by Sacha Black
I give an awkward cough, and Felicia leaps a meter away from Sheridan, her eyes as wide as orbs as she sees me in the darkness sat against the shop wall.
“You scared the Balance out of me,” she says, her body relaxing when she realizes it’s only me.
I can’t help but laugh as she gives me a playful thump on the arm. “What are you doing here at this time of night?”
“I needed a drink.”
“Yeah, you look like you do too,” Felicia says.
“Is it the nightmares?” Sheridan asks.
“In part. But also a minor disagreement with Trey.”
The pair of them give me a knowing look as if they’ve had their own fair share of disagreements.
“Early Binding relationships are hard,” Felicia says.
“Tell me about the dreams,” Sheridan says, “when I came out, you were screaming. Without doing a proper dream share, I couldn’t see your entire dream, but I caught flashes and images. A bone tower and a lot of blood.”
“They’re getting worse,” I say, “I don’t know if it’s some kind of stress, or trauma from the battle with Victor, or some subconscious fear I have. But I’m afraid to sleep.”
Sheridan nods, “Come with us. Trey has organized an evening together in a few days. But you’re here now, and we’re about to walk home, so unless you’ve got somewhere else to be, you might as well come with us.”
Trey doesn’t want to see me until later in the morning, the bar’s shut, and I have no idea whether the trains will still be running this late at night. Unless I plan on sleeping rough, I’m not sure I have another option.
“I’d really appreciate it, thank you,” I say, and pull myself off the wall.
It takes us about ten minutes to get to their house, winding our way through the rows of white marble mansions, porches with giant stone columns and naked statues that frequent the streets as often as road signs.
We slip off the main roads and enter a street with a row of more modest houses, although when I say modest, they’re still several story high town houses made of the same luxurious marble as the mansions.
We reach their place, and Sheridan slips out a key opening the front door into a corridor. There’s a set of stairs at the end of the corridor and a lift next to them. Besides us are two doors.
“It’s apartments?” I say, surprised.
Felicia laughs, “It might look beautiful outside, but not every Siren can afford a mansion.”
Their apartment is the first one on the left. Underneath their door is a welcome mat that makes me smile; it says ‘Sleep Tight, Sleep Balanced.’
We enter a spacious sitting room; the floor is made of a plush cream carpet. The sofas are cream too, and the rest of the furniture is oak and wood. It smells like burnt lavender, chamomile, and incense. On the coffee table is a pestle and mortar, a box containing lots of green things, some incense, and some candles probably left over from a ritual.
Opposite the front door is a long corridor with the lights off.
“Take a seat,” Sheridan says, “will you get some drinks, Fliss?”
“Sure,” she bounces down the corridor, switches on the light, and disappears into the room furthest away. I think she’s the perkiest person I’ve ever met; even the thought of trying to be half as energetic as her makes me yawn. Sheridan takes off her shoes and sits cross-legged on the carpet opposite where I take a seat. I sink so far into their cream cushions, I’m not sure how I’ll climb out again. Felicia returns, putting three steaming mugs on the table. I reach for one, but Sheridan puts her hand over it. She picks out some herbs from her box, drops them in my mug, and swills them with a short stubby wand that’s the same pinky-red color as the marks on her arm. She shoves the mug toward me as Felicia drops into the single armchair and swings her legs over the side.
“Thank you for agreeing to help me.”
“It’s an honor to help one of our Fallons. Although technically, I haven’t agreed to help you yet…”
I’m not sure what to make of that comment, but she motions for me to drink up.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I love this part,” Felicia says, grinning.
Sheridan picks up the slate grey mortar and empties it into something under the table. Then she picks her way through a pile of assorted herbs in her box on the end of the table. She frowns at twigs, sniffs others, and dabs the occasional green leaf on her tongue. She chooses a small selection and drops them into the clean mortar. Then she picks up a long needle and looks up at me.
