Awoken (The Lucidites Book 1) (25 page)

I’m whistling and half giggling when a voice breaks into my head. “Hey, Roya.”

Oh shit.

“Yeah,” I say tentatively.

There’s a pause, but I still hear George breathing.

“Never mind,” he states sharply. “I’ll tell you when you get here.”

“Uhhh…all right.” I squeeze my eyes shut. Embarrassment unravels in my stomach. How could I forget to turn off the monitor? George has obviously sensed my emotions for Aiden. But why does that matter? There’s nothing between George and me, and who knows what’s going on with the Head Scientist. I have no right to get swept up in any of this right now.

♦

George is different when we meet up a few minutes later. It’s infuriating. He hardly makes eye contact with me as he puts the equipment away.

“So what did you want to tell me?” I ask.

He turns and looks at me, dissecting me, his eyes hot and sharp. Opening his mouth, he goes to say something but then shakes his head.

“I forget,” he lies. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“George.” I step toward him, trying to decipher the odd expression he’s wearing. I want to see him soft and thoughtful again, the way I know him when we’re training. The way he is most of the time lately. Every now and then, though, this demon crawls into him making him angry with a passive aggression I can’t battle.

He takes one deliberate step back, putting what feels like a mile between us. “I’ve got to go and catch up on some other work,” George says matter-of-factly.

I turn in the direction of the wall and pretend to put away equipment. I clench my eyelids shut. “Sure,” I say. “See you later.” I listen to him rustle behind me, standing in place. And then all I hear are his slowly retreating steps.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

S
ince my conversation with Joseph, I’ve been trying to wrap my brain around the peacock in my dreams. I’m getting nowhere with it. There isn’t a single part of me that wants to endorse the idea that my spirit animal is some flashy bird. However, I’ve combed through my dream journal and found that Joseph might be correct: peacock imagery shows up in most of my recent dreams. I go back to my room and grab my dream journal. I also grab the chocolate Bob and Steve sent.

Shuman’s office is supposedly next to Ren’s. I knock and stand there awkwardly. The door slides open. Shuman’s amethyst eyes stare at me, puzzled. “Can I help you?” she asks.

“Yes, I have some questions,” I say, feigning confidence.

She turns at once and strides back into the darkened office. “Come in then.”

A floor lamp with a round paper shade in the corner gives off a dim light. From that I make out a painting of a wolf hanging over a large desk in the corner. Shuman takes a seat in a brown leather armchair and points for me to sit in an adjacent one. There’s a large dream catcher on the main wall. It’s purple and has five fluffy white feathers dangling from it.

I sit tensely on the edge of the seat, holding my journal in my hand. Remembering the chocolate, I set it down on the wooden coffee table beside the chairs. “Here, I don’t know if you like chocolate, but I brought this for you.” I stop, trying to find the right words. “It’s to show my appreciation for your help.”

“Thank you,” Shuman says with her fingertips steepled.

“Look, I’m here because Joseph seems to think my spirit animal is a peacock. He’s right that it shows up multiple times in my dreams, but…” I stare down at my dream journal, a wave of insecurity sweeps over me.

“But you do not approve of it,” she says.

“Well,” I begin, “peacocks are beautiful and all, but I don’t understand their usefulness.”

“Everything is about perspective, Roya,” Shuman says thickly. Bob and Steve put something similar in their first letter.

She stares at me impassively.

“Okay. Thanks for your time.” I stand, irritated, wishing I hadn’t come.

“In Greek mythology a goddess by the name of Hera placed eyes on the feathers of the peacock to symbolize that they could see all,” Shuman says as if she’s reading out of a book.

I freeze, staring at her flat expression.

She continues, “The Buddhists believe the bird represents openness. The Hindus associate this bird with good fortune. It may also interest you to know that the peacock can eat poison without becoming ill or dying. For this reason the bird represents incorruptibility.”

Gradually I push back until the chair is pressed against my calves. Then I sit. “Yes, that does shift my perspective a bit.”

“I thought it might,” Shuman says.

“So how will my spirit animal help me?” I ask.

“These things are not for me to know. You won’t even know until the animal comes to assist you.”

