Jillian Spectre & the Dream Weaver Page 3

  The legend of the Dream Weaver originated in Roman times, when it was said that a general had the ability to make opposing troops march off cliffs while making his own troops lose their fear of death.

  There is no evidence to support the existence of a Dream Weaver.

  I slide the book back to my mother. "Well, she's a college professor, so that takes care of the high intelligence part."

  "A degree doesn't make someone smart, sweetie."

  "Good point. Look who's in Congress."

  "Tell me more about what you saw in the reading. Jake and this teacher, Miss Whatshername."

  "Cruise. Rebecca Cruise. Well, they were in her office at the college. She basically had him pinned against the wall and was kissing him and about to do God knows what else. And she was totally in charge of the situation."

  "Was he resisting at all?"

  I shake my head. "No, he looked like he was really enjoying it. She started to unbutton his shirt and that's when I ended the reading. I didn't want to see anything else."

  "And this teacher, Cruise, she's a supporter of your father?"

  "Yeah, big time. You shoulda heard her, building him up like he was some sort of messiah and everyone in the class just eating it up. So the fact that Jake likes her makes no sense."

  "Hmmm. If she is a dream weaver she could be manipulating Jake."

  "Is there any other paranormal power that would account for something like this?"

  She shakes her head. "Don't think so. I'll ask Sebastien but I've read this book cover to cover and there's nothing else that could explain it."

  "You think the legend is real, Mom?"

  "Hey, the legend about you turned out to be true." She looks at the page. "Too bad there's no illustration of the dream weaver in the book."

  "Mom, there's one other thing. I met another student who said this teacher is well known for having affairs with a different freshman every year. You think what I saw means that she's going after Jake?"

  "It would make sense. And if she has that kind of power, she could also be the one who made contact with your father."

  Roxanne slowly picks at her Monterrey Jack chicken, head down, not remotely herself as we have a casual dinner on this Friday night. No, I haven't told her what I saw in the reading or about the possibility of a dream weaver doing a Manchurian Candidate thing on Jake and turning him into her own personal boy-toy. It would push her over the edge. I'm hoping our double date of dinner, a movie and dancing will cheer her up. The restaurant is one of those casual fun chains, where all the waiters and waitresses bounce around like they've had a six pack of Red Bull and you can win a fried cheese appetizer if you answer the trivia question of the night.

  Ryan's been briefed and sworn to secrecy. His mission tonight: to take a quiet trip into Jake's mind during the movie and find out what the hell the Cruise Missile has done to him. Sebastien is coming by tomorrow to get a full report. Meanwhile, he has no information at all on Ms. Cruise. If she has powers, she's totally off the grid. And Mom was right, there's no other paranormal power that could account for what's happening.

  Jake is his usual talkative self, totally oblivious to the fact Roxanne looks very depressed. He hasn't said anything about the teacher in question, but something is different about him. Can't put my finger on it, but I'll figure it out.

  "Rox, your food okay?" I ask.

  She shrugs and gives me a sad look. "Yeah, it's fine."

  "Is it just me," I say, going on our pre-planned fishing expedition, "or are freshman college courses beyond boring?"

  "Tell me about it," says Ryan. "I've got a couple of professors who I think died in 2010 and no one's told them. But I guess we've gotta get the required courses out of the way. I sure hope it gets better, because four years of this would be torture."

  "I dunno, I've got a couple of good courses," says Jake. Roxanne glares at me, as if to say why the hell did you bring this up? "I like a couple of my classes."

  Ryan pops a French fry and talks through it. "You got that whack job radical political science professor, right?"

  "Who, Ms. Cruise? She seems pretty conservative to me."

  And now I know the woman has some power.

