Awoken (The Lucidites Book 1) (13 page)

“And you will, when I’m done.” His tone hints at something more.

Nervously I press my lips together and turn my attention back to the table riddled with shiny, protective charms.

“Have you considered,” Aiden says, “that you shouldn’t be trying so hard to find your protective charm? Maybe it’s already found you?”

I furrow my brow in confusion.

“Try walking around the table, and instead of thinking about what you don’t want in a charm, imagine how the perfect charm will fit and feel.” He shrugs. “This may help, because I
know
the right one for you is on that table.” Aiden turns on his toes and walks away. Something about him draws me in. His rhythm, his tone, his music. It all calls to me in a way I’m unaccustomed to feeling. I shake this off.
Focus, Roya.

The music is slower now. I take a step and then close my eyes, trying to imagine a protective charm I’m proud of. Something that fits like a glove. This is a piece I don’t mind wearing forever. It’s part of me.

My eyes open. I walk roughly five steps and turn toward the table. My mind appears to make the ground falter and then steady under my feet. The table shifts slightly and then unfolds in a perfect order. I know this has to be my imagination.

I think again how my charm will make me feel. I look without focusing, seeing all the objects at once. Slowly my vision narrows until I’m locked on only one item. As I look down my heart quickens when my eyes rest upon
the
bracelet. It isn’t like the one in the storage closet in the fifth task. It’s the exact same one. How had I not noticed it here? Without a moment of hesitation I pluck it from its spot, feeling the cold metals in my fingers. Where the copper and silver join is seamless. The raised circles on the silver strips are like Braille under my fingertips. The smooth copper, water. Instinctively I know where to find the pin. I push and it opens on a hinge. Just like in the dream I place it on my right wrist and clasp it shut. The cold oozes relief against my skin like ointment on a burn. A pulse of electricity shoots through my arm and radiates down the rest of my body. I shiver. This is my charm and it
has
chosen me.

Aiden is pretending to work at a computer station. His foot taps lightly to the music, a stifled smile edging from his eyes.

“How?” I ask him.

“Hmmm, ‘how’ indeed.” He turns, allowing the grin he’s been hiding to unfurl. “How did I know? How was it in the closet in your fifth task? How did it choose you? So many questions to answer.” He picks up the folder I’ve abandoned yet again. “Good thing we’ll have time to get to them later.” He hands me the folder. “Try holding onto this, would you?”

I purse my lips, but smile despite myself.

When I’m almost to the door he says, “Oh, and Roya.”

I turn and look at him. “Yeah?”

“I do hope you won’t be too
busy
to join us for dinner.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. I’m starving.”

Chapter Fifteen

W
ith the music still drumming in my head I cruise back to my room. My protective charm catches the overhead light and shines, showing off its brilliant details.

I return to my room and immediately begin unpacking the box. It’s more fun than I imagined pulling out each garment and designating it a spot in my closet. Once I reach the bottom of the box, I realized I missed something the first time around. It’s the book Steve assured he’d buy for me. I should have known he’d make good on his promise.

My eyes roam over the clothes filling the closet and suddenly I feel cared about. It’s a strange sensation that lifts my chest and creates a gentle pressure in my abdomen. I’m undeserving of such emotion, which brings a tickle to my throat.

It isn’t that my parents didn’t care about me, though part of me can’t refute that at the current moment. Zhuang has taken control of their thoughts and memories and I refuse to blame them for this. The truth is I’ve never been close to anyone in my family. They subscribed to the lyrics of Randy Travis, and I the prose of Walt Whitman. They spent their weekends racing through the forest on four-wheelers. I usually sped to the opposite end of the woods, away from the squeal of their engines. There I wrote poetry and contemplated espionage on a spirit world I hoped existed between the ether and the moon.

Unsurprisingly we forgot each other existed half the time. Usually I’d return home in the evening to find they thought I’d already gone to bed. Now that I was at the Institute I was relieved of any of the obligatory family ties I put upon myself. I had dream travel to explore the world as I wanted and that was better than any family dinner. However, it would be nice to have someone to enjoy the Eiffel Tower with on occasion. Maybe Bob, Steve, and I could meet there one night?

