Darkness Falls: Reveler Series 1 (2 page)

Jordan gave a derisive laugh. “Then why are we about to taxi twelve nautical miles into international waters to get on a Finnish ship in order to try it?”

***

Once aboard the
Envoi
, Rook kept his head low among the group of people following their guide, some chick in a Euro-spacey short skirt, down one of the ship’s corridors. The ship was already full, party chatter rising from behind the double doors of the ballrooms they passed. Their taxi had to have been one of the last to arrive for the night’s entertainment. A couple of prospects had been on board, but he wanted to get a look at the rest before he chose his target.

The vibe in the air was characteristic of Rêve: anxiety mixed with a daredevil anticipation. He could pick out the ones who’d been many times before, the Revelers—they had a quiet kind of patience, a desperation in their eyes. They’d found their drug of choice and were quickly going broke looking for their next fix.

For all the so-called safety assessments, yes, Rêve was addictive. The body might not hunger for a fix, but the soul?

He could never give it up. He’d tried.

“Just this way.” Spacey Skirt Girl had stopped outside a door, an arm open to direct them all inside an already full room where, presumably, they would be oriented, something along the lines of, “Blah, blah, limitless possibilities, blah, blah, blah.”

Coll had spouted the same shit to him years ago.

Rook glanced slightly away as he passed the
Envoi
escort. If discovered, he wouldn’t be detained, not exactly, but there were other ways to fetter guests, like a falcon’s tethering jesses, to restrain a dreamer’s flight.

And the whole point tonight was to hunt for prey.

***

Okay, so maybe the ship was nice.

The
Envoi
smelled new and clean, the color palette from the taxi’s ramp up the stairs to the wide, long hallway a combination of cobalt blue carpet and pale gold accents. Staff had divested the guests of their coats and had a slender flute of champagne at the ready for each person. A loudly murmuring crowd already filled a large, beautiful room full of jewel-toned light.

Jordan set her flute on a tall, narrow table, in the center of which stood a small blown-glass light fixture, an explosion of color—reminded her of Chihuly—creating a defied-gravity upward impact. The ceiling had similar stalactites of fluid glass illuminated with blues and greens, and hot splashes of red.

It was, in a word, dreamy. Also, high-end. And the design spoke to the surreal, exclusive experience the
Envoi
offered.

For a couple thousand dollars per night, it’d better be. Her savings had taken a direct and deadly blow to the heart when Maze had told her about what she’d just splurged on. Credit cards equaled free money to sis. There was no way Maze was going alone, so before the Rêve sold out, Jordan had hopped online and brought her balance down to pathetic double digits.

Speaking of Maze…she’d been right here a minute ago. Jordan looked around, then had to smile.

Moths to a flame
. Less than twenty seconds and already Maze was chatting with a youngish guy, this one a little too buttoned up for her little sis’s pops and zaps of energy and adventure. But okay. Opposites and all that.

So much for sisterly bonding.

Jordan raised her glass and sipped. The champagne was doing nothing to settle her nerves. She wished the
Envoi
would move on to phase two already.

Movement brought Jordan’s attention to her right. A man approached—handsome, tall, sandy hair, green eyes—she recognized the face quickly enough to smile, though it took a sec to run down the contact list in her head to recall his name.

Blackman. Vince Blackman. Of the SpiderSly Company.

“It’s Jordan, right?” He held out his hand.

She shook it and went with his first name, too. “Vince. So good…and surprising to see you.”

He did not return her hand, but kept it lightly clasped between his. “I’ve been meaning to get in touch.”

A year ago her market strategy team had pitched to him, but then the project had stalled pending some foreign litigation. Maybe he was ready to reconsider her company’s services. She was so flattered that he remembered her. She hadn’t even been lead, just a helper.

Her heart rate increased. She put her shoulders back, affecting an air of confidence. Inside she was doing her happy little boogie that only Maze had ever seen. This was business. Good business. Potentially worth way more than the ticket had cost.

Playing it cool, she went with, “I’m so glad to hear it.” She’d have to prep tomorrow. Update the specs. “Is this your first Rêve?”

She sure as hell would follow up on Monday morning. Bringing her boss up to speed would feel so good. Like,
I bumped into Vince Blackman Saturday night. We were attending the same Rêve and got to talking…

Hello, promotion.

“My first, yes.” His grin crinkled the outer corners of his eyes, creating fans just deep enough to signify a certain degree of life experience. Really, he was perfect. “I’ve been curious about the whole Rêve thing, and when I received the ticket as a gift, I decided to give it a try. You?”

Of course he would get a gift worth a couple thousand dollars. Must be nice.

She winced. “I am more cautious than curious, actually.”

Vince smiled. “Oh?”

“I came with my little sister.” Jordan turned back to find Maze, who’d attracted another male admirer. “Believe it or not, it’s our girls’ night.”

Vince let go of her hand to raise his flute. “To girls, then.”

Jordan dinged her glass against his. “What about Rêve interests you?”

She wished she didn’t sound so formal. She needed to flirt a little, but it wasn’t her forte under the best of circumstances, and with the scary event fast approaching, near impossible.

He tilted his head in a small shrug and settled into an easy table lean. “I’m looking for control, though it must make me sound like a jerk. I want to make sure that I can be lucid.”

She huffed a relieved laugh. “Believe me, I get it.”
Wait.
“Not everyone can?”

“From what I’ve heard, no. Takes some people a few tries. Others never achieve mastery.”

