Grey Haven (Book 1: The Dreamer Chronicles)

Carrie led the way down one of the halls to the right of the large front door. A frown dominated face. It wasn’t unlike the frown she wore when she was doing homework. It suggested she was incredibly focused, to the point of excluding everything else.

Tommy finally noticed we weren’t listening to him wax eloquent about his dumbass roommate, who didn’t know how to use a dishwasher. “Why are you both frowning so hard?” he asked curiously.

“Julie met up with a shade almost too powerful for her last night,” Carrie said.

“Oh,” Tommy said. “That’s terrifying. But way to go for kicking shade ass,” he added, holding his hand out for a fist bump, which I returned.

“Thanks,” I said.

Tommy grinned at me fleetingly.

Carrie shrugged away her suspicions. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for this,” she said. “Maybe there is a type of shade out there with the ability to shift from one dream to the other in a single night. I mean, dreamers can do it.”

“Could be,” I agreed.

“I’ve never heard of that before,” Tommy said.

“I’m sure that’s because you sleep through Shade Studies,” Carrie said.

“Have you heard of that before?” Tommy pressed.

“Well, no,” Carrie admitted. “But then I haven’t learned everything there is to know yet, either.”

“And that pisses you off,” Tommy added with a grin.

We arrived at the gym and Carrie gave Tommy a push toward the boys’ locker room without answering. Tommy chuckled and disappeared behind the heavy door. I followed Carrie inside the girls’ locker room, my worry and shame returning as we entered.

School ran from nine in the morning until five in the afternoon, with an hour break for lunch. Classes were an hour each. I had four classes in the morning and three in the evening. My first two classes were Self-defense and Shade Studies, which included the different forms shades took, the way they could manipulate dreams, and the people they had lost to shades over the years. It wasn’t the most uplifting class in the world.

Self-defense was much more straightforward and ultimately more aggressive. It usually included a group of thirty eighteen-year-olds attacking things until Mr. Vimer told us to stop. It was one of my favorite classes, except for today.

The locker rooms were where everyone sized up the scars everyone else had gotten during the night. It was a common thought that the more scars someone had, the less talented they were at dreaming. And dreaming was everything at Grey Haven. There were separate stalls, where people who were embarrassed about their injuries could change in private but using them made the speculation worse. It was better to let them see the scars. It was better to deal with it directly. Hiding gave them power.

I pulled off my shirt and the whispers immediately started floating around the room. Most of the whispers came from a group of girls I knew hung out with Dana. Those who were not part of that group were curious, but more understanding of my pain. Some of them also nurtured wounds they were doing their best to hide. They offered me smiles of encouragement, trying to show me they understood.

Carrie was oblivious to the whispers. Her mind was still lost on the conversation we had overheard. It was lost enough for her not to get angry at the whispers like normal. It was just as well. Getting angry wouldn’t stop them.

“Maybe I could ask Mrs. Waite if she’s ever heard of a shade crossing dreams like that,” Carrie decided. “She would know.”

Mrs. Waite taught Shade Studies. There wasn’t a single person at the school who knew as much as she did about shades besides Mrs. Z. I wasn’t certain what good it would do us to figure out if the same shade was responsible for the attacks, but it was better than staying in the dark. At least it would give Carrie peace of mind to know if she was right.

“That’s a good idea,” I said.

I tied the last knot on my tennis shoe and grimaced as I stood. The phantom pain of Mr. Vimer’s lesson was already moving through me. My injury would only make class more difficult, and my stubbornness meant I refused to sit it out. The next hour would not be fun.

The gym was unique in that instead of basketball hoops and bleachers, it had heavy bags, weapons, and mats for falling. Mr. Vimer was waiting for us in the middle of the large room. He was a large man – six-foot-five with rippling muscles and a shaved head. He held his hands behind his back as he waited for us to join him. His expression was neutral. I had never seen him smile. The story went that he had been a Navy Seal once, but no one knew for sure. Like most of the teachers, he kept his story to himself.

