by Sarah Noffke
“Gift?” she said, laying the menu down and staring at me blankly “What do you mean? You mean my talent?”
“Sure. Whatever your lot calls it. Power. Skill. Gift,” I said, eyeing the brooding bodyguard standing a few feet behind her. We sat in a private room in the back of the restaurant. A complete wait staff was reserved to wait on just our table. There was way too much attention on us.
“Well, isn’t it obvious?” she said, angling her legs out from underneath the table and crossing them.
“No,” I said, not daring to allow my eyes to drop to the long legs begging for my attention. “Irritatingly, it is not obvious.”
“My gift is my voice, of course,” she said.
I rolled my eyes. “No, quit playing games. What’s your psychic gift?”
A small line formed between her sky blue eyes, marking her sincere confusion. “Uhhh…what?”
I sighed, growing impatient. She might have been dreadfully attractive, but I didn’t tolerate thick people. “Okay, well, I’m running out of ways to phrase this. Let’s give it one more go. What’s your dream travel gift?”
“My what? What’s dream travel?” she said.
I scratched my head. I was fairly certain that was the widely known name for our race in the English language. “You know, dream travel as in the thing Dream Travelers do. You know, the race you belong to. Or whatever your version of it might strangely be called,” I said, not so much irritated as actually intrigued that we had such a divide based on semantics.
She stared at my undrunk glass of wine and then at me. “What are you talking about?”
I leaned down low over the table. Brought my voice to a whisper. “Your power to go anywhere with your consciousness when dreaming. Dream Traveler. Got me now?”
She then leaned down low. Matched my volume. “Are you on drugs?”
The reality unfolding before me was all wrong. Dahlia was most certainly a Dream Traveler. She had that soulful look that only Dream Travelers have from years spent traveling and not sleeping. She had that grace that sparked the hint of a psychic power. “Dahlia, are you seriously telling me you aren’t a Dream Traveler? Or is this a prank for your own amusement?”
“What’s a Dream Traveler?” she asked, angling her head to the side, looking curious.
I rolled my head in a circle and dropped my shoulders with defeat. “A race of humans who uses their consciousness to go anywhere while sleeping. Making real things happen. Experiencing real places and times.” I said the whole thing in one long bored sentence.
She then busted out with genuine laughter. “Oh, that can’t be a real thing. You’re not serious.” Then she paused her laughter. Dropped her smile as she took in my stone expression. “Oh no, you think you’re one of these people. You’re being serious. That’s your race? Are you a Martian too?”
I blinked at her dully. “I am a Dream Traveler.”
“Prove it,” she said, putting both her elbows on the table, folding her hands together and leaning forward in a challenging stance.
I considered this. Usually I’d tell someone to sod off. Jimmy was the only Middling I told about my powers. There wasn’t anyone else who I ever had the inclination to share this information with. But there was something to this girl. And I also didn’t like that she was staring at me like I was a lunatic.
“Fine,” I finally said and picked up my fork and began spinning it across my hand and thumb. I did it again and again, increasing the speed with each spin. It was a hypnotic trick I usually did with a pencil. She looked at it suddenly but after twelve rotations she didn’t show the telltale signs of going into hypnosis.
“That’s how you’re proving it?” she said. “That you can do a clever hand trick? Wow, what a stellar race you belong to. Can you juggle also?”
“That didn’t work?” I said, placing the fork back on the starched white tablecloth.
“It depends on what you mean by work. It confirmed that you’re insane,” she said.
“Wait, you’re not the least bit hypnotized by that?” I asked.
“Do you mean hypnotized by the ridiculousness of this all? Yeah, I totally am,” she said.
This didn’t make any sense. Everyone could be hypnotized. There must be something I was missing. I rolled my eyes, boiling with irritation. “Take off your sweater,” I said, putting the force of my intention behind it. That’s all it ever took. But Dahlia didn’t peel off her cashmere sweater. She simply blinked back at me.
“What?” she said, looking half offended. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Take off your sweater,” I said with more force, putting a vivid image in her head. Most girls would have done what I said before my sentence was finished.
“Seriously, are you on drugs?” she said.
“That also didn’t work on you?” I frowned, simply at a loss to comprehend what was happening here. Nothing seemed to work on her. Sometimes people were resistant to my influence but it always worked in the end. None of my telepathy, hypnosis, or mind control worked on Dahlia. She was immune to all my powers.
I flagged down a waiter. He trotted over dutifully. “Hey, chap, would you do me a favor and tell me if you think this is a good trick?” I said to the boy. And again I picked up the fork and began spinning it through my fingers. The dumb waiter was instantly hooked. His eyes glassed over and I knew he was locked on my movement and unable to look away. After thirty seconds he began to sway. And I knew from catching Dahlia’s expression that she was spying the trance I was putting the waiter into. Several times she flicked her eyes to the spinning fork and then to the waiter. When he toppled over backwards she gasped and bolted forward to help him. He’d passed out. That’s what people do if I don’t interrupt the hypnosis. I signaled to the maître d’ and he ran over, concern and embarrassment covering his face.
