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

rain drifting through an open window, listening to the rhythmic pattering on the roof, discovering patterns made by raindrops on a windowpane. There’s nothing Nightmarish about it.”

That description was the opposite of what I’d just felt. My heart thudded wildly, as if the unexpected detail I’d felt from the flower had itself been a nightmare I’d stumbled upon while dream watching.

“Do seeds ever contain more than one detail?” I asked hesitantly.

Iris shook her head. “Each contains only a single detail gathered by the Seed Harvesters. Why, isn’t a gentle rainfall what you felt?”

I wanted to confess that it hadn’t been, just so I could receive some sort of explanation for it, but my ever-present need not to fit in compelled me to hastily nod.

Oblivious to my confusion, Iris returned to her tutoring. “To help the flower grow, you focus on the seed’s detail and connect your magic with the flower’s so you can lift it, like so…”

She reached out to demonstrate when the moon dial above us chimed, signaling the start of our Weaving. She looked up at the clock with a gasp.

“Oh no, when did it get to be so late? I still have to gather a few more flowers for tonight’s dream. I’m so sorry, but we’ll have to continue this later.” She threw her cultivating supplies into her bag and scampered off, leaving me alone.

Disappointment washed over me at her sudden departure. I glanced at the unassuming sprout that was the root of my confusion and cupped my hand over it again to listen more intently.

The storm swirled, more pronounced and fierce than before. There was no mistaking it, this was no gentle rain. I sat back on my heels. If each seed only contained one sensory detail, why did Iris and I feel contradicting things? How could we both be right?

There was one way to find out.

I glanced around. The fields were empty, everyone having gone to their Weaving. Now was my chance.

I recalled Iris’s instructions: Focus on the seed’s detail. I tried to visualize soft patters of rain, but no matter how much I attempted to, the only image that filled my mind was a billowing storm. Connect to the flower’s magic. I searched through the seedling’s magic, and after several minutes of mentally pulling back invisible layers I felt it: an unmistakable “hook” I could connect my powers to.

I tugged gently and raised my arm towards the starry sky. The flower grew a foot and sprouted three diamond-shaped leaves before its bud emerged. I’d done it! But my elation at my success was short-lived, for floating amidst its aura was the unmistakable sound of pattering raindrops. My shoulders sagged. I’d been wrong after all.

But then the morning glory began to change. Starting from the base of its blue-grey stem, dark ebony rose up, staining away its original color, as if it was being dipped in ink. Blackness swallowed the dainty leaves, transforming them into jagged teeth, and when it reached the bud, the previously cyan aura twisted into a cloudy grey.

Shaking, I cocked my ear and listened. The previous soft rain had transmuted into a raging storm. The hinted whispers I’d felt earlier had merely been a shadow of the slapping rain and booming thunder now echoing within the flower’s aura.

I stared, horrified, at what I’d unintentionally created. What was it? But I didn’t have to think very hard as memories of the flowers Darius used each Weaving bombarded my mind.

This was a nightmare flower.

At first I was transfixed before the wonder slowly faded, replaced by sickening dread that twisted my stomach. I stared at the nightmarish weed, its dark color and harsh aura a jagged contrast to the surrounding vibrant blossoms with their pleasant tinkling melodies, but I barely had a chance to process its presence before my name drifted across the fields. I shielded my eyes against the bright moonlight to see a cloud darting towards me. Stardust.

“Eden!”

She was getting closer. In a moment, she would notice the nightmare flower, her observation skills too rehearsed to overlook something so suspicious. My heart leapt to my throat, and in a swift move I yanked the nightmare flower from the soil and hastily shoved it into my bag, just as Stardust arrived.

“Don’t be angry at me for being late,” she panted. “I came as quickly as I could.” She scooped me up and zipped through the fields. “What a horrible night to lose track of time. You need to win tonight’s Weaving. You’ve only managed to scrape a single win, and it’s essential you solidify your skills before Spiderweb ceases going easy on—”

She skidded to a stop and I tumbled headfirst into a clump of daffodils. I hastily scrambled off the flattened blossoms, which shakily rose up, as if waking from a deep sleep. I breathed a sigh of relief—it was bad enough having a nightmare flower in my bag, but to also be found destroying dream flowers would be too much for one night—and glared at Stardust.

“Why did you—” My words were swallowed as I gaped at what she was staring at.

Three unmistakable nightmare flowers grew midst the dream blossoms I’d nearly squashed—a black rose with petals gnarled into fangs, a dark daisy crowned with a head of thorns, and a wilted lily that oozed slime, all of which I’d seen at one time or another in Darius’s pile of details during Weavings. Their morbid details swirled lazily in their shadowy auras—the gnawing sensation of hunger, the feeling of falling, and a paralyzing flower that made a Mortal incapable of moving.

Nightmare flowers.

Stardust was all business, already writing frantically in her notebook self. “More,” she muttered. “Where are they all coming from?”

My stomach lurched. I’d hoped that the first nightmare flowers that had appeared several weeks ago had been a single event. The fact that it hadn’t been…

“This is what I was investigating while you were with Iris,” she said. “At first there were only one or two nightmare flowers appearing in the Cultivating