  Chapter 3

  I'm deep in thought as I wait for the crosswalk light to change to the little green man. And I have to admit I'm frustrated. My first weeks of college were supposed to be fun, meeting people who actually have ambition as opposed to the human doorstops who made up half of our student body. Of course, this being a very expensive school (thank goodness we all have full scholarships), there are a few girls working on a MRS degree with a trust fund brat, of which there are many. Overall, the whole college experience has been extremely disappointing, and when you throw in the fact I'm still doing my superheroine thing while dealing with a possible dream weaver who might be trying to access my father, I'm ready for spring break in September.

  And after another Saturday with Sebastien there are more questions than answers. The geek squad at The Summit has tried everything in the book but can't get a read on the Cruise Missile. However, they're convinced she does have some sort of mind control powers. She may not be the legendary dream weaver, but she's a snake oil salesgirl who is selling stuff that is hazardous to your health and could necessitate a penicillin shot for one lucky male freshman. Meanwhile, what she's done to Jake has me worried and Roxanne upset. He's noticeably changed. Nothing major, but he's not the same and it's playing havoc with their relationship. Sebastien has a theory that those under my father's domain know the four of us took him down and are working on some plan to split us apart. To me that makes perfect sense. After all, we were pretty unbeatable when we combined our powers. Divide and conquer is an old but effective strategy.

  The crosswalk light changes and I'm still trying to sort all this out, so I'm not paying attention as I step off the curb right into a hole and twist my ankle. Pain shoots up my leg as I crouch down—

  "Look out!"

  I look up and see a taxi barreling straight for me, obviously ignoring the red light. My heart rate skyrockets but an arm wraps around my waist and lifts me out of harm's way in the nick of time. The cab flies through the intersection, colliding with a city bus.

  "You okay?" asks the voice attached to the arm still holding me in midair.

  "Yeah. God, thank you." My heart is still pounding as I'm returned to the ground, which causes a shooting pain in my ankle. "Owww!" The arm steadies me and I lean on it, then turn around to find out the identity of my white knight.

  "Oh, it's you," says Trip. "Jillian, right?"

  "Yeah. Trip, I don't know what to say. You saved my life."

  "Eh, you probably would've rolled out of the way."

  "Doubtful."

  "You need to pay attention when you cross the street in New York, young lady. A red light doesn't necessarily mean traffic stops."

  "Yes, Sir, I'll be a good little girl and look both ways in the future."

  He looks down at my leg. "Did you twist your ankle?"

  "Yeah, I stepped in that pothole and must have sprained it. Hurts like hell." I try to put some weight on it again but the pain makes me wince.

  He wraps one arm around my back to steady me. "I think we need to get you to the school infirmary."

  "You're probably right. At least get some ice on it." I stick my hand straight out into the street.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Hailing a cab. I can't walk on this."

  "Don't be ridiculous." Trip reaches down, wraps his other arm under my legs and easily lifts me, cradling my body as he starts walking in the direction of the campus.

  "What are you doing?"

  "It's only two blocks, and I'm cheaper than a taxi."

  "You think you can carry me that far?"

  "I dunno, you weigh a ton."

  "Hey!" I playfully slap his arm.

  He shoots me a grin, one of those sly smiles that makes your heart (and other parts of your body) do somersaults. What
the hell, I guess I can be a damsel in distress and get rescued by a handsome block of granite. I relax and wrap my arms around his neck to hold on, feeling his rock-hard muscles under his shirt. He effortlessly carries me down the street. We get to the crosswalk and have to wait for the light. He looks at me and smiles again.

  And I'm the one breathing heavy.

  I hate to say this, being Ryan's girl and all, but I'm feeling some serious electricity.

  This "I'm not dead" thing has some dangerous aspects to it.

  My ankle is completely healed after two full days off my feet. Being able to send my alter ego to class was a real asset, so I didn't miss a thing while getting well. However, at one point my projection fell asleep in Economics class and for a moment I ended up back at home. Good thing I'm now a back row girl.

  So I'm enjoying the school's welcome-to-the-outside-world dance on this Friday night with Ryan, Roxanne and Jake. Most of the students are freshmen wanting to take advantage of this educationally approved meat market. But there are plenty of upperclassmen as well, ready to swoop in on what Roxanne refers to as "starry-eyed freshmen" girls. College is, as Mom said, a sexual candy store, and everyone has a pocketful of change.