“I think this man has been dipping into the cooking wine. He’s drunk,” I said, not having moved from my seat. Dahlia was hunched over the passed out waiter, but she backed away when two other waiters bustled over and dragged the boy away. I watched the whole thing with satisfied amusement.
“Ren, you did that to him, didn’t you?” Dahlia said, standing, hands on hips.
“Naturally,” I said, reclining in my chair. “On everyone but you I have certain controls. You just witnessed my hypnotic gift.”
She threw herself back into her chair and leaned over the table, throwing her fist onto its top. “But that poor boy will probably get fired now,” she said angrily. She was even more attractive when she was mad. I almost didn’t want to calm her down. “You made up a bold-faced lie about him after making him pass out.”
“He probably will be fired. Then maybe he’ll return to college and finish his anthropology degree,” I said. “I did him a favor.”
“Wait. How do you know he was in school for that?”
“He touched my hand when he handed me the wine,” I said.
She looked at me blankly. And now I was enjoying this way too much. I let a few seconds roll by.
“If I touch someone then I usually always read their thoughts,” I finally said.
“Oh, so earlier when we shook hands…” Her voice trailed away as a violated look took over her features.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head. I’m not sure why, but you, Dahlia, appear to be the first person who my gifts can’t work on. I touch you and don’t read your thoughts. I tried to hypnotize you to prove I’m a Dream Traveler and you simply looked away when people are never granted that right. And my ability to control your mind is absolutely missing. This all completely baffles and irritates me.”
“You can control minds?” she said in astonishment.
“Oh, how cute,” I said, drawing out the last word. “Did you think that millionaires’ daughters like Cindy just regularly date men with obnoxious red hair?”
“Wait, you mean the girl from the concert? The blonde? You said that was your cousin.”
“I lied,” I said without r
emorse. If the fact that I’d just ditched my date offended Dahlia then her face didn’t give it away.
Her eyes roamed over my spiky red hair. “Ren, I happen to like your hair,” she said flatly.
“Are you quite certain you don’t feel some presence that isn’t yours in your head telling you to be devastatingly attracted to me?” I asked.
Dahlia seemed to think for a moment. “No. But with all the thoughts that I know are mine I do think you’re devastatingly attractive. You have a thing about you. An aura. I saw it when I first spied you. It makes it so it’s hard not to look at you.”
With a ruminating look I reached out and offered my hand to her.
She stared at it with a skeptical expression.
“Take it,” I said, a sharp, bitter edge to my voice. “I have to see for certain that my gifts don’t work on you.”
“But if they do then you’ll read my thoughts,” she said, her voice rising with worry.
I huffed. “And then you can join the club with the billion other people.”
She hesitated briefly and then laid her silky hand in mine. There was a small jolt. Like a shock. I expected it to be followed by a barrage of her thoughts, but all I heard was our steady breaths. My gaze rested on her bright blue eyes.
“Well?” she finally said.
A bit hesitantly I released her hand. “Nothing. Nada. Not a trace of a thought.”
“And I’m the first person your powers don’t work on?” she said with a skeptical glare.
“The very first.”
“So all your life is that what you’ve been doing to people? Reading their thoughts? Hypnotizing them? Controlling them? Is that how you’ve gotten by?” she said, but she didn’t sound nearly as insulted as most would have upon learning all this.
“Oh, you’re one to talk. You open your mouth and people shell out big bucks. You’re just as manipulative as me,” I said, wagging my finger at her and enjoying the look of offense jumping to her features.
“I trained my whole life to have this talent, to be able to sing and entertain,” she said.
“And my talents were bestowed upon me at the age of ten with no effort on my part because of the simple fact that I’m a Dream Traveler. Life isn’t fair, luv,” I said, snapping at the maître d’ again and then mouthing the word “coat” at him.
“You’re leaving?” Dahlia said in disbelief. “What about the check?”
“I figured you’d get it,” I said to her.
“Oh, are you done here because your witchcraft doesn’t work on me?”
“Exactly. And I’m excusing you of my presence so you don’t have to let me down at the end of the night. You’re welcome,” I said, my eyes resting on the burgundy carpet.
“You think people have only ever liked you because you made them, don’t you?” she said, her eyes narrowing from her clever observation.
“No, Dahlia, I know it. I caught your eye tonight because you thought my head was on fire and I had monster green eyes. It’s not attraction, it’s called intrigue. You stare at my pale face and pointy bicuspids long enough and you’re going to figure that out. So let’s say our goodbyes while you still have what you call ‘attraction’ for my features,” I said, throwing a seething glare at her, one she didn’t deserve. “Congrats on being the first person to make me feel normal. I’ve never known what that feels like.” I stood when the waiter brought my camel hair coat and shrugged it on. “Feeling normal is absolutely awful. I hope to never feel like this again.”
