudly and points his head to the door beside him. “You’re in there.” His hand hovers over a button to the right of the door. “Oh, and one quick, tiny thing Shuman forgot to mention.”
I stop and stare into his cold eyes with sudden dread.
“You aren’t exactly the challenger.” He puts air quotes on the last two words. “You’re more or less on the list of potential challengers. For some strange reason she omitted this part. Silly girl.”
“What?!” Horror rips through me. “How many other people are on this list?”
Ren taps the button, shoving me into a crowded auditorium. “Only one way to find out, luv.” He steps back and the door shuts.
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Sneak Peek of Defects (The Reverians Series, #1):
“You called for me, Mother?” I say, standing up tall, chin held high.
She nods, stands from the Victorian couch in the sitting room, and waves her hand in a presenting manner at the man standing next to her. He’s a stranger. It is rare to find one of those in Austin Valley. “Yes, I’d like you to meet who President Vider hired to do skills evaluations on all Defects.” The man beside her has spiky red hair, a similar shade as my mother’s. He looks to be in his mid-forties, and by the style of his dark green suit, he definitely isn’t a Reverian. Another clue is that he has a pointy red goatee and all Dream Traveler Reverians are required to be clean shaven.
“Name’s Ren,” he says, not extending a hand to me.
“Hello,” I say with a small curtsy. “Nice to meet you. I’m Em.”
“Oh, so you didn’t name her after Mummy,” he says to my mother, his words coated in a British accent.
She rolls her eyes. A strange gesture for her to do to someone who isn’t one of her children. “Shut up, Ren. You know I’d never do something so sentimental and downright repulsive.”
“No, Lyza, you’d have to have a heart to do that, and we both know you don’t,” he says to my mother, a smug look on his face.
“A heart pumps blood. I obviously have one of those,” she says, smoothing back a strand of hair into her tight bun. “What I don’t have is this useless capacity for caring.”
“Always the literal one, aren’t you?” Ren says.
“This man, Ren, happens to also be my brother,” my mother says, not hiding the disappointment in her voice.
“Happens?” he says, actually looking amused. “Like it’s one big happenstance that we were born from the same parents?”
“What I mean is that the person who was hired by the President just happens to be related to me,” my mother says, cinching her arms across her chest.
I didn’t know my mother had a brother. Never met her parents. She doesn’t talk to us about them. About anything really. “Why does he have an accent and you don’t?” I finally say, breaking the staring contest between them.
Mother sighs loudly. “Because my brother doesn’t subscribe to the fact that accents lead to labeling and the best way to gain advantage is to have nothing marking you with where you’re from,” she says with her typical perfect diction.
“So we’re British?” I ask, confused.
“No, we are Reverians.”
A loud, thick yawn echoes from Ren. “Although this family reunion is incredibly touching, can we get to the reason I’m here, which isn’t to exchange stories of what we’ve been doing for the last twenty years?”
I step forward, studying the man in front of me. Disbelief and curiosity take turns overwhelming my thoughts. “Wait, you’re my uncle?”
“Don’t call me that,” Ren says, looking disgusted. “And yes, technically I am. I don’t send Christmas presents, don’t care about your grades, and I don’t give piggyback rides.”
“We don’t celebrate Christmas,” is all I say. I’d heard about this weird tradition from a new Middling who had started working at the Agricultural Center.
“No, I remember now my dear sister belongs to the Reverians’ religion, which is based on myths that are likened to unicorns. Do yourself a favor, luv, and pick up a world religion book. It will blow your mind. Although, come to think about it, diverse texts are probably banned here,” Ren says.
My mother throws a seething glance at her brother. “I see you haven’t changed a bit, have you, Ren?”
“Oh yes, I’m just as delightful as ever,” he says.
“Which is why you’re still alone, hopping from job to job, society to society, is that right?” my mother says.
“Being alone is a choice, dear Lyza. Some of us don’t need the money and prestige of a significant other. Some of us make our own way in the world, but you wouldn’t know about that, would you? How long has it been since you ventured out of this valley? Really ventured out, on your own, not some organized dream travel field trip managed and supervised by the Reverians?”
“I still fail to see why President Vider hired you for this job,” she says, her anger flaring in every word. I’ve hardly ever seen her this flustered, my mother, the queen of pretense.
“It’s simple, little Lyzie. I’m the best. And he knows it.”
“Don’t. Call. Me. That,” she says, her voice an octave under yelling.
