The Destined

by E. J. Mellow

  He turns to me, his azure gaze steady. “You’ll be perfect,” he says softly.

  My attention slides back to what draws near. “I hope so, since it’s my only option these days.”

  “Not with me.” The seriousness in his tone has me glancing at him. “Not with me.” And with a quick, gentle kiss that does a rather good job at calming my nerves, we turn back to the window and enjoy the last few moments of quiet before the noise of responsibility floods in.

  — 26 —

  The moment we step out of the ship, only one thought consumes me, and I hate to admit that it’s a shallow one—I have absolutely no idea how celebrities do it. How on earth do they function, let alone not become blinded and deaf by the flashing of so many cameras and the yelling of so many people wanting their attention? While I wasn’t completely oblivious to some of the press coverage the elders were allowing, I still had no idea it would feel quite like this. Screw Cato’s rules of etiquette and proper topics of conversation. He should have stuck me in a booth with millions of sparking lights and taught me to keep my eyes open while smiling like I wasn’t in pain.

  I’m terrified of the video footage that the hovering cameras are capturing of me exiting the ship. I can already see the headlines: “Dreamer Appears to Have a Nightmare upon Landing in Port City.” Or something of the like. But as much as I want to shield my face and possibly fall into a fetal position, I manage to force my head up and allow my Vigil guards to move me through the crowd. Elena’s white dress walks in front, acting as my focal point, and I can feel Dev and Hector at my back, the inner circle to my inner circle. I’m desperately thankful I have them with me. Yes, even Hector.

  The next moments are a flurry of meeting the awaiting Port City delegates, eight in total, and whose names leave my mind just as soon as they are uttered. I smile and shake hands and then turn for more smiling as Cato whispers for me to face the press before entering the next transport, the next destination the start of our walking tour. I barely keep from diving into the smaller airship, the interior’s quiet a gift from the gods, and take a seat in a far corner. The rest of the entourage filters in, and I notice one of the delegates, a particularly smart-looking redhead, smiling familiarly at Dev as he talks to the group. He says something that has them laughing before he turns, seeking me out. As embarrassing as it is to admit, I find myself momentarily distracted by his graceful strides and the way his long-sleeved black shirt hints at his impressive build as he removes the quiver across his back. Clearing my throat, I sit up straighter and tear my gaze away before he catches me in my ogling act. Terra knows I don’t need his smug teasing right about now. But as I move my attention elsewhere, I notice the redhead from earlier just as transfixed on the back of Dev as I am on his front, and I purse my lips as her eyes settle on a much-lower part of his anatomy. I mean, really, doesn’t she know staring is rude? There’s a wink of light on her arm—a Dreamer repellent band. I know all the delegates have them on as a precaution, but for some reason seeing it on this woman is like a child facing a button that says Do Not Push. I want nothing more than to test just how well it works.

  “You okay?” Dev’s asks as he takes a seat next to me.

  His face is close, close enough to kiss, and I can’t help thinking, Wouldn’t that be shocking? Dev and my relationship isn’t meant to be a secret, but I also know showing my need for him in such a public way could easily put each of us at a disadvantage. Weaknesses, especially of the heart, are the best fodder for an enemy—a horrible lesson I learned from Vibius and especially Aaron. So despite my immature need to publically claim him in front of a certain someone, I resist.

  Realizing Dev’s been waiting for me to answer, I say “Yeah” and half smile.

  But his shrewd gaze misses nothing, and I know he doesn’t believe me, yet he lets the matter drop. “I haven’t been back here in a long time,” he says, kicking one ankle to rest on his knee and facing the open haul of the ship. “It’s nice to visit again.”

  I follow the direction of his gaze, taking in the mostly occupied padded seats that line either side of the transport’s dark interior. Where our larger ship was lit with warm hues of yellow and beige and comfortable seating areas, this is painted with the usual Terra grays and black of their military vehicles.

  “Did you know Port City is the oldest outpost to Terra?” Dev asks. “Our other two are fairly new.”

  “Which means they’re still probably older than America.”

  “Probably.” He smiles.

  “How come the Nursery doesn’t count as a city?” I ask.

  “It’s more of a facility, a compound of sorts. It relies on Terra for most of its day-to-day needs. I think if it was more self-sustaining it could be considered one, but as it is now, it’s too small. And even though it has the most concentrated storage of Navitas, it’s rather fragile and serves mainly one purpose.”

  Ever since learning about the Nursery, I’ve been so curious about the place where Terra’s population is delicately managed. No memories of it are available for me from past Dreamers, and I didn’t see it on Cato’s list of tour stops. I wonder if I could suggest a possible visit.

  “You’ll love it here,” Dev says. “The Vigil claim it has similarities to Venice. Have you been there?”

  I shake my head. “I’ve always wanted to go though.”

  “Have you traveled much of Earth?”

  “I did a road trip across the States and have visited some countries in South America, but I haven’t had the chance to go beyond that.” I pause, realizing something. “Well, actually…if I can count my Dreamer memories, then I’ve been almost all over the globe.”

  A charming grin lights up Dev’s face. “I think you can more than count them.”