Tommy joined us again, his face redder than when he had entered the dressing room. His experience in the locker room hadn’t been so different from mine. Ben and other boys from his group were gathered at the back of the class. Ben was focused on Mr. Vimer, but the others were making low comments directed at Tommy. Tommy was doing his best to ignore the commentary, face smooth and unbothered. I turned to glare at them, daring them to continue. They stopped talking, faces going blotchy. Tommy caught me looking and crossed his eyes to let me know he was fine. I smiled at him and focused on Mr. Vimer as he barked his first order of the day.

“Drills.”

The class groaned in unison and I forgot my crappy morning in an instant. Drills were a combination of sprints, pushups, and crunches. It wasn’t easy, especially because Mr. Vimer seemed to have a sadistic fascination with running drills for twenty minutes at a time. He ignored us and blew his whistle. As one, the class started sprinting from one side of the gym to the next.

Ten minutes into the drill, two girls had collapsed, and Tommy’s sprint had turned into a walking limp. Mr. Vimer ignored the unconscious girls and kept his eyes on those of us still moving. There was no sympathy in his eyes, only a firm command to keep running. I knew the drills were a direct result of the deaths during the night. He always reacted in the same way when someone died. He always pushed us harder, as if it could change what had happened.

Carrie’s face was twisted in grim determination as she ran. Sweat poured down her face and back. She would keep moving until Mr. Vimer told her to stop. There was no other choice. Ben was in front of us. His pace was steady and certain. He was sweating and, though his pace had slowed, he was nowhere near as exhausted as his friends, who were running even slower than Tommy. Carrie’s eyes occasionally shifted to Ben’s back as she ran, like she was trying to prove she could keep up with him.

Mr. Vimer finally blew his whistle twice, a sign to stop.

I collapsed to the ground in relief and greedily sucked in air. Carrie stood next to me. Her body trembled with her exhaustion. Tommy was on the other side of the gym from us. He was on his back staring at the ceiling, and his lips moved in a silent prayer. Probably one that asked to never move again.

“Free form,” Mr. Vimer barked.

Free form allowed us to practice whatever we wanted for the duration of the class. If we were moving, we were left alone.

Ben turned and noticed us in his way. He looked startled, as if he hadn’t realized anyone was behind him, but his expression held nothing else. We were strangers despite being in the same classes together for six months now. He stepped around us without a word. Carrie lowered her gaze as he walked away and turned to me, pretending as if the last two minutes hadn’t happened.

“What do you want to do?” Carrie asked me.

“Die,” I groaned.

“Besides that,” she said impatiently.

“I don’t care,” I moaned.

“Spar with me,” Carrie commanded.

“Okay,” I agreed unhappily.

Carrie helped me to my feet, and we walked over to the mats. Tommy went to the edge of the gym and pulled out the archery equipment. He spent the rest of the period shooting at dummies, and Carrie spent the same time trying to kill me. We didn’t talk about the people who had died or the attack on me. It was the perfect distraction.

By the end of the class, I was ready for a nap. I couldn’t feel my back anymore, but that was only because I hurt everywhere else more. Mr. Vimer finally blew his whistle to signal that it was time to go, and Carrie obligingly stopped trying to punch me in the face, which was nice.

The locker room was peaceful and silent as we showered and changed back into our regular clothes. The girls from Dana’s group were too exhausted to make fun of anyone and Carrie was too exhausted to continue the mystery of the shade.

Tommy was waiting for us in the gym. He and I chatted quietly as we walked to our next class. Carrie didn’t join in. Her frown was back. I couldn’t tell if she was still thinking about the question of the shade or about homework. I left her to her thoughts, content to keep talking and joking with Tommy about his vendetta with the vending machine on the third floor. It was better than dwelling on something we couldn’t change.

Shade Studies was only interesting on the surface. The first time I had heard of the class from Mrs. Z., I had thought it would be full of interesting stories of mayhem and death. There was mostly just a droning monologue from the teacher, Mrs. Waite, which lasted the full hour, and homework that usually took Carrie two hours to get through. I typically spent the class sleeping or daydreaming about being anywhere else.

