In Dreams (10 page)

“My hypnotherapist? How do you—”

She smiles and throws her head back and howls her fabulous, authentic laugh. “Oh, sweetheart, we gods and goddesses have many tricks up our sleeves. Koios is one of us. The god of the inquisitive mind. He will teach you how to control your dreams. How
to find Sebastian. How to bring him here. Now have another pastry.”

Aphrodite pushes the plate toward me, and I take one. I’m still not quite sure what to make of all this. I wonder how many other gods and goddesses there are in my world. But mostly I wonder if I really can control my dreams, if I can control my nightmares. And I think about that
voice
.

9

Dreaming men are haunted men.

STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT

I
don’t want to sleep.

Sunday night. I stare at the clock. It’s two in the morning. Tomorrow I have a test in English. Shakespeare. And I
need
to sleep. But I fear it.

I want to see Sebastian.

But I don’t want to see Epiales.

So I listen to my iPod.

My cardio playlist thumps in my ears. I try to stay awake. I listen to Macklemore, “Can’t Hold Us.” Then this old song by Pearl Jam.

But then, despite blaring “Smile” by Eyedea & Abilities—my favorite song ever—my eyelids flutter.

I’m in a dance club. My favorite song is playing, and I feel the beat deep in my belly because the music is so loud and because I know the song so well that every note, every word, is part of my blood.

I have never been here before, so I feel lost and out of place. The club is dark, and the ceilings are very high. I can tell it is cavernous, even though I can’t see much. It’s the way the music bounces off the walls and the ceilings. A DJ, headphones to his ears, is perched above the crowd in a glass booth, with a huge red omega sign in fluorescent lights above him. Rich red velvet curtains hang from the walls and create private seating areas, making it impossible to look across the entire club. I feel claustrophobic, fenced in by velvet and body heat. A smoke machine has filled the place with gray mist. I reach out my hands, and my fingers disappear in the smoke. I can’t see the floor.

Around me, people are gyrating and dancing to the bass. They are dressed in New York chic, black hipster clothes. One is more beautiful and good-looking than the next. They give off energy; the place seems to vibrate. It’s also burning hot. I feel a breath on my neck and wheel around, startled.

Sebastian smiles.

“Miss me, Iris?” He leans in close and has to shout over the music.

I nod. But my feet feel frozen. I don’t know what to say around him.

He stares at me. Then, slowly, he takes my hands, and we start dancing. I like the feel of my hand in his. His are strong and masculine. For some reason, I think of a sculptor’s hands. Slightly rough, but powerful. Around us are so many other clubgoers that we’re pressed together.

My heart pounds, only now it’s not the rhythm making it thump, it’s him. I rock to the beat—my song—and start to forget that anyone else is around us. To be dancing with him, to this song, feels amazing. We look into each other’s eyes. I see forever there.

He leans down and pulls me closer still. My chest is pressed against his. It’s only now I realize I’m wearing a black tank top, with just a hint of the lace of my favorite Victoria’s Secret bra peeking out, and black skinny jeans, and I’m perched on some kick-ass heels. I feel sexy. He has on a black T-shirt that hugs him perfectly, and dark pants. The club is suffocating, and strands of my hair press against my cheeks; still my favorite song is playing and taking me somewhere higher, someplace I have never been before.

He takes his hands from mine and moves them to the sides of my throat, gently. I’m not afraid. He moves his hands into my hair, then pulls the curls up off my face and away from the back of my neck. He leans down even closer, while still dancing, and blows softly on my neck where it’s wet from the heat and dancing.

I shiver. I think I’m going to have a heart attack.

With my face in his hands, he looks me in the eyes, so far into me, I’m afraid my knees will buckle under me. Then, gently, he kisses my lips, so softly it’s almost a breath at first. Then he nibbles, the slightest of tugs, on my lower lip. This kiss is like no other. I don’t even know if we are dancing anymore, because all I feel is his chest pressed against me; all I hear is the music so loud in my ears, mingling with my heartbeat.

