Dreamer (The Dream World Chronicles Book 1) by Camille Peters (thriller books to read .txt) 📕

turned. Meanwhile the dream’s seductive light flickered tauntingly in my peripheral vision, its allure attracting my involuntary gaze.

“But I’ve taken her herbs for years with no ill side effects.”

Alice’s nervous gaze flickered towards me as she sauntered over. “Careful, don’t make her mad.” She stared determinedly at the floor, while Wendy met my eyes head on.

“I’m not scared of the witch.”

Magic curled in my clenched palm, power for a spell I didn’t know but which I longed to cast into her snide face all the same. “I’m not a witch.” But my voice wavered, for even I didn’t believe my own words.

Wendy flinched at my glare. The dream followed her sudden movement and instantly my focus latched on to it, causing my consciousness to immediately tumble inside.

A grey world surrounded me, all color washed away, mere shadows of what had once been when the dream was fresh. Musical whispers penetrated the silence like a broken music box, creating an eerie, nightmarish feel. The only distinct object in the fuzziness pressing against my senses was the outline of a small dog, unmistakably Wendy’s loyal spaniel. He was all that remained of the story which had entertained Wendy last night; everything else had been forgotten, erased by time.

The choppy and incomplete dream concluded abruptly, and the dust-shrouded room reappeared. The old lady was once more snoring, but Wendy and Alice cowered together, ashen-faced. I blinked, slightly disoriented. How long had I been within the dream? A minute? Longer?

“What are you doing?” Wendy’s voice, absent of its recent iciness, shook with fear. “Why were you in a trance? Did you just cast a spell?”

Oh no, they’d seen everything. Panic clenched my already tightening chest as I hurried past them. They leapt out of the way like I had the plague.

A thud penetrated the air as The Study of Magic Use Within Legends toppled to the floor, its twisty title glistening in the faint lantern light. I froze and waited for their accusations, but they seemed to have lost the ability to speak. Slowly, they raised wide eyes to mine. For a brief moment, a secret satisfaction rippled over me at the terror filling their expressions, but the feeling quickly slipped away, replaced by my own fear: I’d been caught stealing a book of magic. It was as good as a direct confession to all the rumors against me.

Head swirling, I blurted the first defense I could think of: “Breathe a word of this to anyone and you’ll be sorry.” I resisted a smug smile as I flounced past their dumbfounded expressions and down the stairs.

Chapter 2

Outside, the rain had dissipated, leaving a thick mist hovering over the landscape. Brisk autumn wind tangled my hair and the damp grass coated my hem as I slogged through the rolling fields towards our misshapen cottage, hovering on the edge of the forest several miles from the village, nearly swallowed up by the trees enclosing it in a cocoon of foliage.

Cheerful light from the cottage gleamed through the shutters across the front garden, but it did nothing for my somber mood. My heart pounded as I relived that moment in the bookshop over and over—the terror that had filled Wendy’s and Alice’s expressions when they’d seen the book of magic I’d stolen, my own apprehension tightening my chest over what would happen to me should they share my secret, and the strange satisfaction I’d taken in the fear I’d instilled.

I trudged inside, trailing mud into the kitchen. Suffocating floral perfume emanated from the dozen potted plants crowding the otherwise pristine room. Mother sat beneath the window, opened a crack despite the morning chill. She didn’t even look up from her sewing.

“Where have you been, Eden?”

I rubbed my hands in front of the crackling hearth and glanced sideways to search the air around her. As usual, no dreams.

“I delivered the package you wanted. She’ll send her payment via Wendy by tomorrow.” If I hadn’t scared her off forever this afternoon. I ached to confide to Mother what had happened, but I’d learned years ago that she didn’t tolerate cozy heart-to-heart conversations.

Mother didn’t answer, her focus on her work as she rapidly stitched together two quilted squares, concentration lining her brow. I watched, transfixed. Mother was a whiz with a needle and thread; she could sew an entire quilt in a matter of hours, an adeptness and speed I’d never been able to match. It was one of many disappointments to Mother.

She finally broke the uneasy silence. “You were gone longer than usual. What on earth have you been doing?” Her voice was strained, but her anxious glance was cast not at me, but out the window.

“The old bitty ensnared me in her ramblings before I could escape.”

Mother finally looked up and searched my face. I shifted uneasily. Sometimes I had the unnerving impression she could read my thoughts and see into the deepest recesses of my heart. I held my secrets close, praying they’d remain hidden from her silent, disapproving inspection.

She pursed her lips. “We planned on baking bread an hour ago. Go wash up and meet me in the kitchen.”

I grimaced, but luckily she’d returned to her sewing and didn’t see. Dragging my feet, I clambered up the ladder to the loft.

My attic bedroom overlooked our manicured gardens that entirely surrounded the house, as well as the rolling hills that separated us from the distant village. I slept beneath the sloping ceiling on a pile of pillows and blankets along the window that took up the entire wall. Piles of dirty laundry created miniature towers all around the room, and loose sheets of paper carpeted the floor. After my dream-watching tree, this was my favorite place, tucked high above the world like my own private treehouse, the perfect setting to practice my magic whenever I managed to slip away.

Magic had been a part of my life for as long as I could remember, beginning as an unidentified tingling warmth coursing through my body. My powers