“But Ren,” Dahlia said, standing suddenly. “You can’t just leave. We just met. And I…” She trailed off. The girl was absolutely breathtaking and nothing I could do worked on her. She probably stole my breath because she was fatal to my ego and therefore the essence of my being.
I shook my head at her. “Oh, but I can just leave and I’m doing so now. Cheerio, luv. Have a nice life,” I said and then turned and stalked away.
Chapter Eleven
A small deliberate knock sounded on my door the very next day after the concert. It wasn’t Cindy’s usual incessant knocking. I was sure she’d come stomping over to tell me off for ditching her the night before. In my defense I had a better offer. Just turned out not to be the offer I thought it would be.
I ignored the first knock. A minute later it came again. “Go away,” I said from my armchair. My feet were propped on the mahogany coffee table, Brave New World opened and nestled in my lap. I detested being disturbed when reading. Hell, I detested being disturbed period. Some people have a preference for being alone most of the time. For me, it’s more of an absolute necessity. I reasoned it’s due to the fact that I’ve spent so much time in other people’s heads.
Another knock at the door.
“Go. Away. Now!” I said.
“That’s not nice,” Dahlia’s unmistakable voice chimed through the door. “Now open up already.”
I jumped to a standing position, first disbelief and then horror clouding my thoughts. I hurriedly tucked my button-down into my slacks and checked my hair in the mirror. Of course, I hadn’t been expecting company and I definitely hadn’t thought Dahlia would be calling on me.
Arranging my face into something classified as apathetic, I pulled the door open. Dahlia stood in front of me, her appearance doing something strange to my chest. I think the heart I didn’t know I had palpitated. I didn’t like that at all. She was flanked by two bodyguards. They both wore black suits, ear pieces, and had necks thicker than my thigh.
“What are you doing here?” I asked her. “How did you find out where I lived?”
“I have my ways,” she said, batting her long dark eyelashes at me.
“You realize this borders on stalking?” I said.
“Does it?” she said coyly. “Well, since I’m here, can I come in?”
I stood back and waved my arm wide. “By all means,” I said, careful to keep all nervousness out of my voice.
“If you don’t mind, my guards will just need to check your place before I can come in. Just to ensure it’s safe,” she said.
I tied my arms across my chest and sighed heavily. “You sneakily found out where I live and show up on my doorstep and your guards need to determine that you’ll be safe here.” I gave her a skeptical glare. “I think my safety should be the concern presently.”
She lowered her chin and offered me a convincing smile. “Oh, come on, Ren. I just want to chat with you.”
I rounded on the guards and waved them forward. “Fine. Go peeping around my flat, but don’t touch anything with your dirty hands.”
One guard stood next to Dahlia while the other scuttled about my place. We remained completely silent. Dahlia stared at me curiously and I stared at the ceiling, doing my best “annoyed” act.
“All clear,” the guard came back and said a minute later.
“Did you check under the bed for the boogie man?” I said to the buffoon. “I’m certain he’s under there, but I can’t build up the gumption to look for myself.”
A small amused smile lit up Dahlia’s face. “Leave us, boys,” she said, talking to the guards, but her eyes still hinged on me. I didn’t like the way she was looking at me. It made me feel different. Affected.
The guards both exited the flat. Just before one pulled the door shut I said, “Don’t go far, boys, I might need your protection.” This didn’t produce a single reaction from the meatheads.
“Oh, you know I’m harmless,” Dahlia said, taking off her fitted trench coat and handing it to me. She was wearing a lavender dress that I pretended not to notice was perfectly tight.
“Actually, I don’t know a lick about you,” I said, flinging her jacket on the chair in the corner.
“I was kind of hoping you’d hang that up,” she said, that amused expression on her face again.
“Were you? And are you also hoping I’ll offer tea and biscuits, because you’re wasting your time. I’m an awful host, so if you’re looking for hospitality then you’ve come to the
wrong place, luv,” I said.
Not a single reaction registered on her face. She simply strolled through my flat, admiring the furnishings. Studying them. Dahlia then stopped in front of a painting over the sofa, and blinked with sudden disbelief. Her hand raised and she pointed at it. “Is that a real Van Gogh?”
I sighed, walked over to the fireplace, and leaned against the mantel. “Do you take me for the type who would have a forgery? Of course it is,” I said, disgust heavy in my voice.
“Do you appreciate Van Gogh because you’re both misunderstood redheads?” Dahlia said, turning to gauge my reaction to the question.
She was crafty. Played a game that most didn’t dare to play with me. For some odd reason people have always been intimidated by me. Usually my abrasive nature keeps these cowards at a distance, but Dahlia didn’t seem deterred. She wasn’t putting up with me like Cindy did, she was volleying with me and it was actually quite intriguing.
“So do you regularly hunt down people who attend your concerts and barge into their homes?” I said.
Dahlia took a seat on the leather sofa, crossing her legs in front of me. “You’re the first.”
“By all means, please have a seat,” I said with an exasperated groan. “Make yourself at home.”