Now that all the other contenders had gone home I expected the main hall to be mostly empty for dinner. I was wrong. Loads of people in white coats and varying shades of scrubs fork pork chops, pile mashed potatoes, and spoon green beans onto plates. I notice Amber, the girl who administered my first task. Again she wears a pinched expression, like the air smells bad to her. Over at the bread table, the old lady in the lavender scrubs is having an animate conversation with a small man with wiry, gray hair and glasses. The delivery guy who woke me this afternoon is ladling salad onto his plate. I walk over to him and pick up a tray.

“Hi,” I say, staring at a bowl of red cherry tomatoes.

“Not yet, but hopefully later,” he laughs as he trots in the opposite direction.

I fill my plate with romaine lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, and olives. Another table has assorted pickled foods. I throw some beets, cauliflower, asparagus, chickpeas, and carrots on my plate. Then I stop by the beverage station and make a cup of lemon green tea.

My team sits at a table up front. They see me and wave. I consider pretending I haven’t seen them and sitting in the back. Instead I pull up the only available chair next to George.

“Hey,” I say to him when he glances at me.

He doesn’t say anything, just looks away.

“That is a nice bracelet you chose for your protective charm,” Shuman says to me from the other side of the table.

I look at her for a minute to determine if she is being sincere. Something tells me she is or at least faking it well.

“Thanks,” I say, taking a sip of my too hot tea.

Fortunately, that’s the last word I say during dinner. The rest of the meal everyone else takes turns asking Joseph questions about his experiences growing up on a hog farm. He has a southern charm that even the guys find endearing. I have to admit hearing him describe running outside in his underwear and wrestling a pig that had gotten loose in the middle of the night even makes me laugh. It doesn’t even appear that he wants to monopolize the conversation. Yet somehow he senses no one else wants to speak and so he’s just trying to be nice.

He tells us that their farm is called Hog Heaven because his mother said they’d own one when pigs flew. Apparently his father had bought the farm the day before as a surprise.

His parents are God-fearing folk who sent him to school once a week with a pound of bacon. He was to “give this to any lost sheep that might be down on their luck and need a bit of goodness to get them through until the good Lord could lift their heart.” He didn’t know how to tell his parents that sheep didn’t much care for pork, but the homeless people by the river thought it was delicious.

Joseph wears an animated expression as he recounts spending his weekends with his siblings. “As the oldest of five, I’ve pretty much been in charge of their upbringin’,” he explains. “We spend most our time catching toads in the river or picking blackberries by the road.”

♦

Half an hour later I’m back in my room curled up on my bed in my new fuzzy pajamas. They’re periwinkle blue with ruffles on the sleeves. I grab my twice abandoned folder and begin leafing through its contents. The schedule leaves me confused. It says endurance and strength training will start every single day except for Sundays. My brain has a hard time understanding how doing push-ups at seven a.m. is going to help us defeat Zhuang. I sigh in desperation. They’ll probably make me run. People always try to make me run.

After the workout we’re to train with Shuman in the morning and Ren in the afternoon. I bite my lip in dread. Fortunately, the next day, Friday, I only have to work with Shuman and then spend the rest of the day reviewing weapons and devices with Aiden.

The page after my schedule is a brief history of the Lucidite Institute. Apparently the Institute was originally created by the US government. The CIA initiated research on extrasensory perception, ESP, during WWII. Their scientists soon found a connection to dreaming. The Lucidites were invited to participate. Previously, the Lucidites had been an informal group with no real organization. With US funding and a research mission the group became official. In the 1970s the government grew bored with the research results and pulled out. The Lucidites, now well established, were able to fully take over the Institute. Since that time the group has operated the Institute free of any government control or awareness.

How would the government forget about something they created?

