Demon of Dreams (Vesperwood Academy: Incubus #1)

16. Cory

16

CORY

P rofessor Romero stood in the hall. I heaved a sigh of relief. Not Noah after all.

So why was a thread of disappointment winding through my chest as Romero stepped into the room?

“Cory,” he said. “Oh, and Ash and Felix. Nice to see you all this evening.”

“You too,” I said, confused. “Do you need something?” I heard my words and shook my head. “Sorry, that sounded rude. I didn’t mean—I just—did I forget something in class, or do something wrong when I—”

“Cory, Cory, it’s okay.” Romero’s voice was warm, but it couldn’t quite undo the knot of worry in my stomach. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m simply here because Dean Mansur has asked me to get you up to speed, since you missed your first semester.” He cocked his head to the side. “I sent a message. Perhaps it hasn’t—”

Before he could finish speaking, a soft whistling filled the room. I looked up, trying to determine the source, and saw a flash of white move across the ceiling through the glass tube that wound its way over to my door. That was another thing all the rooms at Vesperwood had, I’d learned.

A moment later, there was a soft thunk, and a small, white scroll appeared in the box on the shelf near the door.

“Ah, that will be it,” Romero said. “Must have gotten delayed. The ISS gets backed up sometimes.”

He reached over and picked up the scroll, unrolling it with deft fingers. He held it out to me calmly, like sending messages by magical tubes was an everyday occurrence. But around here, I supposed it was.

The paper was small and contained Professor Romero’s neat script.

Cory,

The dean has asked me to help you further your course of study here at Vesperwood. I’ll meet you at your door at the end of dinner tonight.

Sebastian Romero

“Okay?” I said, still lost. The dean hadn’t mentioned anything like this to me back in the infirmary, but I wasn’t going to tell Professor Romero he was wrong to his face.

“He asked me to help you with some extra lessons ,” Romero said, putting a slight emphasis on the final word. Suddenly, I understood.

“Oh. Right.” I felt startled and nervous and relieved all at once. In all my worry about Noah and Sean, I’d forgotten what the dean had said about my needing private lessons. Forgotten about what that would entail.

My stomach clenched. I really didn’t want to do this. But the dean said I needed to enter the dreamworld every forty-eight hours. And I hadn’t done anything special last night.

Ash and Felix didn’t seem to realize anything was amiss, at least. Thank God for small favors.

“We can go,” Felix said, standing up so quickly that the chair knocked back against my desk. “We’ll get out of your hair.”

Ash made no move to follow suit. He just looked at Romero and said, “What kind of extra lessons? Are they like, extra credit? Can we do them too?”

“Are you seriously suggesting that you are willing to do extra schoolwork?” Felix asked.

“Aren’t I allowed to care about my academic future?” Ash said. “Besides, what if they’re cool, and we miss out on something fun?”

Romero smiled. “I applaud your newfound enthusiasm, Ash, but in this case, these lessons are private. However, if you’re looking to expand your understanding of magic, I can certainly draw up some extra reading for you. Perhaps a few additional essays, or an investigation into the effects of—”

“On second thought, I think I’m good,” Ash said, popping up off the bed like something had bitten him. “We’ll leave you to it, Cory.”

“Actually,” Romero said, “Cory and I will be going to my study.”

“Oh,” I said again, the tightness in my stomach morphing into a roiling, unsettled feeling. My palms were newly sweaty. “Right. Yeah.” I slid off the window ledge, then looked at my friends. “You guys can stay if you want.”

“Don’t say that,” Felix said, “or Ash will take it as an excuse to go through all your things as soon as you’re out of the room.”

“I don’t really have things,” I said with a shrug. “Go for it.”

Despite my invitation, the two of them accompanied me out into the hall and said good night, heading in the opposite direction that Professor Romero and I walked in.

After making my way to all my classes, the refectory, and my room today, I’d thought I was finally learning my way around Vesperwood, but tonight, Romero took me up and down staircases and corridors I didn’t know existed. After our seventh turn, I began to feel like I was in an M.C. Escher painting.

At one point, we passed the arched entrance to a hallway where the wood was worked in intricately scrolling designs of cups and water, flowers and flowing streams. Shining stones of blue, green, and glorious summer sunrise yellow were inlaid on either side of the archway.

On the far side of the archway, potted topiaries and other herbs lined the hallway, which was filled with windows that must have brought in winter sun from both sides in the daylight. The floor on that side of the arch was worked in tile rather than wood, and over and over I saw the repeated motif of chalice and teardrop painted on the tiles. The tiles were bright, using all the colors of the rainbow, but a cheerful yellow predominated.

“What’s down there”? I asked Professor Romero.

“Where?” He glanced over his shoulder absentmindedly. “Oh—that’s Heal Haven. Their headquarters.”

I gaped. “Do all the havens have their headquarters in the manor?”

If they did, that meant the place was even vaster than I thought.

Romero shook his head. “No, only Hex, Hunt, and Heal. They claimed pride of place as the three oldest havens. The rest have their quarters elsewhere on campus.”

