Weaver of Dreams

BRENDA SPARKS

SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

New York

WEAVER OF DREAMS

Copyright©2013

BRENDA SPARKS

Cover Design by Cristy Caughie

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Published in the United States of America by

Soul Mate Publishing

P.O. Box 24

Macedon, New York, 14502

ISBN-13: 978-1-61935-
188-2

www.SoulMatePublishing.com

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

To my husband and son,

who make every day a dream

First and foremost, I want to recognize the readers, who mean so much to me!

A big thank you goes to Barbara and Elizabeth, who were early readers. Their insights and feedback have been invaluable to me. And to Laura, my awesome critique partner, thank you for your brilliant suggestions. Heartfelt gratitude and love also go out to my family, and most especially my mother, for always believing in me.

And last, but certainly not least, I owe my sincere appreciation to Deborah Gilbert and Cheryl Yeko at Soul Mate Publishing. Without their support and efforts, the Dream Weaver world would have remained just a dream. I’d also like to thank Christy Caughie for my wonderful cover.

Maggie awoke to the sound of her strangled scream, her heart pounding a furious rhythm in her chest. Her lungs strained with the effort to take in air as she wiped the sweat from her brow. Tiny pinpricks danced along her skin thanks to the adrenaline racing through her blood.
She cleared her throat, swallowing the cry that threatened to escape again.

She hated the nightmares that plagued her since her childhood. Doctors, and there had been many, called them night terrors, sleep terrors, incubus attacks, parasomnia, or pavor nocturnus. One specialist after another treated her, each calling the bad dreams by a different name, but as the saying went, ‘a rose by any other name’—was still a nightmare.

One doctor in particular taught her how to take control of her dreams, shape them, change them from negative to positive. He called it conscious dreaming and Maggie embraced the idea, practicing his techniques faithfully. But while she found the technique easy to apply during pleasant dreams, it was much more difficult to do with her nightmares.

The majority of the specialists assured her parents she would outgrow the nightmares. They couldn’t have been more wrong. Her dreams became worse as she aged and now that she was thirty-three they came almost nightly. Laying there in the darkness, memories of her nightmare pushed in on her.

Blood-red eyes emerged from the shadows. Maggie turned on her heels, willing her legs to carry her as fast as they could away from those terrifying eyes.
Her feet pounded on the squishy, moss-covered ground, sending wet slime between her toes as she pushed through the thick underbrush of the forest. A howl echoed in the night, making a shiver race down her spine, and Maggie turned to look over her shoulder.

Her balance thrown off by the turn of her head, Maggie went down. The soft moss provided little padding as she bounced on the hard ground. She rolled over and found herself surrounded by six sets of eyes. Those chilling, petrifying, red eyes. Six mouths all bared their large, pointed fangs at her and growled in unison. Saliva dripped from huge teeth. They closed in around her in one cohesive unit, slowly, as if they were of one mind, wanting to savor the kill.

The stinging bite of claws digging into her flesh raced up her leg to lodge deep in her brain. She attempted a scream, but no sound emerged from her open mouth. Pain wound around her ankle, taking her thoughts away from the peculiarity.

Maggie reached down and rubbed her ankle, still feeling the sharp sting of the claws that filleted her flesh in the dream. She rolled over and turned on the lamp beside her bed, then threw back the covers to stare at her leg. Nothing. Not a mark, nor a scratch. But it seemed so real, the scoring of her flesh, the pain still throbbing in the nonexistent furrows down her leg.

That was the way of her dreams. Her body seemed to have a memory of the physical sensations she experienced in her nightmares, causing her to continue to feel the agony after she woke.

Maggie reached back down, and rubbed her leg as the ache finally began to ebb. She let out a heavy sigh. This time the agony lasted longer than usual, as though something enjoyed her torture, made it last longer after each session.

God how she wished the nightmares would end, or at least that she had someone who would hold her afterward. She glanced down, noting how very empty the bed looked next to her. No use lamenting about what wasn’t.

Maggie threw herself back down onto her bed. Her hair cascaded over her pillow as she covered her face with the back of her hand. She focused on her breath. In slowly through her nose, out to a count of ten through her mouth—just like her therapist taught her.

Calm. Peace. Tranquility
. She repeated her silent mantra, trying to regain control of her body.

