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

her forehead finally settled. She offered a thin-lipped smile. “How about rosemary bread? I know it’s your favorite. I’ll go fetch the herbs from the garden. You stay here.”

I glanced at the bread, already formed into loaves and ready to be put into the pans. “But—”

But she’d already wiped her hands on her apron and bustled to the front garden. Muffled murmurs drifted from outside. Strange; we never got visitors. Where had they come from?

I squinted through the window just in time to see two strangers slink into Mother’s garden. I barely caught a glimpse of black hair streaked with orange before the gate closed behind them. My stomach lurched. They had colored hair, just like Mother and me. Whoever these strangers were, they weren’t from the village.

I slipped outside and crept to the gate to lean against the keyhole. “You’re two hours late,” Mother hissed. “You were supposed to come at dawn, when my daughter was out. Where were you?”

“We had a few…distractions,” a smooth female voice said. “But everything has been taken care of.”

“Never mind that, we need to hurry; my daughter is in the kitchen.”

“Do you have it ready?”

“Naturally.”

There was a pause, the only sounds being the shuffle of Mother opening her bag and a gasp of awe.

“It’s more spectacular than I’d imagined,” the stranger breathed. “Ebony, you’re a genius.”

“I’m pleased you’re satisfied,” Mother said. “When are you going to use it?”

“Immediately, of course,” a new voice replied, this one deep and husky. “There isn’t any time to waste. We’ve already begun setting everything into motion. If all goes well, you’ll be able to join us shortly.”

“Good,” Mother said. “I’m tired of this endless waiting.”

“What about your daughter?”

I pressed my ear further against the keyhole, squashing it roughly against the cold metal.

“I’ve been watching her carefully and she hasn’t exhibited the usual signs. I’m concerned she lacks the ability, but I’m sure she’ll still be quite useful.”

“Have you told her?”

“No. It’s too delicate a matter. You must understand our situation…”

“Of course,” the female stranger said. “I’m sure when the time comes, she’ll prove invaluable.”

“With what I have planned, I can only hope your assessment proves accurate.”

“When should we come back?” the man asked.

“I should have something for you in two weeks.”

They paused, and I barely had time to wonder if the strange conversation was over before suddenly the gate handle turned. I scrambled back, but before I could find a place to hide, Mother emerged alone, fiddling with the locket she always wore around her neck. She froze when she saw me, but her pale face quickly hardened.

“Eden? What are you doing out here? I told you to stay inside.”

I shrank back at her icy glare. “I heard voices, and I wondered who they were. No one ever comes here.”

Mother stiffened, but otherwise her face remained indifferent. “Someone from the village requested an herb remedy to help with their migraines.”

I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of the strangers presumably still in the garden, but it was empty. Where had they gone?

“We don’t usually get visitors from the village,” I said. “They seem to be under the impression you don’t exist.”

Mother fiddled with her necklace. For as long as I could remember, she’d always worn a see-through locket about the size of my hand, shaped like a twisted hurricane and containing a small reserve of glitter, which she usually kept tucked beneath her collar away from my prying eyes.

“So long as you didn't hear…” Her anxious expression softened and her mouth curved up slightly from its usual thin line. “I’m a bit distracted today. I have a lot on my mind. Come, let’s go back inside.” She stroked my hair once before severing her touch, leaving me yearning for more.

Half an hour later we returned outside to tend the tomatoes, the scent of baking bread drifting from the house. I tried to concentrate, but my mind kept drifting back to the confrontation in the bookshop and the mysterious visitors Mother had met in her herb garden…especially them.

My mind swirled with what I’d overheard. Despite her casual dismissal of the incident, I couldn’t quench the questions swarming my mind. Who were those mysterious strangers? What was Mother anxiously waiting for? What role did she want me to play in whatever she was planning? And what abilities had she been hoping I’d develop? Whatever they were, naturally I’d left her disappointed, just as I always did.

Perhaps she’d been referring to her extraordinary gardening ability, which she’d been trying to grow in me since infancy. I knew she wanted me to learn to love plants and tend them in the natural way she did, where each plant radiated at her touch, as if her fingers themselves were a drop of sun. While I’d developed adequate skills, my gift wasn’t gardening—it was magic and seeing dreams, skills which, according to everyone, were forbidden. If only I could share this part of myself with her…or any part, such as the villagers’ whispers this morning, my fears that I didn’t fit in, and the fierce longing I felt for her approval.

The memory of the gentle way Mother had stroked my hair earlier gave me the courage to tentatively broach the subject I’d spent years trying to discuss with her. I took a wavering breath. “There were strange whispers in the village this morning. Many believe magic is what caused last week’s fire—”

Mother swiveled to face me, her eyes flashing. “I’ve told you over and over never to use that word. Do you understand me?”

I flinched at her sharp tone. “Of course. Forgive me, Mother.”

Her movements were rigid as she returned to her pruning, a sign of her suppressed anger. “Magic doesn’t exist,” she said firmly. “I never want to hear you bring it up ever again.”

I lowered my eyes to my hands, where my powers that I didn’t understand simmered beneath my skin, waiting to be used…if I could but figure out how. I forced myself to push them back