Entangled: A Novel of Romantic Fantasy (Wanderlust Academy Book 1)

by Lori Wilde

  “Time for me to leave,” he said. “This is already heading places you’re too intoxicated to go. I’ll sleep in the other room.”

  I clamped on his arm when he leaned down to kiss me.

  “No, stay here. I promise I’ll behave.” I wanted to mean it. I’d have to, or he’d be gone, and I’d be sleeping alone. And I really didn’t want to sleep alone.

  He assessed my groggy sprawl across his bed, and the corner of his mouth quirked.

  “You better mean it. I’m a respectable guy, you know.”

  “Yeah, yeah, and I’m the rogue harlot out to steal your innocence.” I rolled over. “Just get in here.”

  My eyelids grew heavier by the second, fluttering closed for longer stretches of time.

  “Get some sleep, Nora. I’ll be right here next to you, and I promise to stay on my side.”

  I wanted to conjure up a dozen protests. Especially to the part where he stays on his side of the bed. I willed my hands to reach over, tangle in his shirt, and pull him closer to me. To press my lips to his and never stop. But before I could execute the command, my head drifted back against the pillows, and my leaded eyelids fell shut.

  Not long after, I woke up in a bed. Not my bed. A four-poster bed, white sheets and blankets and pillows. Like heaven, only not. Was I awake or dreaming? It was still hard to tell.

  I pulled back the blankets and sat up. This wasn’t any place I’d ever been with Darcy. We were never in bed together. Not once, although I knew we’d been intimate. This place was different. It felt warm, and yet cold. Like the chilled hand of death had touched it not long ago. I had to be dreaming. Where else could I possibly be. I turned my head to the side; it moved in slow motion. There lying in a pool of blood on the snow-white carpet was Darcy’s body. A gash through his chest pulsed blood that ran down his side to the puddle beneath him. My mouth fell open in a silent scream. I scrambled backward on the bed, too terrified to let my feet touch the ground. Something creaked. Floorboards. I swung my head in the other direction. Someone was walking toward me. Closer to the bed. I couldn’t see a face because of the canopy, but eventually the legs stopped next to the bed, and he bent down. Troy. I let out a small sigh of relief until I saw the massive knife in his hands, dripping with fresh blood.

  I woke up screaming out loud this time.

  Troy’s arms wrapped around my shoulders, and he held me, stroking my hair. “Nora. It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re here with me, and you’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  My throat went dry, my voice hoarse, and I finally stopped screaming, though I couldn’t stop shaking. I leaned my head against his chest. So warm, so strong. The fear and terror that I’d felt began to ease, and I gently pulled away. Troy. I was with Troy.

  I searched the floor...no Darcy. Thank God. And Troy wasn’t holding a knife or any other weapons dripping with blood. It had been a dream. The first one like it. I couldn’t remember a time I hadn’t dreamed of Darcy. Always the same most nights, until this summer. I hadn’t dreamed about him in weeks, and now, this was different, and it felt...terrifyingly real.

  Troy eased himself out of the bed. “I’ll get you some water.”

  I watched him walk toward the bathroom; he was shirtless, and his gray jogging pants were rolled at the waist, showing off his sculpted back. As he passed by the night table, he flicked on the lamp. The room was instantly bathed in a warm amber glow. But it wasn’t until I looked at his bed that I felt my uneasiness return. It was a four-poster bed, draped with a tangle of white sheets. White blanket, white pillows, white carpets.

  Just like in the dream.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I woke up the next day deciding I knew what I needed to do to get rid of these dreams. Grace’s therapy wasn’t working fast enough. I needed something more intense, which is exactly what I was trying to make Troy understand, over coffee in bed.

  Troy leaned over to push my hair out of my face. “Last I checked I’m no murderer.” He handed me the carton of cream. “It was a bad dream, babe; it wasn’t real.”

  I shook my head as I poured it into the coffee mug resting on the nightstand. “You know that’s not true.”

  “No, it’s not,” he conceded, “but they’re not always literal.”

