Dreamer (The Dream World Chronicles Book 1)

by Camille Peters

  The memory of the gentle way Mother had stroked my hair earlier gave me the courage to tentatively broach the subject I’d spent years trying to discuss with her. I took a wavering breath. “There were strange whispers in the village this morning. Many believe magic is what caused last week’s fire—”

  Mother swiveled to face me, her eyes flashing. “I’ve told you over and over never to use that word. Do you understand me?”

  I flinched at her sharp tone. “Of course. Forgive me, Mother.”

  Her movements were rigid as she returned to her pruning, a sign of her suppressed anger. “Magic doesn’t exist,” she said firmly. “I never want to hear you bring it up ever again.”

  I lowered my eyes to my hands, where my powers that I didn’t understand simmered beneath my skin, waiting to be used…if I could but figure out how. I forced myself to push them back even as I hastily locked my secret deeper within its stronghold where it belonged, scolding myself for once again trying to share it.

  I knew I couldn’t confide in Mother, so why did I continue to try? The consequences should she find out about who I truly was would be dire, yet the hope that she’d accept me burned brighter, impossible to fully quench, no matter how many times she rejected my attempts to confide in her.

  Mother hated magic, and she never let me forget it. Would she also hate me if she knew I secretly possessed it? My heart stung at the possibility. If she rejected me too, I’d be left with no one.

  I stole another sideways glance at Mother kneeling beside me, bent over her plants with intense concentration, her expression hard as she pulled the weeds with unusual vigor. Her locket swung back and forth with each rapid movement, the glitter trapped within catching in the sunlight and creating shimmery patterns against the soil. There was something familiar about it, and the mystery drew my gaze to it again and again.

  Mother glanced up and noticed my staring. With a frown, she hastily tucked her locket away, but as she did so, her fingers caught on the chain. It broke and the locket tumbled to the ground, spilling the glitter it harbored onto the soil. Once exposed, the shimmery substance glowed and floated into the air like feathery smoke. I stared, transfixed. Now I knew what it reminded me of: magic. But how was that possible?

  Mother gasped and slapped her hand over the glitter, but wisps leaked from beneath her palm. Frantically, she scooped it up in handfuls into her locket, but stubborn and elusive, some snuck away, as if it possessed a mind of its own.

  I reached out to help. “No, don’t touch it,” Mother snapped.

  I rapidly withdrew my hand. “What is it?”

  “Never mind,” she said briskly.

  The question of whether or not it was magic burned on my tongue, but it couldn’t be…one thing I knew for certain was that Mother abhorred magic. Bringing it up again would only escalate her earlier disapproval. I bit the inside of my lip to force myself to remain silent.

  Something warm brushed against my knee. I glanced down and discovered some of the sparkly dust hovering beside my leg. I quickly enclosed it in my hand before Mother saw it. I expected it to try and wrestle from my grip, as it had done Mother’s, but it stayed still, as light and soft as a feather but also grainy like bits of sand.

  Mother scanned the ground. “Did I miss any?”

  The dust quivered against my palm, a tickling reminder it was there. “I don’t think so.”

  Mother leaned back on her heels, her expression strained. She spread her locket on her palm and examined it. “The clasp was loose,” she murmured to herself. “I must not have closed it all the way; how could I be so careless?”

  She brushed her still spotless apron and marched into the house. I waited for the front door to click shut before I unclenched my fist. The glitter rose up and hovered like a shimmery cloud. It didn’t float away, as if it was meant just for me.

  I created a tiny pocket in my handkerchief and poured the dust inside, tied a secure knot so it couldn’t escape, and burrowed it in my pocket. It left a thin layer of sparkly remnants on my hand, which floated up to dance and twist through the air the same way my magic did whenever I used it. Could this dust be magic too?

  It couldn’t be. Mother would never possess such a thing. But in my heart I knew it was exactly what I suspected, the knowledge as much a part of me as my own burrowed powers. But if so, then what was Mother doing wearing it around her neck?