  Apparently the school's idea of decorating for a dance is to dim the lights, as the large, rectangular meeting room looks like…wait for it…a large, rectangular meeting room with dim lights. The guys are currently being checked out by one of the school chaperones, the aforementioned Ms. Cruise, who has been licking her lips and giving seductive looks to anything in pants. She's in another cougar outfit, short skirt and tight top, and I note the other teachers are keeping their distance though the males of the species can't stop staring. I've seen Jake looking in her direction a few times, though he hasn't mentioned her and has been paying attention to Roxanne. (We still haven't told him we suspect someone's playing games with his mind, though that may change shortly.) Rox understands there's something going on in the thought control department and is being a real team player by not reading him the riot act.

  "Ladies room?" I ask her.

  She takes a quick look at Ms. Cruise, who is looking at our table like a cat eyes a canary. "Think I'd better keep an eye on things. Let's tag team. You go first."

  I nod. "Sure. Be right back."

  I get up and head toward the hall leading to the restroom, then notice there's a giant octopus playing keyboard for the band. I stop dead in my tracks and look around, then see George Washington on the dance floor, doing the jitterbug with Hillary Clinton.

  I'm dreaming.

  This one's incredibly lucid, so I wonder if Carrielle is hanging out here somewhere. Maybe he has some news about the dream weaver.

  "Jillian."

  I hear a voice coming from outside the hall. It's not Carrielle, and I don't recognize it, but I decide to follow it, passing a ten-foot blue lobster carrying a tray of champagne glasses who says hello. I move out of the room and into a dimly lit hallway.

  "Jillian."

  "Who's there?"

  No answer.

  I keep heading down the hallway. The music fades behind me, until I can't hear it any longer and my heel clicks on the linoleum provide the only sound. I see a silhouette of a man leaning against the wall. He stands up straight and suddenly a soft ethereal light emanates from his body, making him look like an angel.

  It's Trip Logan.

  "Hey, it's my lifesaver," I say, stopping in front of him. "What are you doing here?"

  "It's your dream. You tell me."

  "I'm not sure. I didn't even know I was dreaming until a minute ago."

  "Maybe you've been thinking about me since I saved your life."

  "That explains it."

  "Or maybe you've been thinking about me for other reasons."

  "Well, you did ask for my phone number. And I am unattached."

  Something seems odd as I say that, but I can't put my finger on it. What the hell, it's a dream and a serious hunk is glowing and obviously interested in me.

  He moves closer, near enough that I can smell his earthy cologne. Trip is about a foot taller, so his chest is at eye level. He reaches toward me and gently runs his fingers through my hair. He lifts my chin with one finger, locks eyes with me, and suddenly the world disappears. His look is almost hypnotic, and I'm powerless to turn away. Not that I want to. I feel myself being drawn in, like I'm going into a trance. "So, Jillian, you figured out why I'm here?"

  "I have been thinking about you. The way you saved me. I loved how it felt when you carried me." I slide my hands up along his arms, stopping on his biceps for a brief visit before ending up on his shoulders. "I felt so safe, so protected." I reach my arms up around his neck.

  He bends down and lifts me by my hips. I wrap my legs around his waist, grab his head with my hands and our lips meet with a hunger I've never experienced. The ethereal light grows stronger, emanating from me as well, seeming to gain strength from our passion.

  "Jillian!"

  Someone's calling me but I don't care. It's my dream and this is too damn good. I keep kissing Trip, running my hands along his massive shoulders, then inside his shirt onto his toned chest.

  "Jillian! What the hell?"

  Oh, for goodness sake, what? I break the liplock and look to the side.

  Ryan.

  The ride home is excruciating. Ryan's jaw and fists have been clenched the whole time. I've been looking at the floor of the subway car. Luckily we're the only people in it, so we can talk. Not that we've been doing much of that.