  It felt real, and that made it real. Plus, I’d seen Darcy. He was here. My fears knotted up with my desperation. “I don’t want you to kill him,” I murmured.

  “I know. I don’t want that either.”

  “Then promise me you won’t.” I rubbed my eyes, clearing the residual worry from my mind.

  His jaw tightened. “I promise.”

  I leaned my head against his chest, but he pulled me away to look into my eyes. “But I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, Nora. Even if that means breaking every promise to you I’ve ever made.”

  After witnessing what he did to Steve, I had no doubt that was true. “I know,” I said, “which is why I want to try hypnosis, like Grace suggested. Maybe if I can connect to him…draw him out under a hypnotic state, I can get rid of him. Without anyone getting hurt.”

  “Hypnosis.” He lowered his arms, and his face contorted in a frown. “You want to strengthen your connection to him? Are you insane?”

  “I just need to get inside his head—my head—see if we can find a way to disconnect from each other. Hypnosis is perfectly safe; you’ve said so yourself.”

  We had this same argument for over an hour. Me trying to convince him that hypnosis might actually work to get rid of Darcy. And him terrified of what might happen to me if it didn’t. I still hadn’t worked up the nerve to tell him about the morning I saw Darcy in the woods. Not just because I knew he’d lose it and have me under twenty-four-hour surveillance, but because I was afraid that my dream would come true if he knew. He’d insist on finding him, and there’d be no telling what would happen if he did.

  Troy shook his head. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing here. This man isn’t just in your dream. If what Grace told you was accurate, he’s out to kill you.”

  “You think I don’t know that? What other reason would I have for trying so hard to get out of this?”

  “Listen to me.” He took my hand. “Grace knows firsthand how risky hypnosis can be. And we’re not just talking about sitting in a room and closing your eyes, Nora. It involves a Shamanistic journey induced by potent elixirs that leave your mind wide open to the dreamscape. It begins with you stepping into a different reality...and could end with them stepping into yours.” For a moment he was lost in dark thoughts, but then he came back to the present. “There’s got to be another way. One that doesn’t involve self-harm.”

  I yanked my hand away. “Now you think I’m trying to harm myself?” I threw my arms in the air. “That I think Darcy’s bruises aren’t enough suffering? I need more?”

  “No.” His brows furrowed. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know what you’re doing.” Anger tinged his voice as he dragged a hand through his hair. “But it’s like I don’t even know you anymore. The girl I fell in love with, the one who believed in solving problems, not giving in to them, I’m more than willing to help her. But this—making rash decisions out of fear and desperation at the risk of destroying herself...” He shook his head, then pressed his lips to mine briefly, his eyes squeezing shut. “I can’t stand here and watch it happen. I won’t lose you that way too.”

  Did he just refer to me as the girl he fell in love with? A warmth spread through me. “You know how much I care about you, right?” I searched his eyes.

  “That’s encouraging,” he said flatly. “Hate to think what you’d put me through if you didn’t.” He blew out a frustrated sigh. “You know, Celeste went under hypnosis too. Right before...” He looked away.

  I rested my hand on his arm, feeling it flex beneath my touch. “You once asked me to trust you. Now I’m asking you the same thing. To trust me. I’m stronger than you think I am, and I need to try. I have to do everything I can to
stop this. Please try to understand.” When he didn’t respond, I reached over and gripped his chin, forcing him to look at me, but his gaze remained downcast. “She chose to stay in her dreams, Troy. That would never be my choice.”

  His jaw worked for a time and only after a lengthy pause did he look at me. “Fine. But you should see someone here at the academy. Grace isn’t the only one here who can tap into the subconscious mind.”

  He climbed out of the bed and tugged on a shirt.

  I went after him, following him down the stairs into the kitchen. The pale-gray light shimmered off the surface of the water, creating a glittering path of light.

  Grace hadn’t used the school’s resources when she was trying to help her daughter. If they couldn’t help her, then what hope would I have? I needed someone skilled in this sort of paranormal activity.

