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.
She ran toward the sound of tears, only for the cries to bounce in another direction like a thrown voice. Empty shadows pulsed with the red-blue whirl of an ambulance light. The atmosphere was rough, chafing her skin like sandpaper as she drove forward in her panic. She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs were on fire from her breathless run.
Ahead of her a red door appeared—home!—the front door to their old house before that really bad day. The worst day. Maybe her little sis was at home. Please God, let her be here.
Jordan reached out, reached as far as she could, reached for the only family she had left. She gripped the knob and burst inside, yelling, “Maisie!”
***
Rook wheeled around at the deep, gut-wrenching sound of panic. He knew that sound well; it echoed around his own hollow chest. Loss and loneliness.
Onto the midnight beach of the Rêve’s dream island a woman emerged, frantic with worry, and yet also luminous with pulsing feminine energy. The powdery sand lifted with each of her steps and was slow to settle again.
I’ll be damned.
Seemed Mr. Millions had picked the right sister after all.
And not only was she the first of the newbies, she was the second after him to enter the Rêve space, and he’d been plugged into shared dreaming since it was the illegal and preferred high on the street. Who wanted to live in the real world when a better one waited behind closed eyes? Of
***
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.
She ran toward the sound of tears, only for the cries to bounce in another direction like a thrown voice. Empty shadows pulsed with the red-blue whirl of an ambulance light. The atmosphere was rough, chafing her skin like sandpaper as she drove forward in her panic. She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs were on fire from her breathless run.
Ahead of her a red door appeared—home!—the front door to their old house before that really bad day. The worst day. Maybe her little sis was at home. Please God, let her be here.
Jordan reached out, reached as far as she could, reached for the only family she had left. She gripped the knob and burst inside, yelling, “Maisie!”
***
Rook wheeled around at the deep, gut-wrenching sound of panic. He knew that sound well; it echoed around his own hollow chest. Loss and loneliness.
Onto the midnight beach of the Rêve’s dream island a woman emerged, frantic with worry, and yet also luminous with pulsing feminine energy. The powdery sand lifted with each of her steps and was slow to settle again.
I’ll be damned.
Seemed Mr. Millions had picked the right sister after all.
And not only was she the first of the newbies, she was the second after him to enter the Rêve space, and he’d been plugged into shared dreaming since it was the illegal and preferred high on the street. Who wanted to live in the real world when a better one waited behind closed eyes? Of
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