I kiss him back, my tongue flicking against his. He pulls me tighter to him. I feel our bodies meld together. I wrap my arms around his waist and move my hands up his back, feeling his muscles. His hands slide down to my jeans. I am lost in this kiss, like sinking deeper under the ocean.

And then I hear a screech. It’s so high-pitched, I hear it above the music. He tenses, so I know he hears it, too.

Wrapping one arm around me, he lifts his head and scans the crowd. The
thud-thud-thud
of the music continues. I stand on tiptoe and peer over his shoulder, and I see we are surrounded by creatures. They seem human enough, but their faces look as if they’ve been rimmed with dark eyeliner, creating hollows and shadows beneath their eyes, which are iridescent black, like liquid mica.

The women are dressed like ravens, with flowing, shimmering black sleeves on their dresses, like wings, their hair sliced in sharp bobs. Three draw closer to us and bare their teeth behind wine-colored lipstick, exposing razor-sharp fangs.

“Vampires!” I scream.

Sebastian leans and kisses me again. He moves his mouth to my ear. “No. Keres. Time for you to go,” he urges. “Tomorrow night, look for me behind our door. You’ll feel it when you come to it. Trust yourself.”

He pulls back and grabs my hand, and we run through the club toward the exit sign. Around us, everywhere, are writhing vampires. They hiss as we pass, steam rising off their bodies. The three vampires with the black-bobbed hair are chasing us, emitting the high-pitched shriek of strange, rabid animals. When we reach the emergency exit, its red letters sputtering, Sebastian opens the door; an alarm sounds as he pushes me through

My alarm clock wakes me.

I stare at it. Six
A.M.

Time for school.

I shut my eyes, wanting to feel that kiss. I touch my lips, wishing it were still happening, that he was here, with me. I wish it were real—minus the vampires.

I shake my head. Time for a shower. I feel as if I’ve been hit by a truck.

I get up and walk across the hall to my bathroom and start to brush my teeth. While I’m brushing, I glance in the mirror. My eyes widen.

I put my toothbrush down and stare at the back of my hand.

There, in red ink, is a mark. Made by a stamp like when you go to a club.

It’s an omega sign.

10

Dreams are symbolic in order that

they cannot be understood.

CARL JUNG

I
think I pulled at least a B on my test. Shakespeare’s
Midsummer Night’s Dream
. Annie meets me by my locker, and we walk through the throngs of our high school to the cafeteria, which is the usual madhouse.

“Look.” She nudges me.

There, sitting by himself and reading a book, is Henry Wu.

Annie—looking totally hot today in Rag & Bone jeans and a cute sweater—smiles her biggest Annie-all-American smile, wanders over, and plops into the seat opposite him.

“Hi, Henry!”

I sit down next to her.

Henry Wu looks as if he might throw up his five hot dogs. His face is absolutely stricken.

“Hi, Annie. Hi, Iris.” Although he says hello to me, he has eyes only for Annie.

She starts to question him like an investigator on
CSI
.

“So Henry, what are your plans for college?”

He blushes slightly: first his cheeks and then his neck flush, and then the color spreads to his chest, peeking between the edges of his navy polo shirt, where the top two buttons are undone. He looks down at his lunch tray. Then he takes a sip of Coke before clearing his throat and saying, “Um, Harvard.”

“Interesting,” Annie says. “Have any plans to, I don’t know, do any sports there? Clubs?”

“I . . . um . . . row crew. We don’t have a team here at school, but I belong to an athletic club with a team, and I . . . I was hoping . . . you know.”

A little chill passes over me.
Just like Aphrodite said
. I look at Henry closely while they talk. Before Aphrodite, I just thought of him as some super-nerd, a nice super-nerd, but still. But now that I look at him, he’s really good-looking; his eyes shimmer, his black hair is shiny, and his features are handsome.
And the way he looks at Annie . . . I wonder how we missed it all these years.