Ren Series Boxed Set (Book 1 - 4)

by Sarah Noffke

  “Because you’re a bloody idiot,” I remind him.

  “On a positive note, Drake was happy to help me create the opener,” Aiden chirps, his blunder not affecting his self-esteem quite like it should have.

  “That’s because he wanted to gain access to your fucking data,” I say.

  “Right, but what’s done is done, and I wouldn’t worry much on it. There’s not a lot that a Middling can do with my files. Replicating my technology would be extremely difficult,” he says, overly confident.

  “Would it be too difficult for a scientist whom you recruited to help you build a device to find bloody portals?” I say, with my usual calm superiority.

  “Well, although that’s an excellent point—”

  I cut him off. “Would it be too difficult for a man who is working with someone who can become invisible?”

  Aiden’s mouth pops open. “No! Invisible? That’s incredible!”

  “No, it’s fucking alarming,” I say.

  “I wonder if that’s their dream travel skill or if it’s something else,” Aiden says, his eyes now dancing with excitement.

  “What do you mean, something else?” I say.

  “Well, one of the reasons I recruited Drake was because of his technological advancements. They aren’t anything like what we’ve done here, but still impressive,” Aiden says.

  “And why would he want the data on how to convert Middlings to Dream Travelers? Any clues?” I say.

  Aiden shrugs. Idiots shrug. People who don’t know how to communicate properly, shrug. Real men don’t shrug. “That I don’t know. My best guess is that he probably wants to experiment on himself. He was fairly fascinated with our race and mentioned that some of the people he’d admired the most have been Dream Travelers,” he says.

  “We can only hope he gets it wrong and kills himself,” I say.

  “I wouldn’t worry. So we have a guy who converts himself to a Dream Traveler. It can’t be that big of a deal,” Aiden says, dismissing my concerns. He doesn’t know about the wolves, the stolen data, and the US citizens who have been kidnapped, and that it’s all probably related to Drake and something he’s working on. Good thing I’m leaving this planet behind because it’s fucking screwed.

  “Anyway, here’s the opener,” Aiden says, turning around and grabbing a small black device off the lab table. It resembles a thick credit card and looks too ordinary to be what I’m hoping it is.

  “What is that?” I say.

  “An opener. You like the name? It’s simple but describes exactly what it does. It opens portals to other realms. The doors you were talking about,” he says.

  “Wow, you’re so bloody clever. How do you do it? Teach me,” I say dryly.

  Aiden smiles, obviously not realizing that I plan to kill him after he hands off the device. “I made it out of black carbon steel because—”

  “Don’t care. How does it work?” I say, cutting him off.

  “Well, like all my devices, it’s super simple. However, it will take a bit of guesswork on your part. After researching data on the appearance of wormholes, I then cross-referenced that with places on earth where people have reported seeing such things. Usually it’s been Middlings who reported the strange phenomenon. My guess is they were at the right place, time, and angle to witness the appearance of the wormhole. They wouldn’t be able to go through, though, because it’s about like seeing something through a glass door. You have to open the door to get to the other side and I’ve concluded that all wormholes are locked, which is for our own good,” Aiden says.

  “This is the most boring speech I’ve ever heard. Get to the bloody point,” I say.

  “Well, you’ll need to dream travel to one of these coordinates in the dreamscape where I’ve found evidence of the portal. If my assumptions are correct then they’ll be in the same place in the dreamscape, since the physical realm is exactly the same in appearance. However, we don’t know that these doors lead to the Land of the Dead. They could lead back into the physical realm, but you’ll have to use the opener to find out,” he says.

  “Then I can just use this opener thingy and if it doesn’t work, I’ll go to the other locations,” I say.

  Aiden toggles his head back and forth, doubt in the movement and written on the scrunched-up expression he’s wearing. “That would be the right approach, however, the opener only works once. As a citizen of this universe, I can’t have you leaving wormholes open because then people could be passing in between the realms all willy-nilly. So after you use the opener, then you go through and the door shuts behind you. Then the opener self-destructs,” he says.

  “So just give me a load of openers and we can be done with this convo, which is ripping at my already waning morale,” I say.

  “Ren, these things,” he says, waving the device in his hand, “are the most advanced piece of technology ever created. It should have taken me years, but thanks to Drake, I somehow managed the task faster. I’ve only had time to make two devices and to be honest, I’m too exhausted to make any more at the moment.”

  Now that I’m actually forcing myself to look at Aiden, I realize purplish bags hang under his eyes. Good, hopefully he’s worked himself to death.

  “When could you have more?” I say, snapping at him and extending my hand for the device.

  He holds up a finger to pause me. “In a few days.”

  “I don’t have that. Dahlia could have reincarnated by then,” I say, snapping again.

  He shakes his head at me, still not handing off the device. “Well, then two will have to work. That should get you in and maybe out. You know, getting out of there is the biggest risk,” he says, a warning in his voice.

