Dreaming Dangerous Read online

  Gwendle considered this, and her face turned sad. To know that Dr. Abarrane might do anything to harm them was a very big betrayal.

  “Dr. Abarrane is checking our dream journals,” Plum said. “He’ll probably check them in the morning when we leave for class. We have to come up with a convincing lie.”

  That would be easy enough. They were all well accustomed to the routine oddities of their dreams.

  Gwendle grabbed her journal and climbed onto Plum’s bed. Together, they huddled over her flashlight and worked out the plot of a convincing dream. In it, there had been a cottage in the woods made entirely of snakes. They wielded weapons made of rubies, and as they fought off the snakes, Vien sustained a poisonous bite that turned his eyes neon green. They spent the rest of the dream trying to climb a mountain whose crest had the antidote.

  They planned to visit Vien and tell him their plan, but a soft knock at their dormitory door told them they didn’t have to.

  Vien sat on the floor, huddled over his own journal, offering his own suggestions. Gwendle needed an animal to help them scale the mountain, so she’d managed to lure a giant salamander with gossamer scales to help them along the way.

  Artem was not there.

  Plum stared at the empty lines at the bottom half of her page.

  “We’ll find him,” Vien reassured her, reading her mind, as he always seemed to do.

  “We should talk to Melinda, too,” Gwendle said. “She might know something, after what happened to her last night.”

  “Was she in class?” Plum asked.

  “Not in the morning, but in the afternoon,” Gwendle said. “She seemed—well, actually, she looked a little like you and Artem did when you weren’t able to get back to sleep.”

  They’re coming for us. Plum replayed those words in her head for what felt like the hundredth time. The words Melinda had said that night in her trance over the piano. The warning Artem gave in her dream.

  CHAPTER 10

  They all agreed that it was important to act normal. That was key. Dr. Abarrane would be watching them. And maybe the professors would as well. Acting normal did not mean pretending that everything was fine, as Vien had pointed out. Acting normal meant asking their professors about Artem, even though they knew they would not be given an answer. It meant being attentive in class, even though their minds were filled with images of the burning house and the woman’s body and the baby crying through the broken window.

  It meant staying calm. It meant questioning everything.

  Their first chance to talk to Melinda came after lunch, during physical training.

  It was a cold autumn day, and each gust of wind shook more bright and dying leaves from the bare, scrawny fingers of their branches.

  The triplets were engaged in a sparring match, each of them wielding a slender silver sword. Blood was frequently drawn during these, and several of the younger students sat on the grass watching with morbid fascination. It wasn’t the swordsmanship so much as the concept of siblings that intrigued them. The triplets all had matching black hair cut at various lengths, and matching dark eyes that all bore different expressions.

  Melinda, like most students, was usually interested in watching these sparring matches. Today, though, she was scaling the rock wall. She moved quickly, fluidly, like a creature trying to claw its way up to the sun.

  After brief deliberation, Plum, Vien, and Gwendle agreed that Plum should be the one to go up and talk to her, in no small part because Plum was an excellent climber with flawless equilibrium.

  They agreed it would raise less suspicion if they didn’t approach Melinda together. Dr. Abarrane wasn’t here to oversee the training activities, but after Artem’s warning, they no longer trusted any of their professors, or even the nurses who stood on the sidelines, prepared for any emergency.

  All day they had done an impressive job of acting normal, and Plum was quite proud of herself for this.

  Still, as Plum scaled the rocks, she wished Gwendle could come along with her. Gwendle was friendly, and good at putting people at ease. Plum was not. Professor Nayamor had a saying that Plum was “all business, no fluff.”

  The rock wall was a quarter-mile high, and Melinda was already at the top. As Plum made her trek, she thought about how best to approach her. What would Gwendle do? Gwendle would ask questions, Plum thought, be interested, be friendly.

  There were other students climbing the rock mountain, but they wouldn’t make it to the top. Few ever did, especially now in the autumn when the wind was like a cold slap every time it blew.