I was still staring back at the entrance to Heal Haven after we walked past it. After a moment, I saw a student exit the hallway and turn left. She was holding a small bowl with a sprig of herbs inside it.

“Do all students live in their haven’s quarters, after they apply?”

“They’re not large enough, unfortunately. Well, none except Horizon. Most havens only house about half their student body, as well as faculty, within their quarters.”

“Where does everyone else live?”

“Elsewhere in the manor, for the most part,” Romero said. “As students rise in seniority, they’re more likely to earn a room within their haven’s quarters.”

We walked on, and I tried my hardest not to trip over my feet while staring at everything. The only good thing about being so overwhelmed was that it helped take my mind off the pit of worry in my stomach. But that only lasted until we reached a heavy wooden door with the tree and moon of Vesperwood’s seal carved into it.

“This is us,” Romero said, putting his hand on the knob.

“What haven are you a part of?” I asked, looking around. I hadn’t noticed us passing through an entrance as grand as Heal Haven’s had been.

“History,” Romero said. “Our Haven is housed in another building on the grounds, but there are only three suites of rooms for faculty there. I drew the short straw, which is why I live here.”

He opened the door and ushered me through. My jaw dropped as I walked in. This was the consolation prize?

The first room we stepped into was all heavy wood, with dark green velvet curtains and an old-fashioned sofa with rolled arms, upholstered in a similar color. One entire wall was devoted to windows, the center of which was stained glass with another tree motif. It was probably stunning in sunlight, but even in the dark, I could tell it was beautiful.

Two wingback chairs covered in deep blue fabric faced the sofa across a coffee table stacked high with books, a cup of tea perched precariously on the edge. A massive desk sat behind the sofa, facing the window. It was covered in more books, and in the center sat a curious-looking wooden box, carved with sinuous lines. The room appeared to be Romero’s study-cum-living room.

There were towering built-in bookshelves on the right-hand wall, lined with cloth and leather-bound tomes, with flowing gold script that still managed to gleam in the dim light. Across from them, on the far wall, two doors led into other rooms. I caught the edge of a four-poster bed through one. The other room seemed like it might be a library, if the additional bookshelves I spied were any indication.

The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and cinnamon, and in total, Romero’s quarters had a deeply restful, soothing feel. A little formal for a man who seemed so easy-going, but suffused with his calm presence. I just wished it had some effect on my jangling nerves. The tug in my core was growing stronger, that pull towards a place I couldn’t see.

Down some far corridor, the bell that tolled Vesperwood’s schedule rang out the start of Fifth Hour. Despite the fact that it was 7:45, the bell pealed sixteen times. Vesperwood was its own little world, I was learning, and it didn’t exactly encourage much connection to the rest of the planet.

According to Felix, Fifth Hour was an empty class period for freshmen, who were expected to use it for homework or research. According to Ash, most freshmen actually used it for hanging out and trading gossip.

Romero gestured to his sofa. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

I did as I was told, sitting on the edge of the sofa next to an end table where a soft globe of light hovered, casting a pale yellow glow on the polished wood. Romero sat in one of the wingback chairs opposite me, laced his fingers together, and gave me a long look.

“I imagine you have some questions, but why don’t I get the obvious out of the way first?”

“Um. Okay.” I wasn’t sure what the obvious was, but I was more than willing to let him take the lead.

“For starters, yes, I know you’re an incubus. As far as I know, no one else does. Aside from Dean Mansur, of course. He thinks it advisable that we keep your true nature under wraps for now, and I tend to agree. With the reputation incubi have, it’s probably best for your safety.”

He paused for a moment. My stomach clenched even tighter—how lovely to have the worst of my suspicions confirmed—but when I didn’t say anything, he continued.

“The dean has asked that I teach you to control your powers. Not being an incubus, I’m not entirely sure that I can. But I will do my best.” He smiled. “There will be some awkward moments in these lessons, no doubt, but I won’t tell anyone about what happens in our lessons without your permission. Not even Dean Mansur.”

I wrapped my arms around my stomach and nodded. Lucky me.

“It can be uncomfortable talking about sex with people you know well, to say nothing of someone you met a day ago. So don’t feel bad about that, or feel that you need to apologize, or that you need to grit your teeth and get through this if it’s making you uncomfortable, okay? Just tell me, and we can take a break.”

I nodded again. Romero was clearly trying to set me at ease, and I appreciated it, but I was just getting wound up tighter and tighter.

“My point, I suppose,” he continued, “is that despite these lessons requiring a certain degree of intimacy, I will do my best to respect your privacy. There will be some things you’ll need to tell me in order for us to work together, but I’ll do my best not to ask you to disclose more than you’re comfortable with. My priority is your safety, not your deepest, darkest secrets. Understood?”

A third nod.

Romero leaned back in his chair. “So, with that said, why don’t I let you talk for a while? Is there anything you’d like to ask me?”

“Where do I even start?” A helpless laugh escaped me, tinged with audible panic. “I just learned about all of this magic stuff a few days ago. I’m still not sure I’m not hallucinating the whole thing. All I know is that the dean told me I was going to die if I didn’t learn to control my powers, but I don’t even understand what my powers are . What even is an incubus? Some kind of sex demon? Why do they exist? What if I don’t want to be one? What if—I just—I can’t—fuck. Why is this happening to me?”