Mrs. Waite was at the front of the classroom when we arrived. Her white hair was cut short, accentuating her round face. She examined her lecture notes, though she was more flustered than usual.

Carrie, Tommy, and I went to our seats in the middle of the room and sat quietly. There were other students nearby, talking loudly and sharing stories from their first class. Carrie shifted in her seat every few seconds, contemplating her questions to Mrs. Waite, but I knew she would wait until after class. Dana and Lisa had walked into the room after us with a group of friends. They were the loudest sound in the classroom, but they would shut up fast when Carrie started asking about powerful shades that could walk across dreams. It wouldn’t take them long to connect the dots.

When the clock above the door was exactly at ten, Mrs. Waite started talking. She brought up a 3D image of a snake with yellow eyes. Blood dripped from its fangs.

“The snake has a long history of symbolic meaning for societies across the world, and they have long been associated with evil. Many argue that shades have never taken on the form of a snake in our dreams, despite obvious evidence to the contrary…”

I started doodling in my notebook. The drawing began as a strange collection of geometrical shapes, but it slowly shifted to the crypt and the woman I had fought. When I realized what I was doing, I scribbled out the shapes and stared at the door instead. Tommy pillowed his head on his arms and closed his eyes, while Carrie took diligent notes, her pencil moving as quickly across the page.

We were only ten minutes into class when a knock woke us from our stupor. Mrs. Waite frowned at the door in confusion, startled at the interruption. Without waiting for a reply from Mrs. Waite, the person on the other side opened the door and Ben stepped into view. Dana straightened in her chair, assuming, naturally, that he had come for her. Carrie stared, her pencil perched on her paper. Tommy started drooling on his notebook, having drifted off.

“Mrs. Z. sent me to collect one of your students,” Ben said.

Dana smiled. She knew without a doubt he meant her. Mrs. Z. was finally going to acknowledge her and promote her to the back of the school.

“Uh…is Julie Aim here?” Ben asked.

His eyes roamed the room questioningly as if we didn’t share four classes, or that he didn’t come over to my house at least three times a week. He waved to Dana when he saw her, but he didn’t see her irritation and confusion at the fact that my name had been called instead of hers.

My first thought was that I had finally managed to piss Mrs. Z. off. She was disappointed in my performance with the crawler. On top of not doing my homework and routinely sneaking out of the school when I shouldn’t, my mistake in the dream had worn out my welcome. She would finally kick me out.

My second thought was why it had taken her so long. Others had left Grey Haven. They had made too many mistakes, or they had decided the life wasn’t for them. Not everyone was geared toward the fighting and the stress, and we were certainly not forced to stay. Those who left had to keep their mouths shut, but being a dreamer was always a choice. Was my mistake with the crawler the final straw, or had she simply forgotten about me until now?

My third thought was one of survival. Leaving wasn’t the hard part for me, though I would miss Carrie and Tommy. Knowing where I would go next was. I couldn’t go back to the foster home I had been in when Mrs. Z. had found me. I had been biding my time until I could leave again when she walked in with her perfect hair and terrifying personality and had given me a home. No tears were shed when I left.

The class stared at me. Even Mrs. Waite stared. No one knew what to think. Carrie frowned, though her eyes were encouraging. They urged me not to assume the worst.

I ignored the stares, gathered my things, and joined Ben at the door. His eyes focused on me curiously, and Dana’s stare burned holes in my back. It was the greatest source of malevolence in the room. I shuffled past Ben, who took up most of the doorway, and didn’t wait for him to close the door and lead the way. I knew where Mrs. Z.’s office was. It was the first place I had gone when Mrs. Z. had brought me to Grey Haven.

Ben hurried to catch up with me. “Hey, I know you, right?” he asked.

The fact that he didn’t know we had just literally shared a class together made me realize he was more oblivious than I thought. Poor Carrie…There was no way he knew she existed.