“To help you, I need to see your dreams. The drink opens your dreamscape up to me. Have you ever shared your dreams before?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Is that a problem?”
Sheridan glances at Felicia and pulls the herb box back adding several more dried brown and green herbs to the bowl. When she’s finished crushing the pile, she puts her tools down and the pestle clinks against the mortar. Then she picks up a needle again and hands it to me.
“Not a problem, exactly.”
“Sounds like there’s a but?”
“There is,” Felicia says, curling her legs under her.
“Sharing your dream space isn’t like using any other Keeper magic,” Sheridan says.
“It isn’t?” I ask, looking between them.
“No,” Felicia says, her grin widening as her Siren-blue eyes light up.
“There are a few things you need to know before you agree to share your dream space with me,” Sheridan says, picking up the pestle and mortar to grind the mixture again.
“Okay?” I say.
“The first is that this is a permanent sharing.”
“Permanent? You mean you see the dreams of everyone you’ve shared dream space with every night?”
She tilts her head at me, “If I wasn’t skilled, yes.”
“But you are skilled?” I ask.
“The most in all of Trutinor,” Felicia interrupts, her face beaming as she looks at Sheridan.
“So how do you stop them?” I ask.
She lifts her marked arm, “Fail-safe.”
“It’s awesome, she designed the fail-safe mechanism herself,” Felicia says, the grin stretching even further across her face. “She was awarded a prize in advanced sorcery for it and had a bunch of academic papers published. It’s a huge deal.” Felicia uncrosses her legs and leans forward.
“It’s not just that I can see your dreams,” Sheridan says, dismissing Felicia’s compliments. “Because you’re a Fallon, your power is stronger than any of the Keepers I’ve worked with before.”
“Which means what?”
“It means,” Sheridan says, glancing at the powdered mixture and placing the pestle and mortar on the table, “that there’s a chance you’ll see mine too.”
“Ah… I see why you haven’t agreed to help me yet,” I say.
She gives me a sad smile. “My dreams have always been my own. While I’ve entered many others, mine have been private.”
“We don’t have to,” I say, feeling guilty for the second time this evening.
“It’s fine,” she says, “if we don’t use our gifts for good, we might as well not have them.”
“Okay then,” I say, eyeing the liquid and taking a gulp. It tingles, like static, but instead of tasting the liquid, I smell it: flowery charcoal. I stare at the cup in amazement.
“Okay,” Sheridan says, sitting up a little higher.
“So the fail-safe?”
She pushes a lock of her chocolate waves behind her ear.
“The fail-safe will help. It should more or less stop you seeing my dreams and if necessary, stop me from seeing yours. Our fail-safe will be a unique shape, something meaningful to you and will form a mark on our skin.” She points at the markings on her arm that I noticed outside Trey’s bar.
“A replica will appear as soon as you start dreaming. When you want to stop the dream share, touch the fail-safe, and it will eject me. Think of it as a trap door.”
“Or a vault,” I say, thinking about the similarities to the vault I already have in my head.
“A vault?” she asks.
“Nothing. Sorry. How do I create the fail-safe?” I ask, yawning and taking the final slurp of liquid from my mug.
“You don’t. That’s the beauty of the spell,” she says, her green eyes twinkling.
“It comes from your blood.”
I frown, wondering what happens if it doesn’t form. As if she knows what I’m thinking, she smiles, “You’ll be fine.”
“What will it look like?”
Sheridan smiles, “Like your safe place. Or at least a representation of whatever makes you feel safe anyway.”
“Okay,” I say, still not comfortable with the fact I have to go into the dream share without the fail-safe already in place.
“The first time will be intense.”
“Intense how?”
“Most likely you will flip between dreams. You may even head hop between my dream and yours. It will be disorienting; it takes practice to allow someone into your mind. Minds don’t like to be shared.”
I shift in my seat. My mind is not a place that should be shared; there’s too much darkness and Imbalance inside me. What if having Sheridan inside my head makes the vault burst open?