  The words from the book I’d scoured earlier filled my mind: It is believed all witches have a magical source, which they draw upon to perform their spells. An idea formulated with each swirl Mother’s dust made. Perhaps this was the missing piece in overcoming whatever obstacle blocked my ability to capture what I most wanted: a dream.

  Chapter 3

  I snuck out before dawn. The air was crisp and misty after the recent storm, which left everything coated in a layer of raindrops. All was still in the grey morning as the village slumbered. I climbed up my usual oak and crept as far out onto the lowest branch as I dared. There I balanced my tiny jar and waited.

  Despite the lulling pattering of last night’s rain, I’d scarcely slept, kept continually tossing and turning by my brimming anticipation as well as the questions brought on by stealing Mother’s dust. I slid my hand into my pocket, and at my touch, the pouch containing the mysterious dust quivered. The warmth was familiar, similar to my own powers. This was magic, I was sure of it.

  Perhaps it would be the key to obtaining what I most wanted. While I enjoyed dream watching, I yearned for a dream that was mine, one where I could guide the course of the story and experience it in its entirety. Considering my nights were long and empty, bottling others’ dreams and witnessing them over and over would almost be as if I were dreaming them myself. Almost.

  The sun peeked over the horizon as dawn arrived. I rested my chin on a damp branch and stared absentmindedly at the dandelion-puff clouds, dappled in amber hues. I startled when one of the clouds suddenly twitched.

  I rubbed my eyes and squinted at them, but they merely drifted lazily through the air in a very distinguished cloud-like fashion. My usual drowsiness must be causing me to see things.

  Down in the village, the blacksmith’s son, Mason, lumbered from his shop. A nightmare, considerably shrunken but still a distinct mucky brown square, floated just above him. I frowned. A nightmare wouldn’t be worth wasting my limited magic on. He disappeared into the forest, and I returned to my restless waiting.

  It wasn’t long before Alice emerged from the bakery, a pink dream bouncing beside her, only a few minutes old. She paused in front of a shop window to check her reflection in the glass before hurrying towards the forest in the direction Mason had gone, her dream trailing behind. I didn’t have much time.

  My pocket warmed like it had been submerged in a puddle of sunshine. I carefully dipped my pinky through the slit of the handkerchief and the dust curled around my finger. My magic blossomed more quickly than ever before, spreading through my body and extending to my palm at the slightest concentration.

  Mother’s dust burst from its cloth prison and spun towards the dream, mingling with my own magic. The force thrust me back; I dug my nails into the bark to keep from falling out of the tree. A sparkly cloud cradled the dream in a swirl of glitter and color. I hooked my arm around a sturdy branch for balance and flicked my other wrist to pull the dream back. For a moment it didn’t move, but after another desperate tug, it started approaching at a crawl. Excitement flared in my chest. It was working!

  But before it could reach my perch, the dream froze, and the magic enveloping it started to slip away as the warmth within me diminished. Desperately, I tried to summon more, but my powers were drained. I pulled with what little power I had left, but the dream refused to budge. I gritted my teeth and tightened my grip around the branch as I yanked with all of my might.

  A tiny piece broke away and soared over to me, while the remaining fragments of the dream flickered out one by one like blown-out candles. I stared at where the shattered d
ream had vanished, slightly dazed, while the portion I now cradled in my hand glowed cheerfully, seemingly unharmed.

  I pressed it into the bottle and corked it before lifting it to my gaze. The dream snippet of pink flowers and hearts falling gently from the sky like snow swirled within its glass prison. I grinned. At last a dream was mine. I carefully tucked it safely in my bag and pulled out three more jars. I needed more.

  By this time the rest of the village had awakened, yawning midst their morning greetings, their closely following dreams ready to be plucked. My magic twirled towards the nearest one, a dazzling purple diamond hovering above a farmer blearily setting up his baskets of produce with half-closed eyes, but the magic paused partway. Confused, I peeked inside the handkerchief.

  It was empty.