“Nope,” I said.

Ben frowned. “But I’ve seen you before,” he said, adamant.

“I really don’t think you have,” I said.

Ben was silent for a moment. “Is there a problem?” he asked. “I’m kind of getting a chill here.”

“Kinda?” I asked.

His frown deepened, and his eyes narrowed. I saw him trying to place me in his memory bank. “Did I do something to you?” he asked.

“Nope,” I said.

“Then what’s the problem?” he asked.

I started walking up a broad staircase. It was made of stone and had all the bleak appeal of a rock wall. I took each step deliberately, doing my best to temper Ben’s long strides with a slower pace. I was in no hurry to get to Mrs. Z. I didn’t care if my tardiness made her angry. If I was being kicked out, it didn’t matter anyways. I glanced at Ben and decided to give him his explanation. It was an explanation I would have bothered with had I thought I would be staying. People like him weren’t worth the effort.

“First, your girlfriend, Dana, is a mega-asshole. Second, I live with her, so we’ve seen each other when you come to see her. Third, we have four classes together. So, your questions? Super offensive.”

“We have four classes together?” Ben asked incredulously.

I smiled sarcastically. “Just breezed right over the mega-asshole insult, huh?” I asked.

Ben shrugged one shoulder. He didn’t appear to give the insult much thought beyond it being my opinion. “Dana has a big personality,” he said.

“You just said what I said, only you said it nicer,” I pointed out.

“Dana has her quirks,” Ben said. “But we’ve been together since I was twelve, and I know her much better than you do.”

“If you say so,” I said, not caring enough to argue with him.

“What classes do we have together?” Ben asked, still caught on the idea that we shared so much of our day together and he had failed to notice.

“Look, this is wonderful and all, but I’m not really in the mood to catch you up to the past six months of our acquaintance,” I said.

“Now who’s being the asshole?” Ben asked archly.

“Your opinion,” I said with a shrug, indifferent to him.

Ben was silent for a second as he thought about what I had told him and what I hadn’t. He zeroed in on my anxiety faster than I thought someone so oblivious could. “You’re worried about why Mrs. Z. sent for you?” he asked kindly.

I glanced at him in disbelief. Of course I was worried. Anyone would have been.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he added.

“When was the last time she sent someone to collect a student in the middle of class?” I asked him.

Mrs. Z. trusted the teachers and guardians to keep us in line. Being summoned by Mrs. Z. was considered the worst form of punishment. There was nothing more serious at the school, not even the gauntlet.

“Well, never,” Ben admitted.

“There you go,” I said.

“You’re the girl Dana was talking about this morning,” Ben said, finally catching up to one truth about me.

“Most likely,” I agreed.

Whatever Dana had told him about me wasn’t kind. I saw him trying to reconcile whatever she had said with the opinion he had formed about me. He didn’t seem to know what to think.

We walked up another set of stairs, and a third, headed for a tower near the back of the school. There were more people in the halls on this side of the school. Older students, who wandered around in groups reading from books, talking, and looking decidedly more confident and dangerous, took up the space. It was difficult not to stare at them. I imagined they never messed up the way I spent my life messing up. They belonged. They were not biding their time until their next misadventure got someone hurt.

Finally, Mrs. Z.’s door was in front of me. There was nothing ornate about the hard, oak door. It was an effective break between the room and the hall, not a symbol of prestige and power. Despite that, I felt fear.

I knocked on the door before Ben could and heard a voice immediately call out. “Come in, Miss Aim.”

Mrs. Z.’s office was welcoming, despite the fear most of the students attached to it. It had a large rug that covered the middle of the wood floor and an oak desk by the wall on the right of the door. Large windows ran from floor to ceiling on the opposite side of the door, and it had the best view in the school. The mountains rose up like ancient guardians beyond the windows. They were blue in the morning light and stretched far into the distance. Town was on the opposite side of the school, so the sea of trees made me feel as if I were in an island in the forest.