“Oh, you don’t love my little nickname for you anymore, do you?”
“You know I never liked it,” she says, her expression pinched.
“I most likely won’t remember your preferences on the name calling, so don’t be off
ended when I call you it again. Or do. Doesn’t really matter to me,” Ren says, a hint of pleasure in his voice.
“Oh, just do what you were brought here for,” my mother says, sweeping past me, pulling the double doors closed behind her.
I turn and look at Ren directly. Menacing isn’t exactly the right word for him. He’s that, but he’s also thoughtful in his approach. Theatrical. And he does something most of the people I know don’t: he says exactly what he wants.
He eyes me like I’m a dirty puddle he’s trying to figure out how to cross. “Oh, why can’t I get away from teenagers? I bloody hate teenagers.”
“Well, I’m mature for my age,” I say.
“That makes one of us. So you’re one of the Defects. Interesting thing that’s happened in this valley. Note to self, don’t drink the water here,” he says.
“Do you think you can help us? That’s why you’re here, right?”
He takes a seat in the armchair and indicates I should take a seat on the couch opposite him. When I’m settled he gives me something that almost classifies as a smile. “No, I’m not here to help you get your gift. I’m here to assess you and give a report. What valuable information I provide may or may not help. Who knows, really?”
I deflate with a sigh. “Well, when you say this is happening in this valley, do you mean it isn’t happening elsewhere?”
A small smile quirks up the corner of his mouth. “As sheltered as your mother, aren’t you, poor dear?”
I only stare back at him, his dark green eyes like that of St. Augustine grass.
“No,” he finally says. “This epidemic appears to be confined to this valley, as far as I can tell.”
“Are you religious?”
“What an abrupt and personal question,” he says, shaking his head at me.
“Well, you don’t have to answer it,” I say, feeling sudden embarrassment burn my insides.
“Of course I don’t.”
“Do you think the gods are punishing us?”
“To be quite honest, I don’t think the gods or God or any other holy entity gives two cents about us,” he says.
“You’re the angry type, aren’t you?”
“You’re the honest type, aren’t you?”
I shrug.
“All righty, missy, let’s get down to business. Here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to ask you a few questions. Got it?”
I nod.
“Oh good, it gives brief responses. That will help.” Ren leans back, crosses his ankle over his knee, and stares at the ceiling casually. “Do you hear voices?” he asks.
“No.”
“Do you see things which aren’t real?” he asks.
“No.”
“Get flashes?”
“No.”
“Control people with your mind?”
“No,” I say again.
“Have objects moved mysteriously around you?”
“No.”
“You really aren’t much fun at all, are you?” he says.
I squint at him. “I’m loads of fun.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure you think so.”
I shake my head at him. I’ve never met someone with his audacity.
“All right, you failed that phase of testing and have graduated to the next loser round,” he says.
“I’m not a loser.”
“No, no, of course you’re not,” he says dismissively. He slips a device the size of the palm of his hand out of his inside jacket pocket. With a switch the device makes a low buzz.
“What’s that?”
“A frequency recorder. It’s science.” He says it like it’s a dirty thing. “And it’s an upgraded model so I’m probably getting all sorts of radiation.”
“Why are you using it then?”
“Well, the daft scientist who gave it to me is probably right that it will make the assessments I have to do a whole lot easier.” He pauses and only stares at me for a few seconds, an intensity in his eyes. “Did you get that message I just sent you?”
“What?” I say, dumbfounded.
“The telepathic message I just sent you. Did you hear it in your head?”
“No.”
Ren slips a gold ring off his finger. It’s clunky. Lays it on the table next to him. “Can you move that with your mind?” he asks, his voice flat.
I stare at it for over a minute. “No.”
He eyes the device and then slides it back into his pocket.
“Did you really think under these stressful circumstances I’m suddenly going to use my hidden gift for a stranger?” I ask.
“I knew for a fact you wouldn’t be able to. I’m studying your approach,” he says, slipping his ring back on. “And in my extremely intelligent opinion there’s no chance your gift is going to surface. What I don’t get is why you appear to have the instinct but there’s no power behind it.”
“What?”
He rolls his eyes. Takes an impatient breath. “Dream Travelers have a certain level of frequency they exude when using their powers, but yours is on par with a Middling.”
“What?” I say again. “That’s bizarre.”
“No, let’s be honest. It’s sad.” He sits forward and looks at me sideways. “Tell me, have you suffered any traumas?”