  There was a small ledge at the top of the mountain, and that’s where Melinda sat when Plum reached her. Her legs were hugged to her chest, and her chin was rested on her knee. When Plum climbed up beside her, Melinda’s eyes moved toward her but then returned to the horizon. From up here, they could see over the spiked iron gate that surrounded Brassmere. There was nothing but trees—rich, full, colorful trees whose leaves fell and fell but whose branches never went bare.

  “Hi,” Plum said, settling beside her.

  Melinda’s arms tightened around her knees.

  Be interested, Plum reminded herself. Be friendly. Ask questions.

  “How are you feeling?” Plum asked. Melinda looked awful, pale and drawn, her eyes glassy and ringed with dark lines. But she’d had the energy to climb this far, so she couldn’t have been too ill, Plum thought, or she had just been that desperate to get away.

  “I’m sorry,” Melinda said. “About Artem. I hope that they find him soon.”

  Plum blinked, surprised. “Thank you.”

  “I know how close you are,” Melinda went on. “That’s nice, you know? That you get along so well with the classmates you share your abilities with. Trina, James, and Clayton are nice enough, but I don’t think they like me much.”

  “It’s because you’re the best at what you do,” Plum said. “People don’t like you when you’re the best at things.” Plum knew a lot about that. There were many students at Brassmere who grumbled whenever she accomplished something in record time, or received praise from one of her professors.

  Melinda smiled, but her eyes were still glassy and faraway. “Sometimes, I fail on purpose,” she said. “I let Trina bend spoons, and I let James unwind the screws from the puzzles we’re assigned to. I pretend that I’m too tired, or too weak, so that they won’t think I’m stuck-up.” She laughed a little at that. “It’s stupid, I know.”

  “You shouldn’t do that,” Plum said. “You shouldn’t hold yourself back just to make them like you.”

  “I know,” Melinda said. “You’re lucky is all; I’ve always been a bit jealous of you. Sharing abilities is one thing, but sharing dreams? That must be really special. I always feel so alone in my dreams. Especially when I wake up.”

  Though they were alone and no one could possibly hear them, Plum lowered her voice. “Have you dreamed about anything strange?” she asked.

  “Is this about the other night, with the piano?” Melinda said. Her expression turned cautious. “I don’t remember anything about that. I only remember waking up, bleeding.”

  Plum hesitated. Far below, Gwendle and Vien were poised side by side at the track. After a beat, they took off running, their shoes making hard splashes in the puddles from yesterday’s rain.

  “Do you remember what you said to me?” Plum asked.

  Melinda shook her head. “I don’t even remember you being there. That whole night is a blur.” She winced. “Why? Did I say something terribly strange?”

  Plum decided not to tell her the truth. Not yet. It was going to be a lot to take in, and though Melinda had always been friendly enough, Plum wasn’t sure yet that she could trust her. All the students at Brassmere were loyal to Dr. Abarrane, and she couldn’t risk Melinda telling him about this conversation.

  The safest course to take was to ask questions, Plum reminded herself. Let Melinda do the talking. That way, Melinda would have no reason to go to Dr. Abarrane at all. S
he wasn’t going to tell on herself.

  “What’s it like to be alone in your dreams?” Plum asked.

  “Normal, I suppose,” Melinda said. “Nobody is real, so they all say and do whatever I imagine. It’s like I’m directing a play, and I know I’m supposed to be in charge, but the actors all sort of run amok.”

  How strange, Plum thought. Normal dreams were filled with ghosts. Only the dreamer was real.

  Vien was winning his race against Gwendle. He usually did. But it hardly mattered to them. Plum supposed she was lucky to be so closely bonded to them. Whatever tensions arose among other classmates, Vien, Gwendle, and Artem had always been her sanctuary.

  “Have you had any dreams that felt especially strange?” Plum ventured, hopeful and cautious.

  Immediately she knew that she had made a mistake. She could feel Melinda’s unease.