I should have known this would be Shuman’s answer. Why had I brought her a gift? She hadn’t
really
helped me. Mostly she’d thrown riddles and lies at me.

“Why don’t you like me?” The question tumbles out of my mouth.

Shuman doesn’t budge, she just holds my gaze and takes her time before responding. “Why would you think I do not like you?”

I hold up a finger and begin counting off the reasons. “You’ve been cold since we met. You bold-faced lied about me being the ‘chosen one.’ And you conveniently forgot to tell me my body was going to die if I didn’t act fast once I arrived at the Institute.” I will myself to stay focused on her intense gaze.

“I do not prove myself to appease others. That is for the lavish and wasteful. For this reason you view me as cold. It is not the first time I have heard it.” She pauses. “I will admit I had my doubts about you. However, when you chose the bracelet as your protective charm I knew you were the person to face Zhuang. My people have their own forecast on this situation. The shaman of my tribe told me the Lucidites would be saved by the girl who wore the bracelet. I believe this might be you.”

She laces her fingers together and sits with a peculiar expression, like that of a cat’s, seeming to know more about me than I’d like, but less than they pretended.

“To answer your other question,” she says, “I believe you would not have come if you thought you had to contend. You were hesitant when you thought you were the chosen one. What if I told you that you were one of fifty chosen possibilities?”

“That’s still deceitful,” I say. The room remains silent. I finally ask, “Why didn’t you tell me my body would die if I didn’t autogenerate? Why leave out this important detail?”

Something flickers across her eyes. It’s tiny, like a spark. “I had my reasons for leaving this out.”

So she did do it on purpose. My insides flare with disgust. “And they were?”

“Roya, asking questions has consequences. Maybe you should not ask them so freely.”

I squint at her. Like speaking to someone hard of hearing I say, “Why did you leave out those details?! And why does it sound like you’re meddling in my life?!”

She gives me an unhurried glare and then seems to resign slightly. “You were not told about your body needing autogeneration because this was a part of the fabric which created your future. A necessary part of
the
future.”

“So you are meddling in my life.” I sigh. “I should have guessed.”

“Everything that happens to you is not about you,” she says.

“What? Who else did my almost dying, because you left out an important detail, affect?” I ask, pushing back the frustration threatening to erupt.

“It is hard to say, but I approximate millions.”

I gasp, wondering if I’ve misheard her. “That’s impossible,” I say. “Something so insignificant can’t affect so many.”

She shakes her head. “Your history books want you to think so. They teach you great victories are the results of exaggerated efforts. If one actually studied the fabric of these events they would find wars are won from a wink, a gesture, an event that transpired a millennium before the battle. Humanity has always been saved by small acts; the ones where someone gained a piece of their own puzzle, not the ones where a hero stood prodigious on a battlefield.”

I shake my head, mimicking her earlier movement. “I didn’t gain anything from almost dying. I was drained by that experience.”

“You still want to believe this is all about you,” Shuman says, leveling her gaze to mine. “A person who saves someone is much more altered by that event than the one who almost dies, wouldn’t you think?”

Aiden. She’s referring to him. But why?
“What?” I ask. “What does
that
person have to do with any of this? You said this was about me and my future.”

Shuman doesn’t answer, but instead tilts her head as if saying
figure it out for yourself.

“You’re obviously privy to my life in ways I’m not,” I say, failing to soften my tone. “You seem to be orchestrating something. Wouldn’t it be easier to tell me what you’re up to, so I act in the prescribed manner and then the ‘fabric’ of my life will go as you’ve seen it?” I say, condescension crawling over every word.

“It is true. I know a part of the future. I know if I do one thing it could cause a certain reality to take place. There are no certainties though. Too many variables. But I would never tell you what to do or even what to expect. I admit I have built the setting in some of your choices, but you have always had a choice in the end. And that is the way it should be,” she says.

“Choice!?” I argue. “I don’t feel I’ve had many choices. I’ve always got you or someone else messing with the details. I don’t feel in charge of anything anymore now that I realize the intervening Lucidites are always on call.”

“Do you wish you would have been left in Texas to live in oblivion?” she asks plainly.

