Silver Blood (Series of Blood Book 1) by Emma Hamm (bill gates book recommendations .TXT) 📕

or so focused on their own dream that they couldn’t distinguish him from the world around them. Was she another Dream Walker?

“You aren’t Pitch.”

“Of course I am.”

“No, no you’re not,” she said with a short laugh. One of her legs shifted to place a knee on the dock as the other foot dangled above the water.

“What makes you say that?” He paused in front of a hole in the deck that he would be forced to jump over.

“Your eyes aren’t right.” She rolled her own eyes. “Also, I would never dream about Pitch.”

He didn’t know where to go from there. She knew he wasn’t what he was supposed to be, but she hadn’t responded badly. In fact, she had responded as though she wasn’t phased by this at all. “You’ll have to excuse me if I keep this form then.”

“Why would I excuse you for that?” she replied.

“Perhaps I do not wish you to know what I look like.”

“This isn’t a romance novel, and I highly doubt you’re a serial killer in my dreams. There’s no reason for you to hide your form from me.” She turned her back towards him and stared out over the pond again. “You can keep whatever form you like, I suppose.”

And then she ignored him. She shut him out as easily as if he wasn’t there. Burke didn’t know whether to be insulted or intrigued by this woman who controlled her dreams as easily as he did.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Dreaming.”

“Wha-” he stuttered for a moment before blinking rapidly. “You know you’re dreaming?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Actually, no.” He hopped over the hole in the bridge.

“Look, I don’t know who you are, but I have work to do.”

“Work?” Finally he reached the end of the dock with her. He nudged the side of her thigh with his foot until she moved. Usually he wasn’t quite so forward with people in dreams, but she was a puzzle he was intrigued by.

“This.” She gestured around her. “This is my work.”

He tried hard to see what she saw, but the only thing around Burke was a pond with flowers at its edge.

“Doesn’t look like hard work to me.”

She laughed at his joke and shook her head. “No, I suppose it’s not. But it makes it hard to rest thoroughly. Working even in your own dream is tiring in the real world too.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand how this is a job.”

“Juice.”

The word meant little to him until he remembered the substance that so many relied on for happiness. “Ah. You make Juice in your dreams?”

“It’s better than my own memories.” She squinted her eyes at the edges of the dream. “You can see it there a little.”

He followed the point of her finger and saw that the edges of the meadow were turning gray. “You leech emotions from dreams,” he whispered as though it was a secret only he should know.

“Yes,” she replied with a sigh. “The dreams always start out so lovely, with the good emotions at least. But I’m always sad to see them go.”

“Doesn’t that lace the happiness with sadness?”

She shrugged. “The best kind of Happiness has a little bit of Sadness in it as well. I’m not making Bliss.”

He was thoroughly confused. This dream had taken on a life of its own, and even he was having trouble discerning whether this was real life or not. It was entirely possible that he was dreaming himself and that she was a Dream Walker who had turned this around on him.

“Who are you?” He asked her as his eyes watched the weaving tangle of her hair that floated around her delicate face.

“Wren. Like you said.”

“But who are you? Where can I find you?”

She blinked slowly down at the pond and reached to dip a single toe into the cool water. Her eyes followed the exaggerated ripples as she answered him. “I don’t think you should find me. I don’t know who you are.”

“But I need to find you.” He thought, at least he was starting to hope, that this strange and unusual creature was actually the one he was looking for. She was certainly insane enough; he could feel it in her mind. But she also wasn’t insane. It was a rather odd combination that made him think she was special.

“No one needs to find anyone. We’re all lost in a sea of people, and that’s how we should remain.”

And there it was. The confirmation, at least as far as he was concerned. He leaned to place his fingers upon her chin and gently turned her face towards him. “I found you here. Now I need to find you in the real world.”

She smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but think that smile was a little bit sad. “You know, you didn’t get the eyes right. Pitch has black eyes. Yours are green.”

He reared back. “My eyes aren’t green. They’re hazel.”

“They’re green.”

A splashing sound from her feet had them both turning. Burke blinked as he saw the odd looking emerald fish that had clamped onto her foot. It had spines along its back that flared as she shook her foot. Easily the size of his forearm, the fish was more mouth than anything else. Its beady eyes stuck out from its head comically as it struggled to swallow her foot.

“Happiness?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“Bittersweet Happiness,” she said.

He watched as she leaned down and sunk her fingers into the gills. The fish’s eyes bugged out even further as she forcefully wrenched it from her foot and tossed it back into the pond. Her blood dripped into the water, which was swiftly turning red.

“You should wake up,” he said.

“Can’t. Not until E tells me I can.”

“You won’t wake up with that wound, but if you die in a dream then you’re dead.”

“I know.”

He blinked at her for a moment and realized how easily she managed to confuse him. “You don’t care?”

“Well of course I do. I like being alive, but being dead might be an interesting