Mrs. Z. was at one of the windows. She had her arms crossed in front of her as she surveyed the mountains. There was gravity to her stance, a weight that carried with it her duties as manager. At her desk was Bernard. He held a cell phone in one hand and papers in the other. His expression was lofty and rushed. As I entered, he marched around the desk and passed me without acknowledging I was standing in the door. He gave Ben a respectful nod and continued his rushed path down the hall.

Mrs. Z. turned to face us when Bernard was gone, her expression a mystery. In some lights, her eyes were purple, in others blue. When I had first met her, they had been an electric blue that took my breath away. Today, they were grey. They were also the most enigmatic part of her. They swam with secrets and I would never ask the questions to.

“Thank you, Mr. Even,” Mrs. Z. said to Ben. “You may return to your independent studies now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ben said.

Ben left and shut the door behind him, sealing me away to whatever reason I had been called to Mrs. Z.’s office. I kept my mental guard up, ready for whatever unwelcome news she threw at me. I was ready to bow out gracefully if it came to it. I was mentally calculating how long I could afford a place with the monthly stipend I got from the school. I wasn’t expecting her sigh, however. It was loud and full of weight. “Are you okay?” I asked.

Mrs. Z. smiled slightly at the question and stepped over to her desk. “I am fine, Miss Aim, if not saddened by recent events.”

“You mean the people who died last night?” I asked.

“Yes,” Mrs. Z. said. “It is why you are here, actually.”

“…Ma’am?” I asked.

Did she think I had killed them? It wouldn’t surprise me if Dana had speculated as much, or if that was the rumor Ben had been thinking of, but I was flabbergasted that Mrs. Z. would think such a thing. Teachers and administrators were not supposed to believe rumors started by students. At least, that was the idea.

“Please have a seat,” Mrs. Z. said, gesturing at one of the chairs in front of her desk.

I hesitated, preferring to stand if I was getting kicked out, but Mrs. Z. wasn’t the sort of person I wanted to make angry. Though she was politely stern, I knew there was a darker side to her nature. It was carefully repressed behind a veneer of professionalism, but she hadn’t come to run Grey Haven by simply being professional, and I had learned to look for darkness in others. She held the direct weight of life and death of her students on her shoulders, and she had seen more than I would probably ever get to. Stories of her deeds as a dreamer were legendary at the school. Her recordings were still used for training purposes. They proved her incredible fighting ability.

I sat on the edge of the seat and waited for her to do the same. She sat primly, her back straight and her eyes on my face. She set her elbows on the desk and threaded her fingers together. She peered over her fingers, looking stern. I had seen that look before on someone else – a judge. It had been my first arrest, a misunderstanding that had put me in juvie hall for four months. Mrs. Z.’s expression wasn’t reassuring. I shifted in my chair, ready for her command to leave the school forever. I was braced against the brief hurt, the burning anger, and the determination to survive.

“I understand that you encountered a rather strong shade last night,” Mrs. Z. said.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“I watched the recording. It was quite a fight, Miss Aim. You carried yourself well in an unexpected situation. I am impressed.”

“Thanks…” I said.

Her words left me feeling more confused. I waited for her to get to the point, hoping it would soothe my confusion. If not, I hoped it wouldn’t add to it.

“I wanted to ask if you blamed Harry,” Mrs. Z. said. “He mentioned you two argued.”

I sighed. “I don’t blame him exactly…not in the way you’re thinking,” I said. “Harry is a lot of things, but he does his job as best he can…which is better than most people. I was angry and scared, so I took it out on the closest person.”

Mrs. Z. was pleased with my answer. “I agree,” she said. “Do you have any guesses as to how the shade got into that dream?”

“Carrie seems to think that the shade could move between dreams,” I said without thinking. “She thinks it made a door and maybe replaced the one I was meant to fight somehow.”

Mrs. Z. didn’t try to hide her surprise from me. Carrie wasn’t as far away from the truth as Tommy had thought. I had always assumed shades were bound to the person it was trying to take over. The idea that they could walk between dreams the way we could was unsettling.