  “I’d rather keep this private,” I said. “I remember Grace mentioning a Shaman. Is that who she took Celeste to see, before…”

  I hated bringing her up because I understood now how much pain it still caused him. I finally understood the depth of hurt he felt over Celeste’s disappearance. Knowing he could never commit his heart to her when it belonged to me, someone he didn’t even know was real. What was his nightmare had become our dream, while my dream had become our nightmare. How he’d found the strength day after day to face Grace—well, I couldn’t even imagine where he drew it from. Except that he was strong, not just physically but mentally and emotionally.

  Troy sighed, shaking his head, but I could already tell he was going to give in. He jammed his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. A few taps later he pocketed it.

  “Alright. Let’s go.” He grabbed the car keys and headed out the door.

  “Right now?” I chased after him, bewildered at how fast he was moving. “Wait. So, you’re not taking me to see someone here at Wanderlust?”

  “I know another place,” he said, opening my door. I climbed in, and without another word we were off. We’d only driven on the graveled back roads for about twenty wordless minutes when he pulled up in front of an old house in ruins.

  I eyed him suspiciously. “This is the place?”

  “This is the place.”

  I squinted through the dusty windshield at the flaking paint and broken shutters. “You sure your GPS isn’t busted?”

  “When Grace needed a Shaman for Celeste, this was where she came.”

  “Really. ’Cause this looks more like a witch doctor than a hypnotist.”

  “Maybe it’s a combo.” He opened my door. “You said you wanted to do this. Let’s do it.”

  I climbed out, feeling a sudden tug to say never mind. But my curiosity got the best of me. If this person could help rid me of the dreams in some way, I had to go for it.

  Troy stepped up onto the porch and knocked on the front door. It swung open, although no one was there to open it.

  “Yeah. This is the part in the horror movie where I’d be running for the car.”

  He glanced down at me. “You want to leave?”

  I shook my head and trudged up the steps. I did want to leave, but I wanted this to end more.

  A crooked old man limped toward the door, dragging an in-turned foot behind him. Stained overalls hung off his slender frame. He was easily six feet tall, standing straight, with dark skin draped over his long thin bones.

  “Welcome,” he said with a thick southern drawl. “You’ll are here for the entanglement, yes.”

  My brows arched in surprise. Troy gestured for me to take point.

  “Um, I heard you were a hypnotist?” I glanced at Troy from the corner of my eye, but he avoided my gaze. “I have this dream person I need to make go away. It’s sort of a recurring dream? But sort of more, really…” I scratched the side of my neck. Man, this was hard to explain. I decided to go with the term they had used. “I think it’s called dreamwalking, and I just…need it to end.”

  The old man stretched his paper-thin hand toward me.

  Troy’s jaw tensed, and he folded his arms across his chest.

  The man’s eyes shifted to Troy, noticing his reaction. “I need to make contact to see if I’m able to help this gal,” he reassured him.

  Troy glanced at me, and I nodded my approval. If he could figure out anything from just a touch, then I was already halfway to being cured. He touched his hand to my arm, curling his long rice-papery fingers around my elbow. His ancient yellowed eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment it looked like his eyeballs were jumping around behind his eyelids. His fingers dug into my flesh before he let go and took a step back from me. “You have more than just dreams in the dark corners of your mind. I see much suffering and pain inside of you, waiting to be unlocked and released.” His gaze shifted to Troy. “And you are her key.”

  At first I thought he was going to touch Troy’s arm too. But Troy stepped back. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a fat wad of bills. “I’m just here for moral support. More like her bodyguard than her key,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “How much will it take to help her?”

  I sucked in a breath. I’d never seen that much money in one place at one time in my entire life. And he was just carrying it around like it was pocket change. Which apparently it was.

  “How much?” He flicked through the bills, hundreds, until he’d counted out ten of them. “What do you say? A grand to help the lady out?”

  My eyes bulged, and I was so mesmerized by the fact that he was willing to drop a grand on what could be a quack scam artist, just to try to help me—he truly was amazing. The love I felt for him rooted deeper.

  The witch doctor looked equally impressed by the cash. “Yes. Yes. That’ll suffice nicely,” he said. Then he disappeared behind the red curtain.