It had been a dream, she assured herself. Just a dream. As her heartbeat returned to normal, she pulled her hand from her eyes and turned to look at her alarm clock.

“3:12 a.m.—the demon hour,” she murmured. “Why am I not surprised?”

She rolled over, and turned out the light before snuggling under the covers. After pounding her pillow in frustration, Maggie laid her head down. Pulling the blanket and sheet up to her chin, she struggled to get comfortable. Her legs scissored back and forth under the sheets, searching for a cool spot, until she gave up.

The alarm would go off in less than two hours and she needed some rest. Stilling her limbs, she closed her eyes, hoping to sleep.

Six sets of crimson eyes floated before her lids. Images of long, sharp teeth in dripping mouths flooded her mind to send a fresh wave of terror through her.

Maggie’s eyes flew open, her heart once more racing in her chest. Like so many other nights, she knew sleep would not come. And considering the day that lay ahead, Maggie could use the mental boost that a good night’s sleep would have given her. She faced a meeting with the attorney litigating the lawsuit brought against the school and she needed to be coached, since as the school’s guidance counselor, she would be testifying on behalf of the school in court.

“So much for getting any sleep,” she complained, as she unfolded from the bed, and headed for the shower to wash the dried perspiration from her body.

Zane glided over the tall grass, letting the tips brush the bottom of his energy as he floated through the warm air with ease. A pleasant sensation, the grass felt like something between a tickle and a massage as he went. Like all Dream Weavers, in this dimension he was pure energy that took the shape of a ball of light.

His essence flowed over the land, and he could not help but admire the scenery as he passed through. He noted the way the purple and burgundy flowers mixed with the royal blue florae to form colorful waves in the tall emerald-colored grass. Appreciating their beauty as he passed, he flowed through a copse of harlequin-patterned trees with black and white diamond-shaped leaves. The splendor of the nature around him went undisturbed until the breeze blew to send the plants swaying in a gentle rhythm and make the shiny leaves of the trees sparkle as they shook.

A tingling sensation stopped him. He recognized the sensation, had been exposed to this before, a long time ago, during his training to become a Peacemaker. This was the steady pulsing sensation created by negative energy.

Dream Weavers fed from the emotions of humans and negative reactions such as fear and anger fed them in a way unequaled by positive emotions. However, they discovered that those negative emotions were addictive, causing those of their kind who fed on them to become unstable. After only a few feedings, the Weavers developed an insatiable appetite for the negative feelings, abusing the human hosts they fed from.

His essence bobbed with anticipation. It had been decades since any of their kind defied their laws, especially the First Law which prohibited negative feedings. Their society considered it their most valued law, one meant to be obeyed above all others. As a Peacemaker, he was tasked with policing his fellow Dream Weavers, making sure they followed the laws set forth by the Ruling Council.

He needed to inform the Council about what he sensed, so they would know that one of the Weavers had turned rogue.

Zane floated down the trail laid by a trickling stream, listening to the soft sound of the water as it rippled over the bedrock. His thoughts concentrated on the negative energy, trying to discern its origin. Focused on tracing the energy, only the sound of a familiar female voice pulled him from his thoughts in time to avoid running into the energy before him.

“Zane, how are you this day?”

How was he? Worried, excited, a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. “I must address the council,” he proclaimed moving forward, with Gracyn keeping pace beside him.

“Why? What troubles you?”

“I sensed a rogue. I felt the touch of dark energy.”

Their kind dubbed those addicted to negative emotions Dream Stalkers, so named because they would stalk humans in their dreams, giving them nightmares, producing such strong fear and dread that the humans would literally go insane—most choosing to commit suicide rather than live with the continual terror. The rogues haunted humans, visiting the same ones night after night to scavenge their emotions.

“That cannot be! I have sensed nothing.”

Zane had known Gracyn all his life. As his mentor, she personally trained him in the way to police their kind, teaching him the arts of strategy and battle. It surprised him she had not sensed the negativity herself. But then she no longer hunted, not since she’d joined the Ruling Council.

“The thread is very faint, Gracyn.”

“The Ruling Council must be told of this immediately.”

“I was on my way there.”

“They are not in session.”

Of course they weren’t. Zane should have realized that as soon as Gracyn appeared. If they were in session she would be in the meadow where they met instead of here with him. Zane paused and Gracyn’s energy settled in front of him. “I need to speak with them. They must be told.”