I flip the page over and find no answers to this, but many answers to other questions. It’s an FAQs list for the Institute. As I skim the list a question immediately grabs my attention. It reads:

Q: Is it safe to dream freely at the Institute?

A: Yes. The Institute has a powerful protective field that encases all lodging rooms. This shield guards dreamer’s consciousness from being invaded by other entities.

That makes sense. The dream I had earlier was just my own stupid subconscious, playing out the day’s events and people.

A follow-up question asks:

Q: Is it all right for me to dream freely like this, since it’s safe?

A: Yes. Dream traveling, although satisfying, can become taxing. To maintain a balance the consciousness should be allowed to let go for a time period in order to fully rest and recuperate. Furthermore, dreaming gives the subconscious a chance to express itself, which is beneficial if seeking guidance.

I admit it was nice to just fall asleep earlier. I worried I’d been careless and was going to get in trouble. It’s a relief to know I actually did something right for a change. I toss the folder on the desk and get ready for bed. I don’t really know where I should dream travel tonight. This is the first real free night I’ve had since I learned I was a Dream Traveler. It’s a relief not to have to learn kung fu or meet a psychopath in London. I brush my teeth in the common bathroom and try to think of a place that sounds appealing.

“Nice pajamas, Stark,” Joseph says as he rinses his toothbrush and picks up a tube of paste. “So what were you doin’ during lunch today?”

“Toldja.” Foam rushes out of my mouth.

“And I told you that you’re a bad liar.”

I hesitate for a minute, feeling weird. Somehow I sense that more lies aren’t going to free me from this questioning. “Fell asleep,” I mutter and rinse my mouth.

“Oh, well, I guess that’s understandable,” he says.

I clean the counter where I splashed and gather my toiletries.

“Yeah, this dream travel thing is crazy. I’m not used to it at all,” Joseph says, still holding his unused toothbrush. “I can’t figure out where I’m goin’ tonight.”

“Me too,” I admit.

“Hey.” Joseph sticks his toothbrush in his mouth and starts brushing. “You figure out what your gift is yet?”

I turn and walk out as I say, “Still working on it.” Maybe his ability to detect when I lie isn’t as good if he isn’t looking at me.

Chapter Sixteen

I
throw myself with an overabundant force into bed. Pulling up my legs, I push down the covers and get in properly. I already know where I’ll dream travel tonight. The idea came to me after talking to Joseph.

I settle my limbs into a comfortable resting position. Then I focus on my breath, the steady filling and emptying of air within me. My consciousness starts to edge away into dreamland. I catch it, like a firefly in a net, and quickly I fill my consciousness with images, ideas, sounds, smells, and everything I’ve ever heard or known about this type of place. The most recent accounts are the strongest.

The silver tunnel engulfs me. My chest beats with anticipation as adrenaline courses through my veins. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to this. Shooting around turns every so often I lose track of time until I’m haphazardly dumped onto a meadow of grass specked with little white flowers. The moon isn’t bright now, but provides enough light for me to make out the curvature of a hill and buildings in the distance. I push forward and start in the direction of a big red barn.

A loud animalistic groan catches me. I freeze. Whatever made the noise is close. Angry. Something rakes across the soft earth. An impatient noise echoes from the beast again. It’s directly behind me. Straightening my spine, I revolve my chin until it’s even with my shoulder and flick my eyes just enough. Sincere dread fills the cavity within me that used to be occupied by oxygen. The largest animal I’ve ever happened upon stands a few feet away.

Shuffling angrily, the bull greets me with menacing eyes and a revolting odor. With a deliberate force he throws a single hoof to the ground. Immediately the beast lurches forward. Charging. At me. This is a bad dream. The worst dream. Without a single thought for bravery or perseverance I shut my eyes tightly and wish this all away. When I was a kid and having a nightmare this always worked. Usually I’d be transported to another less threatening dream, or I’d awake in my bed sweaty, exhausted. Now I see darkness, although I still smell the mossy earth below me and feel the cool air on my face.