  “I should get back,” Melinda said. “Professor Nayamor doesn’t like us to spend too much time on one activity.”

  “Wait,” Plum said, but Melinda was already climbing down.

  Plum went after her, keeping pace. She wished Gwendle were here. Gwendle probably would have had her answers by now. But where Plum excelled at running and fencing and slaying imaginary demons in her dreams, she was terrible at making friends. Or talking to people at all, really.

  “I wasn’t going to tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Plum said, speaking hastily. She knew that once they reached the ground, her only chance to talk to Melinda would be over. “Please. I just want to find Artem.”

  “I can’t help you.” Melinda wouldn’t look at her. She maneuvered the footholds expertly; she really was quite talented, Plum realized, for a girl who was so shy and modest.

  Desperate, Plum grabbed her wrist. “Please,” she said.

  Melinda jerked her hand away, but she stopped climbing. “You can’t do that.” Hesitantly, she looked down to the nurse standing at the edge of the training arena, then back at Plum. “You’re going to get us in trouble,” she said. “They’re watching. They’re always watching.” When she started descending again, she moved slower. “Like I said, I hope you find your friend. But I can’t help you.”

  CHAPTER 11

  At dinnertime, the cafeteria was quieter than usual. The students were all hunched around one another, speaking in whispers and hushed voices as they ate. Plum couldn’t hear what was being said, but she knew they were talking about Artem. A student disappearing from Brassmere was unheard of. Nobody entered or left the campus except for the pinks, or sometimes Dr. Abarrane when he went to search for new orphans with exceptional abilities.

  All day, students had been approaching Plum, Vien, and Gwendle to offer their sympathies, which only thinly veiled their desire for gossip. They didn’t care about Artem, not really. They didn’t know who he really was, he was so shy and quiet. If he never came back, he would become a sort of ghost story for them to tell. A game.

  It compounded Plum’s misery. She had not stopped thinking about Artem since he’d disappeared, and while she considered herself an expert at solving puzzles and riddles and problems, now that it was important, she had nothing.

  “It’s my fault,” Plum muttered. She stared at her dinner: buttery roasted potatoes and a leg of honey-glazed chicken, garnished by string beans. It was one of her favorite dishes, but she wasn’t hungry. “I tried to get too much out of her. All I did was make her suspicious of me.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Vien said. “If she does know something, of course she’s not just going to come out with it right away. You wouldn’t, either, right?”

  “No.” Plum nudged the potatoes around with her fork, sulking. “But she knows something. I could see it on her face. She’s scared, and she doesn’t know who to trust.”

  “She’ll come around,” Gwendle said, and smiled reassuringly. “We’ll figure something out.”

  That night, Plum lay awake for more than an hour after the lights had gone out, listening to the wind. She thought about Artem, alone wherever he was, out there in the cold.

  Across the room, Gwendle had long since fallen asleep. She and Vien would be waiting for her, Plum knew. She closed her eyes for what must have been the hundredth time tonight, and vowed that this time she would not open them again until morning.

  Eventually, the menacing wind became a fitful lullaby, and Plum dozed off.

  When she opened her eyes within her dream, at first, Plum was alone. She was standing in a hallway with white tiles and white walls, and the smell of something harsh that burned in her nostrils. The only window was on an inner wall, revealing another room within this building, rather than whatever was outside it.

  Plum approached, and puzzled at what she saw. The window revealed a room with dim lighting, and two dozen plastic cradles holding two dozen babies who wriggled lazily in their blankets.

  Plum marveled at that. She had seen babies at Brassmere, of course, but students weren’t allowed to linger in the nursery.

  But this wasn’t Brassmere. Plum didn’t know what this place was. It was so sterile and blank, entirely unlike anything she usually dreamed. It felt like being in a notebook with nothing written on its pages.

  One of the babies cried out, piercing the calm silence.

  A door opened on the far wall, and in walked a nurse whose face was very familiar. She hurried to the crying infant, plucking it from its cradle. “Shh, shh, it’s all right,” she was saying.

