t’s a girl.”
A white smocked nurse handed a small bundle over to a sweat-soaked woman lying on a bed. This woman looked tired, but was glowing the way new mothers always did. And her luminous aura perfectly matched the bright canary shade of the blanketed package she’d just been presented with.
Gingerly the woman took the parcel then smiled down at its contents—a pink, squealing baby.
“What’s her name?” the nurse asked.
A man in a smock with dirty-blond hair and dimples came over to put his arm around the new mother—staring affectionately at her, then the child.
“Natalie,” said the woman. “We’ll call her Natalie after my godmother. Don’t you think?”
“Natalie Poole,” repeated the man. “I like it. Sounds like a character from one of those old comic books you love.”
The woman smiled. “You’re right. And with a name like that maybe she’ll grow up to be a smart, strong hero just like one of them. And just like someone else I know . . .”
The woman elbowed the man playfully. He responded by brushing aside a strand of her maple-colored hair and kissing her on the forehead.
“Or maybe she’ll be a brave, beautiful princess just like her mother,” he added.
“Or maybe she’ll be both,” the woman countered happily. “And everything and anything else she wants to be too.”
The man hugged her tighter. As he did, the whole scene was absorbed into a bright light that merged into sunshine.
I now found myself in the most amazing garden I’d ever seen. It seemed to be circular, with evergreen foliage making up the entire perimeter. There were flowers of every sort and a gorgeous view of the valley below.
In the center of the garden, in the middle of a large pond, was a huge topiary hedge carved into a spiral design. It was just like the mark from our prologue prophecies, just like the skylights in the Scribes’ library and the Capitol library.
Many trees surrounded the pond. Some were normal; others were more fantastic. They were giant, and their tops were spilling with intense fuchsia flowers. At first I thought the trunks were made entirely of bronze, but then I realized they weren’t true trees at all. They were hollowed out structures designed to help the flowers grow upwards.
Many people were enjoying the scenery—couples, sole adventurers, whole families. Then I saw the man and the woman I’d just witnessed in the hospital room, along with a small girl of about five years old. She had streaks of dark red in her wavy maple hair, and was dancing through the wildflowers as her parents took in the landscape.
The man and the woman called her over. The whimsical child raced over to them and tackled her father with a hug and a flurry of giggles.
Another flash of white light later and the mood changed drastically. The tall street lamp at the center of the image shone brightly against the dark night—a steady palpitation of rain beating against it and the encompassing world.
Water poured over the sidewalks and spilled into the gutters like the world was ending. On the steps of a building next to a lone tree stood the same woman. She was holding an umbrella, but her tears drenched her face just as thoroughly as the storm would have.
Beside her was an equally grief-stricken Natalie, who seemed to be about fifteen years old. The two of them were having some kind of conversation with an official-looking man. He wore a navy raincoat that had silver polished buttons and a fedora that concealed the majority of his face in shadow. His very presence seemed grim and unyielding.
While they were talking, the door to the building opened from the inside. Several men wearing jackets that read “paramedics” proceeded to exit. They carried a yellow stretcher holding a black body bag that repelled the rain.
It was the most morbid sight I’d ever seen. Although I didn’t know the family, I couldn’t help but feel the urge to cry out in sympathy. Unfortunately, this was an urge I could not realize since I was not actually there.
Still, my subconscious was beginning to feel much more in control of its surroundings. Like in several of my visions back in the Forbidden Forest, I suddenly found the power to move through my dreamscape. Only this time that control felt much stronger. I was able to will my spirit to get closer to the scene and make choices about what parts to explore next.
I moved past Natalie and her mother and went inside the building. It was the same apartment complex I’d visited in earlier dreams of Natalie’s life, minus some wear and tear. The paint on the walls was less chipped, the decorative artwork not as faded, and there were fewer scratches on the floors. Yet, it still emanated that sense of a foreboding, ticking clock that was only amplified by the crackling storm just outside the main door.
I made my way into 3C—the apartment that I remembered belonged to Natalie. Once inside I saw that it was much like I remembered, but for a few extra trinkets and art books scattered here and there. And a broken glass in the corner of the kitchen . . .
I was tempted to go over to it, but then I heard something akin to a light whistle coming from the other direction. I migrated toward the noise and found my way into a bathroom.