“When you say ‘mind’…”
She smiles, “Don’t worry, I’m not a mind reader. I can’t influence your thoughts, or see into your subconscious, just your dream space.”
“There’ll be nausea afterward, won’t there?” I groan, thinking of Victor and the library, which already feels like weeks ago.
“Possibly,” Sheridan says, “but the herbs should help combat it.”
“Okay,” I say, relief washing over me. “Then if you’re still willing to help me, I think I’m ready.” I yawn again as if my body wants to prove how tired it is.
“Bring the needle,” Sheridan says, and takes my hand to guide me along their corridor until we stop at the first room on the left.
“Last chance to back out,” she says, grinning.
There’s no way I’m backing out now. “I need to know what the dreams mean,” I say.
“Then welcome to the dream room,” she says, and pushes the door open. The room is painted black, except for a speckling of bright white dots over the walls and ceiling that appear to glow like stars freckling the night sky. Unlike the thick incense from the living room, there’s a fresh clean smell in here, like the sharp cut of the wind, and it makes me feel like I’m outside, lying on my back, looking up at the stars.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she says.
There’s no bed, which seems odd given that we need to sleep. But as I step deeper into the room, I realize the entire floor is spongey like a mattress and covered in blankets and pillows.
“We have to sleep next to each other. I need to be close to you the first time to ensure the connection sticks.”
I shrug, “Fine by me.
We sit, and Sheridan pushes the mortar toward me, “I need a drop of your blood.”
I push the silver needle she gave me into my index finger and wince as it pricks open my skin. I squeeze a few drops into the mortar and hand the needle back to Sheridan, who does the same. She stirs the mixture, reaches for a small purple vial that must have been tucked down the side of the mattress, and pours a couple of drops of clear liquid in. Then she reaches for her wand. Green wisps of magic flow from the end of her wand as she whispers words I don’t understand. The threads of green whisk the mixture in the mortar until it whips up and out of the bowl in the form of a mini tornado. The bowl rattles against the table spinning faster and faster until it bursts into flames and disintegrates into ashes.
“Interesting,” she says, and picks the bowl up, “ready?”
“I am. What was interesting?”
She smiles, “I don’t always get flames.”
“This is going to be one hell of a ride,” Felicia says, sticking her head around the door, “I’m almost tempted to hop in just for the fun of it.”
Sheridan glares at her, “Behave, Felicia.”
“Good luck,” Felicia says, and closes the door.
What’s the powder for?” I ask, looking at the bowl in her hands.
“That, we use now.”
She dips her fingers in the white powder and smudges a circle on my forehead. Then she does the same on hers. It’s hot at first; then the circle gets cold. Icy cold.
“Why a circle?” I ask.
“Because of the infinite connection between the mind. The three circles on my forehead represent consciousness, unconsciousness, and the dreamscape. Are you ready?”
“I am.”
“Then dip your finger in the powder and dab it on your tongue.”
I reach down smearing some of the ashy powder on my finger and touch it to my tongue. It tingles, light and full of electricity. A giggle erupts from my belly. As soon as Sheridan slides a pillow out for me to lie on, my eyes roll back in my head, my body drops to the pillow, and I slip into unconsciousness.
Seventeen
‘Dream Share – The population and subsequent witnessing of a single dream by two or more Keepers.’
The Dictionary of Balance
I’m at the top of my home tower roof in Element City. My feet teeter on the edge of the parapet as a wave of horror chills my body. The sun is tinged maroon and black. Blood-red streaks dirty the clouds making the air thick and choking. The heat from the desert has gone, and cold winds whip around the building. In the distance, instead of golden waves of sand, the desert dunes are singed black. On the building next to us, I spot a lone figure, which I think is Sheridan.