  The minute he was gone I turned to Troy. “What if this guy is just a freaking witch doctor. You might have paid a thousand bucks to a witch doctor.”

  He angled his head toward the counter and shelves full of dried herbs and brown glass bottles. “He’s an herbalist.”

  I blinked at the jars of red liquid and pointed at one. “Yeah. An herbalist who uses pig’s blood to tell fortunes.”

  “Least he’s not making you drink it,” Troy deadpanned.

  “Oh, I’m glad my silent suffering is funny to you,” I hissed under my breath. I sucked back the rest of my words when the curtain parted and the man came back holding a silver goblet.

  My panicked gaze shifted to Troy.

  “What’s in the cup?” he asked calmly, surveying the man.

  The old man’s yellowed eyes narrowed. “It’s a potion. One for ridding the mind of dreams. That is why y’all have come, yes.”

  I frowned. “All dreams—you mean I’ll never dream again?” That wasn’t exactly what I wanted.

  “It will rid your mind of what you wish gone,” he said slowly, “by bringing it into the light where it can be ended permanently. The herbs open the mind and help form a connection with the dreamwalker.”

  Troy was still wary as he leaned toward me. “I’m not sure ingesting stuff is the best option here.”

  The old man sighed. “Do you or do you not wish to end her suffering?”

  “I do, but...” His eyes were on me. “It’s your choice,” he finally said with a shrug. Then he turned to the old man and said to him—very quietly, “And if anything happens to her, it’ll be the last potion you make.”

  “We’re out of options here, remember?” I took the goblet from him and brought it to my lips. My face scrunched as the acrid smell hit my nostrils. “This reeks.” I set it back down. “What is it?”

  “Botanical herbs and medicinal oils and a few incantations.” the old man said, completely unfazed by Troy’s threats or his dangerous glare. He shuffled around the room, collecting various jars and setting them on the counter, next to the goblet. “Mugwort for sedation, sanctification, and to drive out demons.”

  “Demons,” I repeated blankly. “Okay...”

  Moving back and f
orth to various shelves and cupboards, he pulled out a few more jars. He held up one. “Should you get astrally wounded, this can save you from death, by bringing flesh back to life.” His bony shoulders shrugged. “Though, it doesn’t do much on the physical plane.”

  I stared at him without blinking. “Great. Anything else?” By now my stomach was churning from more than just apprehension.

  “Scurvy grass can conjure what you need changed, and the plant’s spirit will help you shift it, clear it, and let it go. Sometimes, it won’t. You must have a clear idea in your mind of your end desire.” His eyes narrowed as he continued listing strange ingredients.

  “Fennel oil lets you see into the darkness, and Nettle is an aggressive defender of your astral body and mind.”

  He paused, but I didn’t ask if there was more, because at this point, I really didn’t want to know.

  Bony fingers wrapped around the stem of the goblet and he handed it to me. “Drink, then focus on what you want severed and what you want revealed, and the power of the mind and the shamanic tonic, will do the rest.”

  The shaman-slash-witch doctor cleared away the jars, leaving the table in front of us bare. “You’ll feel sleepy in a while. Do not fight it. Let sleep come wherever you might be.” He glanced at Troy. “And it is of dire importance that you not wake her before the transformation is through, not for any reason.”

  His words gave me a shiver, but I ignored it. “Got it. Anything else?” I asked, preparing to plug my nose and down the potion in one shot.

  “Blood Orange!” he suddenly blurted. Then he grabbed an open a bottle on his desk and sniffed, then made a face. “Vile putrid stuff. Should do the trick,” he said. Then he disappeared again.

  I watched him go then whirled around to face Troy. “I don’t care what he comes back with this time. No way am I drinking anything else.”

  Troy had no sympathy. “Your idea, remember? Now you have to suck it up.”

  I scowled.

  The man returned, looking graver than before, setting the bottle back in its place. “I’m afraid that is all I can do for you at this time. I cannot risk disrupting the journey spirits; they say things must unfold in their own way.”