“That is quite a connection to make,” Mrs. Z. said. “And what do you think?”

“I think that you wouldn’t have mentioned the deaths or brought me here if it wasn’t a possibility…ma’am,” I said.

Mrs. Z. nodded approvingly. “There is a shift in the air, Miss Aim. It is subtle, but it is deadly. We must be cautious. We must find out what is going on, and fast. You and the others who were attacked were brought in within the last six months. You’re new, seemingly easy to overcome. Your fight proved that you are not as weak as some may think. And you were the only survivor.”

It took me a second to realize what she was saying. I had been targeted. The shade had known to come after me. If it could jump dreams, it was also a possibility it had broken into that man’s dream with the express purpose of killing me. Harry couldn’t account for such a powerful shade sneaking in with that purpose. He was only in charge of bringing us easy fights, training us for the real world of fighting. He had no way prepare for darker shades getting curious about us. But what purpose did targeting me have? What had I done to gain such a powerful shade’s malice?

“What does that mean?” I asked. “Who wants me dead?”

“For now, we have little to go on,” Mrs. Z. said, cautious. “As the only survivor from the attacks, I brought you here to warn you. It is likely your fight caught someone’s attention. I ask that you be careful. Do not take any risks. Until we have this sorted out, we must tread carefully. I do not wish to be informed of your death as well.”

When I had first heard of Grey Haven, I had been skeptical. Walking into dreams and fighting off shades that came possessed people in the form of nightmares wasn’t an easy thing to believe at first, but Mrs. Z. was persuasive. She had convinced me of the truth as easily as she scared me now with her warning.

It took a certain type of person to do what we did every night, but killing shades was something I did without a lot of internal struggle over the cost of service. The violence was nothing compared to the life I had left behind. There had been times when I wasn’t certain I was going to make it out of a dream alive, but I had never truly feared my role or my future at the school.

I was scared now; scared by the expression on Mrs. Z.’s face and my instinct that I had brushed against something a lot darker than the shade I had killed. I was also scared by the fact that Mrs. Z.’s warning went beyond what she was saying to me. She wouldn’t tell me what she was thinking, but I sensed more to the story all the same. Her words of caution didn’t come lightly. She knew we accepted the choice to fight. We knew the risk of service. Her warning was that someone might come looking for me specifically, and it was potentially a fight I wasn’t strong enough to face.

That idea had me ready to pack my bags. Leaving was easier than being hunted. My insides twisted into a curious knot of fear and resentment. I didn’t like the idea of being pushed out because of fear, but it was how I felt all the same. My survival instincts were not easily repressed. They had kept me alive and were my best friends through highs and lows. They were the reason I was still here.

A heavy double knock came from the door. It startled me, and I jumped in my chair. The knock was Mrs. Z.’s cue to end our conversation. She unlaced her fingers and stood fluidly. “That will be all, Miss Aim,” she said. “I encourage you to bring any other unusual occurrences, big or small, to Harry. He will keep me informed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said quietly.

Mrs. Z. walked me over to the door and opened it for me.

On the other side of the door was a man. He was wearing a motorcycle jacket and had a helmet tucked under his arm. He was broad-shouldered and had shaggy brown hair. His body shifted with his impatience, with his annoyance at waiting. He wanted to get on with whatever had brought him to Mrs. Z.’s office. I eyed him curiously, but I was too lost in the conversation with Mrs. Z. to focus beyond a cursory search of details. His glance at me was even less curious than mine was at him. He had a singular focus: Mrs. Z. Mrs. Z. gestured him inside her office without speaking and shut the door in my face.

Then, I was left alone in the hall with the cold reality of her warning running through my veins. I didn’t take it lightly. A part of me wished she hadn’t given it. In one talk, I went from curious about the shade to aware that I was perched precariously in the middle of a situation I didn’t fully understand. The change between what had been and where I was now was profound, and I feared there was no straightforward way back to feeling safe again.