  “Reassembling my soul so I don’t destroy the planet is the biggest risk, you fucking moron,” I say.

  “Well, I sincerely hope that doesn’t happen and that you make it out of there and back into the dreamscape. Do you really think you can survive there?” he says.

  “I have no fucking idea,” I say, blowing out a breath and looking at him with honest contempt. “Consciousness can survive in the dreamscape. That’s all I know. I don’t know what we’ll be or what form we’ll take. I’ll send you a fucking postcard when I bloody find out. Now hand over the opener-things.”

  “First I have to show you how it works,” Aiden says, holding up the device. “When you’re in one of the places that might have a passage to another realm then the opener will sense it. If it’s able to open the door then it will light up blue here.” He indicates a sensor on the top. “For only one minute, it will send out a burst—”

  I didn’t even have to say anything, I only shook my head and Aiden caught on that I didn’t want to hear this shit. Finally, I’ve trained him. Finally, and now it’s too late to benefit from it.

  “The opener will make an area of density, which should light up the edges of the door. This is what people have witnessed when seeing the wormholes. You will have to slide the opener into an edge of the space and if it works then it will appear to hover in mid-air. In actuality, it is sticking into the space between the realms because of the awesome technology that I put into this bad boy,” Aiden says, tapping the device. “Once in place, and this is my favorite part,” he says with a dumb giggle, “then you’ll tap the bottom, where I’ve installed a button. That releases this.” Aiden then pushes the bottom of the device and something releases and a chain drops out, the button dangling from its end. “I thought it would be cute if the actual opening device resembled a chain that you pull on a light, since in essence you’re illuminating a path to the other realm, as well as opening a door,” he says.

  “It’s fucking adorable,” I say in monotone voice.

  “So then you just pull the chain and the door should light up entirely. I’m not sure what it will look like or if any of this will work. But I do suspect that you won’t be able to see what’s on the other side until you step through. It might take you into the Land of the Souls or it might put you back in t
he physical realm,” he says.

  “But from the Land of the Souls, the door would only lead back to the dreamscape?” I say, almost muse.

  “According to your theory based on how the realms are set up and how the doors only open to adjacent worlds. However…” He trails off.

  “What?” I growl, not liking that his tone has shifted.

  “Well, when I told Drake about your plans, he seemed to think there might be other things next to the Land of the Souls. He agreed that wormholes probably are doors that open to adjacent worlds, but he seemed to think that there were multiple realms next to the Land of the Dead. He called it the elevator that opened to multiple floors,” he says.

  “That’s contradictory,” I say.

  “That’s what I thought, but he quoted some pretty impressive quantum physics that kind of made sense. It was stuff about parallel universes. He seemed to think, in essence, that one takes the stairs down to the Land of Souls but they take the elevator out of it. You yourself said that you had to get to Dahlia before she reincarnated. So there has to be the entry to new worlds from the Land of the Souls, otherwise how do they get back out?” Aiden says.

  “Fuck, that actually makes sense,” I say, mostly to myself.

  “You know this is all a gamble,” Aiden says, a caution in his tone. He hands over the opener and then, grabbing another one off the table, he also releases it to me.

  “It’s worth it,” I say. “I’m departing tonight. I want you to destroy all of the data on this project. Never release what we’ve done to anyone.”

  “Your body will die once you’ve entered the Land of the Souls. You know that, right?” he says, his voice heavy suddenly.

  “Yes, but my consciousness can survive without it if I’m fast enough,” I say, realizing all of this is just conjecture.

  “I’ll miss you, Ren,” Aiden says, a real fondness in his bloodshot eyes.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t return the sentiment. Try not to fuck up the world,” I say, slipping the devices into my breast pocket.

  “No promises, but maybe I’ll raise children who can fix the world’s blunders the way you’ve done all these years,” Aiden says.

  “I doubt it,” I say, making for the door. I stop at the entrance and turn around. “And Aiden…” I say, meeting his eyes.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks,” I say simply and leave.

  Chapter Twenty

  For one of the first times I can remember, Trey isn’t in his office during the lunch hour. That’s notoriously when he holds office hours. He’s always had an “open door” policy and wanted the Institute staff to feel like they could come and see him about anything. He always wanted to appear accessible to his people, as their esteemed leader. I told him long ago that he should give off an air of supremacy and tell them all to fuck off and get back to work. He shrugged the whole thing off to a difference in our management styles. I’m a bloody master at management for the simple reason that I’m highly competent. People want to follow those who are incredibly effective. They don’t want someone who is accessible and listens and helps them plan their defunct lives. They want someone they can trust. Fortunately for Trey, he’s extremely dependable and trustworthy.

  I find him in his residence, which is even odder than him not being in his office over lunch. He’s never in his flat. The man works until he’s exhausted and then maybe he’ll retire for a few hours.

  “Are you all right?” I say to Trey when he answers his door. It’s strange to have to look down at him, since when he could walk he stood even with me.