  With a shared smile I turn back to the ship’s interior and soberly realize what I thought was a private conversation between two people was actually a very public tête-à-tête. For all the eyes of our new Port City companions are curiously pinned to us. With a swallow, I remember. Here I am no longer Molly. Here I can only be the Dreamer.

  —∞—

  Dev’s prediction on how I would feel about Port City is more than accurate. In fact, it might have been an understatement. As we set out on our walking tour, I’m exposed to beautifully paved streets that line the edges of breathtaking canals. The winding water shimmers with silver as the sleek boats ride the waves, their sails billowing in the constant breeze, white puffs speeding forward. This metropolis is very much a city that embraces its surroundings, for every detail has some sort of reference to the lake, to water, and to what must swim within it. Fish are a largely used emblem, gracing windows in blue-stained glass or placed into the names of passing establishments, all with the facades of large gray stones. The crest of waves curls along metal railings of bridges, and even the uniforms of the people have a more navy hue than black.

  And speaking of people, they fill both sides of the streets to capacity. Everyone has come to see the Dreamer. And while I see a few regarding me with hesitant stares, with mistrust, the majority cheer my arrival and even reach out in a desperate weeping gesture. Yes, actually friggin’ weeping. As if I were some savior whose touch could create miracles. They call my name, and when I go to them—my Vigil guards sticking close beside me—to shake their hands, they grip me tight and sputter their thanks, their praise. The Metus attack on this port right before I was cut off is clearly still in their minds. But despite the discomforting adoration, nothing is as unnerving as seeing the men and women who have streaked a part of their hair white.

  Unconsciously I touch my bleached strands that are pulled back into my ponytail, and the few who wear the fashion yell louder, as if my movement was a purposeful acknowledgment of their visual dedication. I drop my hand. This is too much. Don’t they know I’m just as much flesh and blood as they? But despite my discomfort, I keep smiling, understanding the thing I represent is more important than any truth I might feel about myself. Terra needs this, needs a Dr
eamer, and I will give them that for as long as I can. So I continue to nod and murmur my words of comfort, of appreciation, and when the requests become unbearable, concede to demonstrate my powers, Cato’s schedule of me reserving that for tomorrow be damned. As we walk along the river’s edge, I pull creatures I suspect a town like this would appreciate into existence. With the coolness collecting in my mind, I envision manta ray to float and flap their large gray wings beside me, their tales swooshing as they glide forward. I call streams of water from the nearby canal to arch overtop of us, imagining multicolored fish to swim within, a ceiling of aquatic life. Pink jellyfish puff through the air, their tentacles harmless as they string out behind them, occasionally passing over an outreached hand. The crowd gasps, applauds, and squeals. Even the doubters are unable to hold back their smiles as they stare up at the wonder. Each and every one of the citizens’ happy souls reaches out to me, and despite not being in the plane of energy, I can sense the brightness, the good intentions, and positivity. Their simple desire to merely live a life of peace and beauty. All of it feeds my energy, sending my creations to spark with new vigor. I can feel myself growing stronger, a similar euphoria I experienced when I stood on the balcony in City Hall Square after my demonstration. Taking in the collective pureness of those present is so overwhelming that it threatens to bring me to tears, and it’s in this moment when I realize what I’m truly fighting for, what we all are. The blessing of existence, the miracle that is creating and imagining, and I take in a stuttering breath as this settles deep within my heart. Gazing across the people, their hope palpable among the lapping water and the shooting stars overhead, I pray for one thing—

  That I won’t let them down.

  — 27 —

  To say that I’d rather be curling up in the giant fluffy bed that greets me as I walk into my private suite than attending my honorary dinner would be 100 percent accurate. Despite the energy the crowd momentary afforded me, I feel drained, empty, exhausted. So after my guards sweep my room, I let out a giant sigh as they shut the door behind them to stand in the hall outside, finally, blissfully, leaving me alone.

  Removing my quiver—more of a prop these days—I sag into a nearby chair, its cushions embracing me with softness. “Thank you, beautiful silence,” I murmur and kick my booted feet onto the marble coffee table. Glancing around I take in the Grecian-style architecture of my quarters. Despite the more modest homes that lined the various canals in the city, the hotel I’m staying at is grand to the extreme. My suite features a large open foyer that connects to the living room where I sit, which then opens to a balcony, a bedroom off in one direction, and a bathroom that’s the size of my studio back in New York. As my gaze swings back to the table in front of me, I spy a plate of cookies resting next to a large bouquet of flowers and a tray with a pot of coffee.

  Coffee!

  I nearly fall out of my chair as I sit up.

  They have coffee!

  I want to cry. I am crying.

  I have no idea how they’ve acquired it, since Terra has no need for the caffeinated beverage, but even if they went to extreme and unnecessary lengths, I can’t bring myself to feel bad. I mean, it’s coffee! Pouring myself a large cup, I ignore the burn of drinking it too soon and gulp it down.

  “Ah.” I audibly sigh. “I love you, sweet beans from the gods.”

