harshly layered hair and shook her head as if clearing out the lethargy. She had seen it all in her dream. Her Dream Weaver had illuminated it all so vividly. But her mind was still having a very hard time grasping what it had seen…
When Tiffany had returned from the Dark Moon Vale convention, it had been with a fuzzy recall of the last day’s events, the belief that Brooke had decided to stay on for a couple of weeks to simply unwind, enjoy the scenery, and figure out what her next professional move was going to be with regard to PRIMAR and where she wanted to take her career. It had seemed odd at the time. More than that, really. It had been out of character for her best friend, but Tiffany had accepted it without question, almost as if her mind had been programmed to accept it.
And it had.
She shivered at the knowledge. At the memory of dark, feral eyes boring into hers, telling her what to think and what to remember, commanding her to go home…without Brooke.
“Oh God,” she whispered, feeling lost and overwhelmed. What was she going to do? That man…that vampire…had ripped the door right off the cab. He had wanted Brooke, but why? Where had he taken her? What had he done to her?
Every movie she had ever watched— Dracula, Nosferatu, The Lost Boys —played through her mind at record speed, almost propelling her into a full-fledged panic. She reached for the bottled water beside the bed on the nightstand and took a sip, desperate to regulate her breathing.
Think, Tiffany. Think!
If vampires were real—and she had been dreaming too long to doubt the accuracy of the information that came to her through her subconscious, especially when it was played out so vividly—then others had to know about their existence. Somewhere, somehow, someone knew about these mythical beings and could help her.
She swallowed a large gulp of water and steadied her resolve. Brooke was like family—the sister she had never had. She couldn’t simply leave her to the whims of some undead monster. She hugged her knees to her chest and shook, but she resolved not to let fear stop her. Brooke would never leave her to such a fate. Never.
She had to be careful who she approached, who—if anyone—she told. Not only was her story unlikely to be believed, but she could hardly back it up with, “But I saw it all so clearly in my dream.”If her Nana was still alive, she would believe her; she would know what to do. Or would she?
Tiffany bowed her head and said a silent prayer, and then she did something she rarely chose to do out of respect for her gift: She decided to consult her dreams intentionally—to seek the information she needed. Opening the top drawer of her nightstand, she withdrew a small writing tablet and a pencil, and she wrote down a question: Is there anyone else who knows that vampires exist? And if so, who are they and where are they? How do I find Brooke?
She underlined each word slowly, meditating on each question one at a time before stuffing the tablet underneath her pillow—a reminder to her subconscious mind that the questions were there. Then she reclined on the bed, pulled the covers tight, all the way to her neck, and tried her best to get comfortable. One way or another, she had to fall back asleep. She had to dream. The answers she needed were somewhere in the universe, floating freely out there in the collective unconscious.
She had to reenter the Dream Weave.
Nachari Silivasi stood on the porch of an old pastoral duplex in Silverton Park and double-checked the address: 219 Horsetail Lane, #A. Yep, he had the right address; although, since when was “A”considered a number? He kicked the dirt off his heavy boots and drew in a deep breath. He hated this part of his duty, having to deal with the family members of those the Dark Ones killed so randomly…so needlessly. He had already taken care of the woman’s parents—Jane Anderson’s mother and father—replacing their memories of a living
When Tiffany had returned from the Dark Moon Vale convention, it had been with a fuzzy recall of the last day’s events, the belief that Brooke had decided to stay on for a couple of weeks to simply unwind, enjoy the scenery, and figure out what her next professional move was going to be with regard to PRIMAR and where she wanted to take her career. It had seemed odd at the time. More than that, really. It had been out of character for her best friend, but Tiffany had accepted it without question, almost as if her mind had been programmed to accept it.
And it had.
She shivered at the knowledge. At the memory of dark, feral eyes boring into hers, telling her what to think and what to remember, commanding her to go home…without Brooke.
“Oh God,” she whispered, feeling lost and overwhelmed. What was she going to do? That man…that vampire…had ripped the door right off the cab. He had wanted Brooke, but why? Where had he taken her? What had he done to her?
Every movie she had ever watched— Dracula, Nosferatu, The Lost Boys —played through her mind at record speed, almost propelling her into a full-fledged panic. She reached for the bottled water beside the bed on the nightstand and took a sip, desperate to regulate her breathing.
Think, Tiffany. Think!
If vampires were real—and she had been dreaming too long to doubt the accuracy of the information that came to her through her subconscious, especially when it was played out so vividly—then others had to know about their existence. Somewhere, somehow, someone knew about these mythical beings and could help her.
She swallowed a large gulp of water and steadied her resolve. Brooke was like family—the sister she had never had. She couldn’t simply leave her to the whims of some undead monster. She hugged her knees to her chest and shook, but she resolved not to let fear stop her. Brooke would never leave her to such a fate. Never.
She had to be careful who she approached, who—if anyone—she told. Not only was her story unlikely to be believed, but she could hardly back it up with, “But I saw it all so clearly in my dream.”If her Nana was still alive, she would believe her; she would know what to do. Or would she?
Tiffany bowed her head and said a silent prayer, and then she did something she rarely chose to do out of respect for her gift: She decided to consult her dreams intentionally—to seek the information she needed. Opening the top drawer of her nightstand, she withdrew a small writing tablet and a pencil, and she wrote down a question: Is there anyone else who knows that vampires exist? And if so, who are they and where are they? How do I find Brooke?
She underlined each word slowly, meditating on each question one at a time before stuffing the tablet underneath her pillow—a reminder to her subconscious mind that the questions were there. Then she reclined on the bed, pulled the covers tight, all the way to her neck, and tried her best to get comfortable. One way or another, she had to fall back asleep. She had to dream. The answers she needed were somewhere in the universe, floating freely out there in the collective unconscious.
She had to reenter the Dream Weave.
Nachari Silivasi stood on the porch of an old pastoral duplex in Silverton Park and double-checked the address: 219 Horsetail Lane, #A. Yep, he had the right address; although, since when was “A”considered a number? He kicked the dirt off his heavy boots and drew in a deep breath. He hated this part of his duty, having to deal with the family members of those the Dark Ones killed so randomly…so needlessly. He had already taken care of the woman’s parents—Jane Anderson’s mother and father—replacing their memories of a living
Similar Books