I stare at her with quiet contempt instead of answering.

“You were born a Dream Traveler,” she continues. “But to be a Lucidite is a choice. If you choose to not associate with us anymore, then will you be happier? All tribes affect a member’s life, as they should. If you see this as meddling, then you must ask yourself if this is the place for you. Maybe you belong elsewhere.”

In four short words I feel abandoned all over again.
Maybe you belong elsewhere.
I’d never belonged anywhere until I entered this place. But I didn’t know that until just now…

Shuman pauses, and her look holds a challenge in it, as if she’s tempting me to stop her from saying any more. “Roya, when you stop viewing your life as something done to you and rather a reality of your choosing then you will find peace. I am not certain of much, but of this I am.” After this statement she smiles. She actually smiles. It looks strange on her face, like the moon wearing googly eyes. In an instant the small expression is gone and her stone face returns.

“Whatever.” I shake my head at her as I stand. “It’s easy for you to say that from your vantage point of knowing the future. It’s so easy for you to talk about accepting realities when you’re not the one who has to face Zhuang.”

The insinuation hangs in the air like gasoline, chemical and pungent.

Her eyes narrow, only slightly, but I spy it. “I believe we are done here,” she says with authority.

I blink at her, clench my teeth, pluck my journal off the table, and turn to leave. “Coming here was a mistake,” I say to the air as I leave.

Once I’m in the privacy of the elevator I let out a sigh that sounds more like a yell, all my frustration finally rising to the surface. It feels good to push all the air out of my lungs. When the elevator stops at my level the lady in the lavender scrubs stares at me strangely and I promptly know the elevators aren’t well insulated.

Long, angry strides carry me to my room. It will take time and space to process my conversation with Shuman. She knew something which inspired her to orchestrate my first meeting with Aiden. But what? And why?

I immediately write a letter to Bob and Steve. It helped the last time and I could really use the relief. I tell them about the peacock, breaking Samara’s nose, my sessions working with George, and how Ren is strangely the most repulsive and helpful person I’ve met so far. When I’m done I’ve written several pages. My stomach is lighter and I realize suddenly that I’m hungry and haven’t eaten all day. I fold up the letter, address it, and head toward the main hall to find Patrick.

Chapter Thirty

T
he next morning after breakfast, I head to Aiden’s lab as he requested. Voices echo from the space as I approach. I peek around the corner and spy the Head Scientist with his hands in the air, irritation coating his expression. “Well, that’s my solution. If you don’t like it then find someone else to help you.”

I knock on the door frame. “Hey, you told me to come by. Do you want me to come back later?”

Aiden’s tousled hair looks even wilder than usual. He smiles and waves me into the room. “No, come on in. I was just reviewing some of the equipment with Ren.”

“Yes, Mr. Mad Scientist was just over here being a Negative Nancy,” Ren says, standing beside a table in his usual dark green suit.

I ignore Ren, which is becoming easier with practice. “You said you had some stuff to show me,” I say to Aiden.

“Yes.” He pulls a small box out of his pocket and withdraws a tiny earpiece.

I freeze. Petrified. It’s another object from my closet. From the fifth task.
Why?
It was one of the things in the box with the baby teeth. The one I threw.

“This is a VDR Shield,” the scientist sings, oblivious to my nervousness. “It sends out an electromagnetic shield which encases the cortex, also known as dream central. If a person wears this then they’re protected from Zhuang infiltrating their thoughts. This is the same technology that works at the Institute, keeping us all safe while dreaming. I’ve been able to isolate it into a tiny personal unit. Pretty, cool, huh?” he says, his eyes dazzling with delight.

“Yes, that’s very cool!” I say. “So now that we have this type of technology then can we just give these to everyone in the world and call it a day?”

After I ask this it seems like a stupid question. If Aiden thought it was stupid then he doesn’t show it. “They’re expensive, hard to reproduce, and the technology is unreliable,” he says. “I just wanted you and Ren to see it because it marks a new era of development. In the future, it would be great to offer these to Lucidites not housed at the Institute, the same way we give them protective charms. Unfortunately, we’re still a little way off from that.”