“No.”
“Depressed?”
“No.”
“Suicidal thoughts?”
“Gods no.”
“Well, I’m momentarily stumped, but if it makes you feel better you’re exactly like all the Defects I’ve assessed. At least you have people to share your woes with,” he says.
“Do you think upping the injections will help?”
“Injections?” he asks, confusion suddenly covering his features.
“The meds they’ve been giving us,” I say.
“Oh yes, I heard about those. Medical science isn’t my forte, thank god,” he says, looking repulsed. “I don’t know if these meds can help, but if I become extremely bored toddling around this place I might look into it.”
“What am I supposed to do until then?”
“I don’t know, you can play hopscotch for all I bloody care. That’s none of my concern,” he says, looking tired. “I’m only supposed to assess you and a few other snots and report if any gifts surface. Right now my job is easy. You’re all appropriately named. Defects.”
I stay seated as he makes for the door. He turns just before he leaves. “So, what’s Em short for?”
My brow knits with momentary confusion. “Nothing. I’m just Em.”
“Really?” he says, an unconvinced tone in his voice. “Your mother’s not the type to name someone ‘just Em.’”
“What does that mean?” I say.
“Bloody hell if I know, but it sure is curious.”
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Sneak Peek of Suspended (Vagabond Circus Series, #1):
Prologue
There are those who come to judge the circus and then there are those who come to experience it. The latter go home satisfied. The former go home full of scrutinizing accusations. Those who experience the circus, taking it in and allowing themselves to be awed, have a richness built into their lives afterwards, almost like they’ve gained an extra day to their existence. Those who observe seem to have lost a day. They’re the ones who tear down sandcastles. They’re the ones who say clouds are just clouds when they are irrefutably in the shape of unicorns.
These skeptics are the people the Vagabond Circus caters to. The circus would shut their doors to the joyful and starry-eyed if their business didn’t keep it running. The Vagabond Circus runs for two reasons and only two reasons: first and foremost to give the lost and lonely Dream Travelers a place to be great. And secondly, to show the nonbelievers that there’s still magic in the world. If they believe then they care and if they care then they don’t destroy. They stop the small abuse that day by day breaks down humanity’s spirit. If the Vagabond Ci
rcus makes one person believe then they halt the cycle, just a little bit. They allow a little more love into this world. That’s Dave Raydon’s mission. And that’s why he recruits. That’s why he directs. That’s why he puts on a show that makes people question their beliefs. He wants the world to believe in magic once again.
And yet, what his patrons witness is real. Real people, doing real things. Things that are inconceivable to most, but real nonetheless. That’s because Dave recruits only Dream Travelers. People who can do what most can’t. Unique people. They aren’t magical. But to those who don’t know the difference, they are an inspiration. They appear magical. However, what most believe to be real magic is only the extraordinary which defines the Vagabond Circus completely.
Chapter One
Rain pelted the big top, gliding down the tent and gathering in puddles on the muddy ground. The crew had worked throughout the night to reinforce the oversized tent from the winds and storms. The earth it was bolted to was threatening to melt away, sending the bright green and blue tent into a mound of chaos. The Vagabond Circus had been on the road for three weeks and this was its first night in Seattle.
Tomorrow the city’s residents would have the opportunity to witness a show the people in Vancouver called “unbelievable,” “unreal,” and “more than a trick of smoke and mirrors.” The critics were speechless, as they were every year when the Vagabond Circus came through town. There was little to criticize and more than enough of the show to overwhelm the senses. No one understood half of what they saw at Vagabond Circus, but still they never looked away.
And yet in this year’s show there was something missing. The fifty people who came together to put on the show knew it. Its ringmaster, Dave Raydon, knew it. And the one person who could fill in the missing gap knew it after watching the show in Vancouver. But the audience had no clue there was anything lacking in the Vagabond Circus. They were ecstatic, leaving the big top with smiles that wouldn’t fade for hours. They had seen what they thought were tricks, not realizing everything about this circus was real.
In the shadows a boy stood under an old oak tree, only partially protected from the heavy monsoon. He watched in the dark as performers sprinted to their trailers. They were intent on getting dry and rested before the sun came up, marking a day of three shows. The boy was wet, but didn’t care. He was exhausted from hitchhiking and stealing rides on the train from Vancouver. But he was here. He’d followed Vagabond Circus. And soon he’d be ready for the next part of his plan.