  Right now I'm dead sure I'm not dreaming.

  And never was.

  But it seemed so dreamlike. The famous people, the lobster and octopus. The glow from Trip's body. The fact that I didn't think twice about jumping into the arms of Trip Logan, something I would never do in real life. And that I told him I was unattached.

  Because I couldn't remember I have a boyfriend who I love very much.

  Then, it was like the alarm clock went off when I heard Ryan's voice. I was jolted back into reality and got walloped with a massive dose of guilt.

  Ryan was furious, ready to blow. If he were a cartoon character, steam would have come out of his ears. I dropped out of Trip's arms and put my body between them, hoping they wouldn't get into some sort of duel over me. I mean, my boyfriend is well-built but Trip probably has sixty or seventy pounds on him and looks as though he could easily break Ryan in half.

  Trip did the honorable thing and managed to diffuse the situation with some quick thinking, telling Ryan he didn't know I was taken and he'd had too much to drink. He apologized, beat a hasty retreat and left us alone.

  Still, what was my excuse? My words sounded incredibly lame. I mean, think about it, you tell the guy you love, "Sorry, I thought I was dreaming so I was giving a tonsillectomy to a guy who is off the charts gorgeous while it looked like he was going to carry me off to the bedroom."

  I even told him to read my mind, and he did, but for some reason it didn't back up my story. What I remembered was not what Ryan picked up, as he never saw the dream characters. All he saw was his girlfriend acting like a cheap slut about to hook up with another guy. Why I can remember it and he can't read it is something we need to figure out, and fast.

  I'm biting my lip, trying to hold back tears as he stares straight ahead at a Broadway show poster for Wicked that hangs on the opposite wall of the subway car. The only sound is the train rumbling over the tracks. I slide my hand over, putting it on top of his, and his face relaxes a bit. "I hope you know I love you, Ryan."

  He doesn't say anything, but slowly nods.

  Progress.

  "Something is happening to us. To me and Jake. Something we cannot control. I don't know what it is but I'm going to find out."

  "Yeah," he says, barely audible. He turns to me, eyes wet. "Jillian, if it was a dream, why would you have been thinking of him?"

  He doesn't trust me. He never calls me Jillian. I'm always Sparks.

  "Remember the guy who pull
ed me out of the street the other day? It was him. He's really a nice guy—"

  His eyes narrow into a glare.

  "Sorry."

  "Are you attracted to him?"

  "I'm in love with you."

  "You didn't answer the question."

  "I believe I just did, Ryan." I squeeze his hand.

  He goes back to staring at the poster, and I wonder if he now thinks of me as the Wicked Witch of the West. I know it's gonna be a while before he can get the image of me and Trip that's burned into his brain out of his head.

  Problem is, it’s burned into my brain too.

  Chapter 4

  Mom is already reading the New York tabloids with her morning coffee as I trudge down the stairs. She looks into my bloodshot, puffy eyes and her face tells me she instantly knows something is very wrong. "Jillian, what happened?"

  I move across the kitchen, pour a cup of coffee and sit down across from her. "I think the dream weaver got me last night, Mom."

  She sits up straight. "What?"

  "It's a long story, and it wasn't my fault…but I sorta cheated on Ryan."

  Her eyes widen as I tell her the story, from meeting Trip Logan to him saving my life to the dance. And the fact that Ms. Cruise was in the building and obviously got into my head.

  "So this Trip fellow…that was the guy who pulled you out of the traffic the other day?"

  I nod.

  "And you were absolutely sure you were dreaming?"

  "I was convinced, Mom. I saw things that couldn't possibly be real. I never would have cheated on Ryan. But when I ran into Trip, I couldn't even remember that I had a boyfriend. I told him I was unattached."

  "Hmmm. The dream weaver has obviously gotten into your subconscious. Are you attracted to this guy?"

  "He's beyond good looking, Mom, but I love Ryan."

  "Not what I asked, Missy. Do you find him attractive?"