Jordan’s enjoyment faltered, replaced with the heavy drag of lead in her belly. None of her online searches had mentioned this. The point of this adventure was to stick close to Maisie, but if neither of them were in control, they’d be separated. She’d thought the lucidity thing was a given. Why else was everyone so excited about shared dreaming if it only worked for some? Yeah, she totally understood Vince’s interest in control.

Where was Maisie? Was there a taxi back to shore?

“Hello, everybody,” an accented female voice came over a speaker. “Welcome to the
Envoi
. I’m Serena and I’ll be telling you what to expect tonight.”

Jordan, like others near her, looked around to find the speaker. A woman stood on a small dais at the end of the room. She was a petite blonde in super high heels and a bright purple gown with a subtle sheen. A champagne flute in her hand, too.

“Sleep is an alteration in your brainwaves, and Rêve is simply getting everyone on the same frequency. It’s as easy and painless as that.”

Scientist-turned-hero, Didier Lambert had discovered the principles of Rêve, the French word for
dream
, working from some institute in Paris. It was he who had published the first academic papers on the discovery, though others from around the world, notably UCLA, published shortly behind him. That had been fifteen years ago. Today it was big business.

Jordan felt Maze join her, sidling up close. Lil’ sis caught her hand and squeezed her excitement into it. She’d been wanting to try this since Rêve had become legal in the U.S. two years ago, but supply simply could not meet the clamor of demand.

“We are going to a very exclusive island tonight,” Serena continued. “One that this beautiful ship could never reach, no matter how far it sailed. The island literally exists on a plane dominated by imagination. You may wander it at will—stroll the midnight beach, attend a party under the stars, strike off into the trees for some privacy, or climb an active volcano for an unparalleled view. It is a
free
place, a place where you are all-powerful, where you can push the limits of experience with no threat to yourself, no pain. While the dream is shared, your interactions with others are voluntary; and if you become agitated or disruptive, you will simply be awakened.”

The
shared
part was what made Jordan’s stomach cramp. She didn’t want all these people in her head. Truth be told, she didn’t really want to be in theirs, either.

“But of course you all want to be lucid and in control of yourselves.”

Uh-huh. Yep. Absolutely. Those were the key words.

“So you will not be able to enter the party unless, in the dream state, you are able to reach out and open a door to let yourselves in. Likewise, you can leave at any time and simply doze until the time has expired.”

Sounded a little too simple to Jordan.

“No one can read your mind. No one can make you do anything you don’t want to. No one can make you want to do things you otherwise wouldn’t. You are simply experiencing a fantasy constructed by our dreamscapers.”

Jordan gnawed on her bottom lip. Maybe she should forgo the Rêve, just in case. That way
she’d
be okay if something happened to Maisie and could fight/scream/demand help if something went wrong. That was the right thing to do.

Screw the money. Stand guard over your sister.

Then again, what if something happened to Maisie during the dream? Her sis was so impulsive, didn’t think before jumping, had zero presence of mind. What if someone tried to mess with her on this island, and she couldn’t call for help? What if…
Hell.
The
what if
s became infinite in the dream scenario, each possibility more twisted than the last.

The best thing would be to go inside, to be there if her sister needed her.

This was insane.

“If you will move into the theater—” A wall slowly parted to reveal concentric circles of uber-simple, modern reclining chairs with attached headsets. “—we will make you all very comfortable.”

Oh Lordy.

Jordan squeezed Maze’s hand. She had to keep her sister close. Had to keep her safe. Taking care of her sister was all that mattered, all that
had
mattered for the last six years.

On Jordan’s left, Vince grazed her arm with the back of his hand. “Ready to make the leap?”

***

Rook had his first mark and he’d named her Wild Child.

Spotted her on the taxi over—the magenta hair was hard to miss—and he hadn’t found anyone more intriguing among the rest. She was young, the creative type who lacked inhibitions. Experience told him that she would embrace everything that Rêve offered…and she would lose herself in the process.

Happened every time.

Coll would hate her, which was Rook’s only consolation for bringing her in. She’d go down fighting and make Coll’s life hell.

Not that Wild Child was a sure thing. She was an educated guess based on more than eight years’ experience. Once inside the Rêve, he’d know for sure.

The trait often ran in families, but Rook didn’t get the same punch out of the sister. Beautiful woman, though, in that classic, creamy-skinned and minimalist kind of way—all polished up like a penny—and young as well, just too restrained and suspicious to let the magic happen.

Interesting, however, that Big Sis had connected with Mr. Millions, who also had the pulse of Rêve about him. Millions clearly wasn’t here for fun or curiosity. On the hunt for new talent as well? Coll would want to look into it.

Rook shifted his attention to the other side of the room. Blondie, another potential, was exchanging her empty champagne flute for a full one. She was almost too loose, as if she knew what was about to come and how futile it was to fight. Ten bucks said she’d have nightmares; no amount of alcohol could drown them.

Rook drained his own glass in one gulp.

No. Wild Child was the one.

With the exception of the experienced Revelers among the group, she’d be the first through the door. He’d bet his rep on it.

Then he’d mark her and he’d hold her under the dreamwaters until she became something else.

It’d happen anyway; might as well be him.

CHAPTER TWO

Sleep came abnormally fast and hard.

Darkness. She wanted to open her eyes, but couldn’t.

And the sound of weeping, terrible in its familiarity.

The disorientation was like the constant sense of uncontrolled falling right after Mom died. The world just wasn’t as solid and safe without her in it.

And what about Maisie? Who was going to take care of Maisie?
Where
was Maisie?

Jordan couldn’t find her—vertigo had ripped the ground from her feet and scrambled her up-down orientation. She knew she wasn’t going about searching in a smart way. Mom would’ve known what to do, she always knew what to do—but not Jordan.