  I frantically investigated every crevice of my pocket and even amongst the leaves in case some magic had fallen, but it was gone. I slumped against the trunk. How could I have used every bit of Mother’s magic? How would I capture any more dreams now? The disappointment was a heavy weight, crushing my shoulders.

  Defeated, I scrambled to the ground—then a sudden rustle stopped me cold. I jerked towards the noise. The path outside the village lay abandoned. Shadows stirred in the branches of the surrounding forest, their dark limbs stretching towards the sky, devoid of any intruders. Perhaps the noise had only been my imagination…and yet the usual symphony of twittering birds had ceased, leaving only thick silence; the woods weren’t usually so quiet.

  Suddenly, I felt it: a heated gaze scrutinizing me. I’d been watched before, but this was different from the gossipy stares of the villagers; this gaze seemed hostile. The back of my neck prickled. Heart hammering, I frantically searched the trees.

  My breath caught. High up in the branches—hidden in the thick shadows—a pair of emerald green eyes appeared, watching me. I stumbled back, but before I could react the eyes disappeared. Immediately, the prickling sensation cloaking me vanished, leaving behind only a trail of goosebumps.

  As if mysteriously vanishing eyes weren’t strange enough, suddenly a high-pitched giggle drifted from above, but upon investigation nothing unusual filled the cloudy sky—except…I shielded my eyes against the sun and squinted. A cloud had twisted from its cotton-candy shape to form a perfect five-pointed star, which quivered as I watched. I rubbed my eyes and the star-shaped cloud disappeared, replaced with a regular cumulus.

  Before I had time to question what I’d seen, a shadow suddenly enfolded my senses and something squishy crashed into me. The force knocked me over. Transparent hues of multicolored vapor entirely surrounded my face before the thing moved and two large rainbow-colored eyes blinked down at me.

  “Oh no, I just squashed a Mortal. This won’t look good on my detective application. I need to hide the body before the Council discovers my crime.” The colorful blob’s gaze darted towards the edge of the forest and lingered at the base of an evergreen. “Too obvious a gravesite, but I’m pressed for time. It’ll have to do.”

  The back of my head throbbed. I groaned. Hesitantly, the thing poked me with an airy touch and sighed with relief when I flinched.

  “Thank goodness it’s still alive. Disaster averted.” It circled me gracefully as it inspected me. “Why isn’t it moving? Is it broken? I didn’t know Mortals were so fragile. Perhaps I should fetch my glue.”

  I struggled and hoisted myself up. The thing stared at me intently, as if expecting me to shatter at any moment. It—she?—appeared to be a cloud, yet she was unlike any cloud I’d ever seen in the sky. This one was straight out of a child’s drawing: fat, puffy, multi-colored, and coated with sparkles.

  “Are you a cloud?”

  A dimple appeared where her cheek might be as she smiled. “Of course. Why, did you think I was a shadow?” She shuddered at the thought. “There’s no need to be rude. Running into you was an accident, and since you’re not dead, there’s no harm done.”

  This was so surreal. Had I stumbled inside a dream? I pinched my arm. Ow. Still here, which meant there really was a cloud swirling around like a tornado muttering to herself about false accusations.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ve just never met a cloud before.”

  She stopped spinning and beamed, her eyes sparkly. “Am I really your first? What an honor. This calls for a formal introduction. My name’s Stardust. What's yours?”

  “I’m Eden.”

  “Ooh, pretty.” Her entire body ruffled as she giggled. “This is so exciting. I’ve never met a Mortal before.” Her eyes widened. “Wait…can you see me?”

  I nodded, but apparently it was the wrong response. She gasped and zipped into the forest to duck out of sight behind an evergreen.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Mortals shouldn’t be able to see clouds,” she explained from behind the tree.

  “But I can see you.”

  Stardust peeked around the trunk. “But you’re not supposed to, so I’m not coming out until I’m invisible again.”

  I waited for a moment, but when she didn’t reappear I crept over and peered behind the tree. Stardust floated a foot off the ground, her eyes squeezed shut, dead leaves and pine needles strewn across her in a hasty attempt at camouflage.