  I wish Rae were here. He’d have a thing or two to say about the ridiculous grin now plastered on my face. Becca would defend my enthusiasm without question, of course, sharing my obsession for the holy liquid. As the thought of them has me softly laughing, it just as quickly fills me with a sudden pang of homesickness. Which is rather odd, considering I’ve never missed home when I’ve been in Terra before… In fact, I hardly ever thought about it. But this time, with everything that’s going on, all the pressure and needs for my attention, I’m actually missing my simple life back on Earth. Don’t get me wrong—I certainly don’t miss being cut off or only being able to travel here while I sleep. I just miss…well, the slight reprieve it offers. The ability to take a deep breath between all this. I wonder when I’ll have the chance to go back, how everyone is doing. Is Becca handling pretending to be me and texting my parents to keep their calls at bay? I cringe. Please let her not be as bad as Rae.

  The sound of approaching footsteps in the outside hall brings my attention back to the present, and a smile edges my lips. Dev must be coming to see me before the event. Nerves flutter in my stomach. We practically ignored each other on the walking tour, him keeping an official distance away while playing the part of another one of my guards. Running a hand down my T-shirt that doesn’t need fixing, I head for the door, ready to give him a proper hello. But when the large wooden frame opens, I come up short, seeing someone who’s very much not Dev. A tall, striking women walks in, her spaghetti-strapped seafoam-green dress swaying like liquid by her heeled feet, the silk cascading down her pale skin, while her gray hair is tied into a neat, high bun on top her head, bringing attention to her startling almond-shaped silver eyes.

  “Sonja?” I say in shock.

  The Vigil scientist that I last saw before I stepped through the portal in the Brooklyn lab gives me a friendly smile. “Hello, Molly.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I was asked to attend,” she says, stepping farther into my suite and glancing around. “Elena thought it might be beneficial to have as many people you’ve been connected with at tonight’s event. Your friends Tim and Aveline were supposed to accompany me, but a small matter with the Metus unfortunately kept them back in Terra. But don’t worry. I can more than vouch for you and your good intentions.” She winks.

  I slowly realize this gala dinner is going to be more of an interrogation.

  “How have you been?” I ask, walking with her to the sofas, and as we sit, I take in her light fruity fragrance.

  “Great.” She leans forward to grab a cookie. “More than great actually. The success of our experiment with you and Rae has really opened up a lot. Dr. Mackenzie and I have been able to make huge headway on a few projects we previously were hitting a dead end on.” She wipes a crumb from her lip after taking a bite of the dessert. “Of course, it’s nothing quite as severe as what we did with you, but it will definitely help the medical community.”

  “Oh, well, that’s good,” I say, remembering the name of the human scientist Sonja was working with at Vita Corp. I wonder if Dr. Mackenzie has any curiosity about why they’ve made such sudden progress. “How’s Rae?” I ask, pouring another cup of coffee, and when she declines any for herself, I’m secretly relieved. Yes, I’m a coffee hoarder.

  “He’s doing well,” Sonja says. “Still getting used to some things, like being able to sleep, but doing well nonetheless.”

  My brows raise. “I never thought about that—that this would be his first time sleeping. Does he like it? Oh!” I lean forward. “Has he had any dreams?”

  “No, he hasn’t reported dreaming yet.” She shakes her head. “But he definitely finds sleeping strange. And I can certainly understand why. I would hate to be so mentally vulnerable and shut off.”

  Hunh. I never thought about sleeping in that way, being vulnerable, but I guess if I were someone like Sonja, who is constantly using her brain, it would make sense. “Wait…” I nearly drop my cup. “Does that mean…could he potentially come back to Terra if he does? Dream, that is.”

  Sonja regards me with a sympathetic smile. “No, Molly, I don’t think that, even with him dreaming, he’d be given access to be in Terra like you were. He’s not a chosen Dreamer, after all. He’d merely be one of the many passing stars.”

  “Oh.” My shoulders droop in disappointment.

  “But I do have something that might make you feel better.” She lifts her small golden clutch and snaps it open. “These are from Becca and Rae.” She hands me two sealed envelopes, and my heart jumps. I want to rip them open, but I miraculously hold off, preferring to be alone when I read.

&nbs
p; Sonja seems to understand this, for she nods ever so slightly and stands. “Well,” she says, “it seems our Cinderella has a ball to attend, and lucky for you, your fairy godmother happens to be standing right here.” Walking to a side table, she presses a button beside the com, and after a short beat, the doors to my suite swing open and in enter a man and a woman pulling a rack with more designer dresses than I’d ever be comfortable trying on in New York. They give me radiant grins as they begin to set up.

  “What’s this?” I ask.

  Sonja does a quick sweep of my body. “Did you think you’d be attending the dinner dressed as you are now?”

  I look down at my black uniform. “Um…”

  “Precisely.” She pulls out dress after dress. “Now you can either go take a quick shower or Dreamer yourself fresh and clean. Either way, when you get back here, we’re going to have a bit of fun,” she says before turning to the two stylists. “We’ll need something gold if she wears this one, and her lips will have to be a cherry pink and—by the star, definitely not this one. Remove it from the rack altogether and hand me that teal number, will you?”

  My eyes widen in silent respect. Who knew lab-rat Sonja was a closet fashionista?