The sole window in the lavatory did not appear to be open, but as I approached I heard a slight hiss and saw rain seeping in from beneath the frame, proving otherwise. The thing had been left ever so slightly ajar and the harsh wind and rain were making their way through.
I drew nearer.
The window was clouded pretty heavily with water, but the street lamps in the alleyway outside illuminated the shadows beneath me. There were a few tipped over trashcans, a stray cat scurrying for cover, and a girl—her hair blonde and her pace fast—splashing down the pavement.
Her face was familiar. Even through the weather’s wrath and this distance I could tell that I’d seen her before. And then just as resolutely I remembered where from. It was Tara, Arian’s right-hand leading the charge for Natalie’s destruction.
She merged her way into the shadows of the otherwise abandoned alleyway and vanished from view. Then my dream, which had been dominantly silent until now, was vehemently filled with sound. In fact, it exploded with it. The downpour of the storm, the body-shaking cries of Natalie and her mother, the noise of glass breaking against tile, the thunder, and then—
Daniel.
Everything went silent as my focus narrowed on him. His back was to me, and he was standing on the great, flat plane of a cliff overlooking the ocean. The sun beat against him. A large black bag was slung over his shoulder as he stared toward the right edge of the cliff, watching something in the distance.
After a few moments he tore his gaze away and began to walk to the left. The plateau he stood on was very wide; the left edge must’ve been at least four hundred feet away. But time condensed like an accordion; it only took the blink of an eye for him to reach the other side. His eyebrows crinkled, then panic shot across his face. Abruptly he bolted away from the edge and sped past where my metaphysical form had been watching him. I turned to follow, but when I did he vanished, as did everything else.
I was standing in a white void now, alone except for one other person. She was about ten feet away and was watching me ardently.
“Crisa . . .” she said.
The woman was in her mid-thirties and had light brown skin and dark, curly hair that fluffed around her shoulders. She was wearing a soft-looking pair of gray sweatpants and a teal zip-up jacket. Most notably, she appeared to be banging on an invisible wall.
I couldn’t see any kind of boundary separating us. But when I stood in front of her and held up my hand I felt something akin to glass, only more warped. Some kind of force field was between us, and the woman was banging her fist against it.
When I looked her directly in the eyes, however, she stopped.
“Crisa . . . can you see me?”
I nodded in disbelief. This was the woman whose voice I’d been hearing in my dreams since that vision of the lavatory with Arian and Tara. She was right here. But who was she?
“Crisa, can you mktjkjsopg fahkqrhlkodf me?”
Her voice was going in and out again, and as it flickered so did her image. She was fading by the second. She seemed to realize it too, because she started talking faster. Unfortunately, her hastening did not remedy the disintegration. It was all a bunch of whispery half-words and gargling static now. There was only one word I was able to catch in full just before she vanished:
“Dragon.”
Those two syllables pierced the void with shocking loudness. As they shook my skull the void’s perimeter began to break apart. Like the shattering shards of a mirror, chunks of white fell away to reveal inky blankness. I ran and dodged them as they came down. All but the last one. A giant, dagger-like fragment of the void abruptly plunged into my path, causing me to fly backwards. The next thing I knew I was rolling off the bed in Ashlyn’s guest room.
I hit the ground with a thud and was subsequently buried by the sheets I dragged with me. When I broke free I saw sunlight streaming in from beneath the curtains.
Wild dreams and my rude awakening aside, for the first time in a while I felt refreshed. Being free from injuries and having an actual bed to sleep on versus an old mat on the floor of a Therewolf prison did wonders for the body and the mind. And what’s more . . . I smelled bacon!
I grabbed the robe Ashlyn had lent me and sped for the kitchen.
The others (who had their own guest rooms) were already there with the rest of the Inero family—the table laden with breads, breakfast meats, jams, and pastries.
When my friends and Daniel saw me, I froze.
I’d avoided them last night and wasn’t sure how they were feeling about me now that they’d had the night to sleep on it. Part of me half expected them to throw the basket of muffins at me. Much to my relief, they didn’t. All I got was a nod of acknowledgment from Blue as her way of signaling that it was okay for me to approach.
Not exactly a warm welcome, but I’ll take it.
I put my pride aside and accepted the invitation to sit down at the breakfast table. The tension between us still felt heavy. But with nowhere to go, I swallowed down the awkwardness and took a bite of rye toast. Neither of which tasted particularly sweet going down.