  He rolls back the wheelchair to make way for me to enter.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” he lies, a heaviness in his eyes that pulls at something in me. It’s a strange emotion and I think it’s called sympathy.

  Trey’s residence is one of the larger ones in the Institute and it’s furnished with many objects that make it feel warm, which is a contrast to most of the Institute. I take a seat in one of the high-back chairs, making myself even with Trey. His chair makes a creaking sound as he approaches. Of course he could have a motorized chair, but the man is too stubborn for that. He told me he wanted to move himself around and I realized then that he needed to push himself, both literally and figuratively.

  My eyes fall on the wood coffee table to the right of Trey. “I went to your office and you weren’t there,” I say, and the implication is strong.

  “I just needed some time to myself,” he says, and he’s letting his pain show. That’s why he needed time away. He couldn’t show the residents of the Institute what he’s allowing me to see right now. This raw aching pain that belongs to Trey, but looks all wrong on his usually impassive face.

  “I quit,” I say and then not another word.

  Trey just blinks at me. He likes to play my games, which is why he’s one of the only people I can stand.

  “As an agent,” I say when he’s won the silent game.

  “Again,” he says, referring to a few years ago when I abandoned my duty to the Institute and got a job selling tickets in the Underground. That was my attempt at reinventing myself, but the monster won and so I returned to my powers and my service.

  “This time it’s for good,” I say.

  He tightens his eyes at me. “You’re being serious.”

  “Of course I am,” I say.

  “What will you do?” And his voice is almost pleading. In that one question, he’s spilled his remorse over my decision.

  “I’m going to kill myself,” I say.

  His green eyes close for a half beat and when they open they have the weight of too much pain in them. “Ren, don’t.”

  And because Trey Underwood knows me so well, he can read the honesty on my face.

  “Consider it already done,” I say, trying to sound as matter-of-fact as I can. That will make this easier and it’s already hard enough.

  “This is what you’ve been working on, isn’t it? It’s the projects you had Aiden working on,” he says. The world better be glad that Trey used his supreme intelligence for good. This is a man who is smarter than ninety-nine percent of the population and deduces things extremely quickly.

  “I’m going after Dahlia,” I say, and then prepare myself for the disapproval. It happens slowly. Trey rocks his head back an inch and then it drops forward. His palm cradles his forehead and then he shivers out a sigh.

  “You know there’s nothing you can say or do,” I say. And he does know that. He won’t waste his time with telling me I can’t do this. That he will stop me. Trey won’t remind me that it’s wrong and that I’ll hurt our planet. Maybe the old Trey would have argued with me, but not this one. This Trey has exchanged part of his spirit for just the will to live.

  “When?” he says, his head still down and voice muffled.

  “Tonight,” I say.

  When he raises his head, his eyes are filled with tears, threatening to spill over. I’m not a person who cries. I can’t remember ever doing it as an adult, but that’s because I’m weak in many ways. Seeing Trey on the verge of sobbing doesn’t make me think he’s frail. The act of showing his feelings makes him strong. This is what makes him better than me. I’ve just told my best friend something that will continuously bring him unending sadness, so of course, the human in him has already started to grieve. I wouldn’t recover from his death and I don’t expect him to fully recover from mine. He’s lost so much, but I’ve known Trey for most of his life and losing me will be him losing part of himself. We get each other. And that’s a rare and beautiful thing that some people never find.

  With a strength to impress, he pushes away a single tear with a sturdy hand and then nods. The tears retreat in his eyes, but the red around them intensifies.

  “What if your plan doesn’t work?” he says. “What will you do then? Will you come back here?”

  “It will work,” I say, and I truly have to believe that. I need to have total confidence, so much so that I can make him believe it.

 
; Another nod. “So this is it,” he says.

  “Just about,” I say and stand and walk for the door, where I left something in the hallway. I retrieve the cane I had made for Trey. The handle is a warm oak wood, intricately carved and reminiscent of a wave in the ocean. The rest of the cane is brushed stainless steel, just like the walls of the Institute. It’s the combination of the place Trey leads and the oak desk he inherited from his father. The meeting of the cold with the warm. Old with new.

  I present the cane to him, holding it horizontal in both hands. “I want you to use this,” I say, meeting his eyes which are fresh with new tears.

  “Ren, the healers say—”

  “You don’t listen to the healers,” I say, my words punishing, covered in conviction. “You listen to me, Trey. You will walk again, but you can’t give up. Don’t you fill your brain with the wrong messages.”

  Finally he wraps his fingers around the cane and lifts it from my hands, pulling it onto his lap. “Thank you. It’s beautiful,” he says, his eyes running over the elaborate details of the cane.

  “It is. And you will use it and then you will lean it in the corner and let it collect dust, because things that you outgrow can just sit,” I say.

  A reluctant smile tugs on one side of Trey’s mouth. “You always believed in me more than I deserved.”