My beautiful cube city is broken. The buildings closest to me have been sliced in half. Their innards: metal girders, cement, and steel rebar, are displayed like carcasses. Towers crumble, bricks splinter off and drop to the streets below as if the entire city is decaying. Bridges between the buildings are rotten and collapsing. Great chunks have been bitten out of the sides of the skyscrapers. What city-sized monster has eaten my home? Tears run down my cheeks. The ground beneath my feet wobbles as my home tower rots and collapses like the rest of them. I fall, not to the ground but into the darkness of sleep.
When I wake in my next dream, I’m standing in a dim corridor. The walls and floor are made of smooth white marble – we’re in the South. Inlaid in the floor is the Siren symbol. I kneel down to examine it. Our symbols are made of gold, but this is made of a creamy substance that ebbs and flows and sparkles like there are fragments of diamond in it. I’m in the corridor under Trey’s mansion; we’re near the heart.
I stand, noticing Sheridan standing someway down the corridor. She keeps her distance, observing rather than interrupting my dream. A sharp pain radiates in the fleshy part near my elbow. I stare at the inside of my arm, a hexagonal coin shape appearing on my skin. The fail-safe. I touch my trouser pocket where the real coin sits and smile. Father. The fail-safe is shaped like the coin Father found in London; it was on the same trip he brought Mustard, our dog, back with him.
Trey materializes, holding my hand. He tugs my arm and starts running, dragging me down the corridor. The wrought iron gates are already open.
A bolt of pain slams into my head, and I stumble forward letting go of his hand. The dream melts as I fall. When I land, it's on rock. I can’t breathe. My head’s swimming, my skin itching like it doesn’t belong to me. Nothing looks right, and everything’s tinged with a strange green hue. I roll around the rocky ground beneath me, scratching at my blistering skin until I remember: I’m dreaming. I sit bolt upright. This isn’t my dream. It’s Sheridan’s.
She’s walking, bare foot, across the rocks and down into the valley. Her trousers thwack against her legs as they jingle in the wind. The breeze whips her chocolate colored hair around her head. I get up and run toward her. As I step over the peak of the hill, I pull short and blink. When I can’t work out what I’m loo
king at, I squint. At first, I think it’s a sea, with ripples and undulations on the surface. But I realize the hue of the dream is distorting the colors. I’m staring at fabric. Hundreds and hundreds of feet of fabric all stitched together in a mosaic of creams and browns. Tucked in the crooks and edges of the valley is a village of tents.
Sheridan stops and turns toward me, frowning. She raises her hands and puts them flat out facing me.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she says, and pulls her arms back and shunts them forward.
My elbow burns where the coin’s mark imprinted my skin, and I’m flung backward into darkness. The hilltop wind roars in my ears as I fly through the darkness, then as I slam into a hard, hot surface, the wind ceases.
Rubbing my eyes, I pull myself up and realize I’m standing on my home tower roof again. This time, the sun is high enough in the sky that my arms sting from the heat. In the distance, desert surrounds the city of skyscrapers. Lonely train tracks traverse the sandy dunes, and if I strain, I can make out the faint outlines of the other East State cities: Ignis, Caelum, Oxonia, and Terra.A shadow moves in my periphery. Trey. I reach for his hand but recoil as I touch fur.
“Victor.”
On my right, Sheridan’s figure ripples in and out of focus as if she’s struggling to stay in my dream. I blink, and Trey is standing on the parapet, his heels edging backward. I leap forward, trying to grab his hand, but it’s not me leaping. It’s Victor, and instead of grabbing Trey’s hand, he grabs his throat and holds him over the edge.
“Wars are never really won,” Victor says, my mouth curving around his words. I fight, straining inside Victor’s body to pull Trey back over the edge to safety. But Victor has control of my arms.
The dream cracks, and like the splintering of a mirror, sharp pieces of buildings and sky shatter and fall around us. Until there’s nothing but darkness. Pain rips through my skull, that familiar itching, crawling over my skin as I slide into Sheridan’s head.