“Of course,” his mentor assured him. “I’ll summon them and inform them that you need to address the council. But it will take a little time for all of us to gather.”

“In the meantime, I will try again to follow the thread, see if I can find the rogue while he is feeding.”

After watching Gracyn float away, Zane concentrated once more on the slight thread, followed it until he’d located the source in the human domain. With a thought Zane opened a portal from his world. The air before him swirled in a colorful vortex pushing outward into the human dimension. He moved forward, peering through the opening.

Humans had no idea Dream Weavers used what they called mirrors as portals. The reflective glass was a perfect cover to hide what lay within. Looking from the human world, people only saw reflections of themselves and their surroundings. But from the other side the vortex was an entryway from the Dream Weaver world. A threshold he used to enter or see into the human dimension.

This night he opted to use it as a window, remaining in his dimension as his eyes scanned the room. He needed to be sure not to alert the Dream Stalker. The negative emotions from the human’s dream came through the portal, making him feel uncomfortable. They coated his energy, wrapped around him like tentacles.

He’d never experienced such strong emotions. They weighed heavily upon his energy, surrounding him. Enticing him. But he pulled back, grateful for once that the only way he could absorb the strong emotions would be to push through into the human dimension and take human form.

His gaze swept the modest bathroom. The walls were painted apartment white, blue towels hung from a bar across from the mirror. He looked down on a utilitarian sink and white counter top.

Zane was just about to push through the portal and take his corporeal form when movement from the corner of the room caught his eye. He froze, waiting.

Was this the source of the negative emotions? The Dream Stalker?

Before him appeared a human form wrapped in a white towel. The person stood facing away from the mirror, but Zane knew two things. One, there was no doubt this was a woman. The way the towel hugged her slight curves, conforming to her toned body told him that. And two, this was not one of his kind. He’d have sensed another Dream Weaver immediately, which meant she had to be human.

With her back to the mirror, she reached up to remove the turban-style towel from her head, and vigorously rubbed her hair. Reddish-blonde strands flowed down over her shoulders when she placed the towel on the rack next to the blue ones. Her layered locks swayed as she walked out the door.

Zane sent his senses out through the portal searching for any trace of the Weaver who had been there. The residual presence of a Dream Weaver left no doubt that one of his kind had been in the home. But the stalker was gone. He would not be catching him in the act tonight.

Discouraged, Zane was about to close the portal when the woman reappeared, dressed in a business suit that fit her perfectly. It was not too tight or revealing, but complemented her lithe figure, molding to her slight curves and breasts. Something he didn’t care to examine too closely made him keep the portal open when she stopped in front of the mirror.

She was beautiful. Her green eyes contained just a hint of yellow, making them different enough to be interesting, but not strange. Her heart-shaped face, dusted with a hint of freckles, had been blessed with smooth, pale skin. A tiny straight nose led to full pouty lips.

Mesmerized by the movement of her fingers through her hair, Zane watched her pull her hair into a French braid. She worked the strawberry-blonde tresses until just a few small wisps hung to frame her face, then twisted before the bathroom mirror, giving herself a long look. Apparently satisfied, she took her makeup case from the drawer.

She poured some flesh-colored liquid into the palm of her hand and began to slather it on until she’d covered all of her freckles. Zane found that a shame. He rather liked the tiny dots, thought them adorable really. Some eye shadow, a little mascara to make her long lashes even thicker, and her incredible eyes sparkled.

A man could get lost in those amazing eyes. For the first time, Zane felt desire while in his energy form. He’d felt lust before, knew the sensation from some of the shared dreams with the humans, but never had he experienced the sensation while in the Dream Weaver world. He found it a heady experience, and was nearly undone when the woman pursed her full lips into a delicate O shape to apply her red lipstick.

Only the fact that she chose that second to speak, kept Zane from coming through the portal. “You can do this.”

Her voice sounded like satin and slid over his energy in a gentle caress. She leaned forward, using her straight arms to brace her weight on the counter. Her eyes searched the mirror, landing on him, pinning him with her beautiful stare. No, he reminded himself. Not him. She couldn’t be looking at him. She must be scrutinizing her reflection, but it seemed like she spoke directly to him.

“Maybe I should call in sick.” A sardonic chuckle burst from her lips. “Yeah, right. He would know I lied. Probably fire me.”