  “Can you still see me?”

  “Definitely.”

  Deflated, she plopped to the ground. “How strange. I’ve wandered Earth gazillions of times and no one has ever seen me before. There must be something wrong with you, because obviously there’s nothing wrong with me.” A whiff of pine filled the air as she shook off the leaves and needles covering her and studied me. “What exactly are you?”

  It was a question that haunted me everyday. Someone who practiced magic and saw others’ dreams without having her own was definitely abnormal.

  “Hello? Aren’t you going to answer? Are you a Mortal or a Weaver?”

  “Mortal,” I said automatically. I wasn’t sure what a Weaver was, but it was certainly something bad.

  “You can’t be. Mortals are inferior and don’t have the ability to see magical things.” Stardust studied me closely, her gaze lingering on my hair and eyes. “Lilac hair, violet eyes, the ability to see me…you’re definitely a Weaver, and therefore you must have magic.”

  “Shh, not so loud.” My gaze darted towards the wall separating us from the bustling market. “You can’t say that word; somebody might hear you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Stardust scoffed. “There’s no one around, and even if there were, I already told you: only magical beings would be able to see or hear me. Pity, really.”

  Even if that were true, someone stumbling on me talking to a seemingly invisible cloud was the last thing I needed. “Perhaps we could go somewhere a bit more private?”

  Stardust’s eyes narrowed into thin orange slits. “Oh, you want to go somewhere more private, do you?”

  I shifted beneath her accusatory glare. “Is that alright?”

  She harrumphed. “How very suspicious. Here I’ve come to investigate an unusual magical occurrence, and before I’ve even started, you attempt to lure me away from the scene of the crime. Are you hiding something?”

  “No,” I said, a bit more hastily than I intended.

  “Oh really?” Her eyes glistened. “Then what’s a magical possessor like you doing on Earth long after Weavings are over? You know the rules: Weavers aren’t allowed to linger after weaving.”

  What in the world was she talking about? “I wasn’t weaving. I don’t even know what that is.”

  She snorted. “Your lies are no match for me. All Dreamers and Nightmares weave, and if you’re on Earth not weaving, then you must be up to something—most definitely something illegal—and I’m here to get to the bottom of it.”

  “I have no idea what suspicious magical event you’re talking about, but I know I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Don’t play stupid,” she said. “I know you felt the large burst of magic that occurred here eight minutes and forty-
two seconds ago. That doesn’t give me much time; the dream dust will fade away soon if I don’t contain it.”

  My heart pounded. Could she be talking about Alice’s shattered dream? “What kind of magical burst?”

  “That’s what I’m here to find out. Whether you’re innocent or not remains to be decided, but there’s no question you were around here when it happened, and it’s the duty of every detective to follow all possible leads. If you’re really ‘innocent’—although I use that term loosely—you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions, would you?” She smirked, as if daring me to reject her proposal.

  “I have nothing to hide.”

  She shook her head doubtfully. “We shall see. Now, did you see anything unusual here approximately nine minutes and sixteen seconds ago?”

  I fidgeted. “What do you mean by unusual?”

  “Something magical, of course,” she said. “If you were really around when it happened, it should have been obvious.”

  I shifted a pebble back and forth with my foot, debating whether or not to cooperate. “I may have felt something over there.” I pointed in the opposite direction of the oak I’d perched in only minutes before, several yards from where Alice’s dream had shattered.

  With a pop Stardust changed her frothy cloud-like shape into a cloud magnifying glass. “Time for Detective Stardust’s investigation skills.”

  She began examining the entire area, studying every bit of fauna, each blade of grass, and around the base of every tree that cradled the forest’s border. Occasionally, she morphed into a notebook and scribbled inside herself with a crayon, muttering to nobody in particular.

  She paused to squint at something and gasped excitedly. “Eden, come quickly! I’ve found something.” She hovered at the base of an evergreen, goggling at specks of olive-green dust. She looked expectantly up at me for acknowledgment of her finding.