  As soon as Plum heard her voice, she recognized her as Nurse Penny. She looked different in this dream. Her copper hair, normally long and braided, was cut to her chin, and her face was rounder. She looked only a few years older than Plum. Still a teenager, even.

  Nurse Penny glanced at the window briefly, but she didn’t see Plum standing at the other side of it. Just like in the dreams of the cobblestoned city, this place was also outside Plum’s control, the ghost of Nurse Penny like a marionette that had broken free of its strings and developed its own mind.

  The baby was soothed by Nurse Penny’s efforts. “You know it’s time for your special treat, don’t you?” Nurse Penny said. “Always the intuitive one.”

  She carried the baby from the room, and the window faded away, leaving only a wall in its place.

  Odd, Plum thought. She tried to will the window back into existence, but nothing happened.

  She heard footsteps approaching in haste from one end of the hall. Dr. Abarrane and two of the Brassmere nurses were running alongside a gurney. They didn’t see Plum, and she stepped back to avoid being stampeded.

  In a split-second decision, Plum jumped onto the end of the gurney as it raced onward. There was a child lying atop it, red and gasping with fever, gleaming with sweat. An IV bag was trailed into his arm.

  “I want a full list of every drug administered this morning,” Dr. Abarrane was demanding. Like Nurse Penny, he was also much younger here. “This child was perfectly healthy when I saw him yesterday. He’d been able to lift the curio over his head.”

  So this child had an ability. He must have belonged to Brassmere, then.

  Taking advantage of her invisibility, Plum leaned over the child to have a better look. She didn’t recognize him. He was very young—five, maybe six—but Plum believed now that this dream was taking place in the past. If Nurse Penny and Dr. Abarrane were younger here than in the waking world, this child was likely older than Plum was now.

  They burst through a set of swinging doors at the end of the hall.

  The child was hastily connected to wires that led to a series of waiting machines.

  Plum hopped off of the gurney and stood at a distance to watch.

  “We gave him three doses of blue,” one of the nurses was reading off of a chart. “The immediate effects were an increase in physical strength and energy. The fever began seven to eight hours after injection.”

  “Who else has received this dosage?” Dr. Abarrane was standing over the child now, stroking his forehead in a gesture that Pl
um mistook for affection until she saw Dr. Abarrane peel open the boy’s eyelid to check his pupils.

  “No one, Doctor. He was our prototype.”

  A loud, flat beep filled the room. The sound was endless and excruciating, and it drowned out all else. The nurses and Dr. Abarrane continued to fret and fuss over the wires and the machines and the fluid in the IV.

  But it was no use. The boy was dead.

  CHAPTER 12

  The beeping carried over into the next phase of Plum’s dream, but it quickly faded as the scenery began to emerge.

  Now she was lying on her back in a meadow, bright green and dotted with yellow flowers, under a clear blue sky.

  Vien was sitting beside her. “Are you awake now?”

  Plum pushed herself upright. “No,” she said. “We’re dreaming, aren’t we?”

  He laughed at that. Plum realized that it had been days since she’d heard Vien laugh, but that it had felt like years. Everything in the waking world had become so dark and brutal and serious. She missed being happy. She missed not worrying so much.

  “You’ve been sleeping in our dreams,” Vien said. “That’s a first.”

  “Where’s Gwendle?” Plum asked.

  Vien nodded skyward. A shadow flew across the sun. It was a great winged creature of some sort, Gwendle riding its back and shrieking with delight.

  “We met each other here after we’d both fallen asleep, and we found you lying in the grass,” Vien explained. “We couldn’t wake you. So, Gwendle flew off to search for Artem and I stayed here in case you came back around.” He looked at her. “Where were you? Do you remember?”

  “I remember everything,” Plum said. She waved to Gwendle, who eventually noticed and sailed back down to earth.

  Plum told them about all she’d seen: the strange and sterile building, the nursery, and the boy she’d watched die on a gurney while Dr. Abarrane looked on.