I looked at Romero plaintively, knowing I sounded pathetic. But I’d had all these worries trapped in my head for the past two days, and I couldn’t keep them inside anymore. I couldn’t keep pretending I was okay.

“Sorry,” I said after a moment. “I know that sounds whiny. I just feel like I don’t understand anything.”

“Cory, it’s okay. I meant what I said about asking me anything you wanted. And I really meant what I said about not apologizing. Those are all good questions. I’ll do my best to answer them, though full answers for some would take longer than we have this evening. You need to be back in your room shortly after Fifth Hour ends.”

Romero smiled gently, ever the professor. “What is an incubus? I suppose ‘ some kind of sex demon ’ is as good a starting definition as any, although ‘ demon ’ is rather a loaded word, and it lumps together such a diversity of beings as to be a functionally useless category. Simply put, an incubus is a paranormal being whose home is the realm of dreams. Humans require food to live. Incubi require energy—an energy they can only get from engaging in sexual acts with human beings within that dreamworld.”

I sighed. That was more of less what the dean had told me. Some part of me had been holding out hope that he’d gotten it all wrong. Apparently not.

“As for why this is happening to you, and the fact that you don’t want to be one…for that, I’m afraid I can only offer you sympathy.” His eyes were warm, and I believed him, but I didn’t want sympathy. I wanted my old life back.

Your life, full of monsters chasing you? whispered that traitorous little voice. Your life, full of dreams that make you wake up screaming?

Your life in Churchill, where nothing ever happened, and nothing ever will?

Until a few days ago, I thought I’d never get out of my hometown. Never escape the memories that kept me chained there. Never break free of my past.

And then my whole world had turned upside-down. Was I really in a position to complain that this wasn’t the kind of rescue I’d wanted?? Sure, it would have been nice to discover I was a witch instead—that I could do the kind of magic I kept seeing in my classes. But did I really have the right to demand that the universe owed me a different, better escape than the one it had provided?

“I know what it’s like to find yourself questioning everything you thought you knew,” Romero said. “About the world. About yourself. The best advice I can give is that if you can find a reason not to give up, you might discover a new purpose that you’d never imagined. You might discover hope, beauty, and joy in your new life. But only you can make the decision to keep going.”

I pressed my lips together. I almost wished he’d told me I had to do this. Taken the decision away from me. Forced me to accept it, so that I didn’t have to be responsible for this part of my life. But in the end, everything the dean had said was true. And in the end, it was still my choice.

“How am I supposed to be a student here if I can’t even tell people what I am?” I grumbled. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m dying to announce to everyone that I can invade their dreams and make them have sex with me, but aren’t people going to wonder what my deal is? Ash and Felix keep insisting I’m a witch, but they’re gonna realize pretty soon that they’re wrong, when I don’t demonstrate any ability to do magic.”

“Ah, yes.” Romero nodded. “Dean Mansur thought of that. The plan is to have you apply to join Horizon at the end of the year. Hierophants are an enigmatic bunch, but some of them demonstrate no spellcasting abilities whatsoever. Your ability to see things in dreams, once you gain control of it, will be close enough to other prophetic skills that you’ll fit in just fine.”

“But how are we supposed to explain these lessons?” I asked, unwilling to be assuaged. “Why would a seer—a hierophant, or whatever you called them—need extra lessons if they can’t do magic anyway?”

“Because you missed your first semester, of course,” Romero said. “Even hierophants take the same distribution requirements as everyone else. Unfortunately, you didn’t turn eighteen until well after the first semester had started. Vesperwood cannot admit any students under that age. But by the time it was clear to Dean Mansur that you needed to be brought to Vesperwood now, instead of waiting until next fall, the second semester had begun as well. No one will think it odd that you’re taking additional lessons to catch up on what you missed.”

I sighed. He had an answer for everything. Of course he did. He was doing all of this at the dean’s behest, and the dean seemed like a man who controlled for every possible outcome, who considered every factor and made sure it slotted into place. I was just one little piece in his giant jigsaw puzzle.

I didn’t like it. But what was my alternative? Decide he was lying? Leave and go back to Churchill? Even if the dean were lying, was that really where I wanted to spend the rest of my life? In the same small town I’d been born in, never amounting to anything?

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do this. Do I just lie down on the couch?”

“In a moment,” Romero said. “First, we have to figure out whose dream you’ll be trying to penetrate.”

“Oh. Right. How do we do that? With an app? Felix said phones don’t work here.”

“They don’t. But you might say we’ll do a bit of scrolling.”

He picked up a literal scroll from the coffee table and handed it to me. He laughed self-deprecatingly at his pun, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. In truth, his joke did take some of the tension out of the air.

“Open it,” he said. “It’s enchanted.”

I did as instructed, and gasped when I saw picture after picture of men—some shirtless, some holding giant fish, all of them attractive, dammit—roll out on the parchment. Beneath each picture was a name and location. It was as if he’d downloaded the contents of a dating app onto the scroll. Each picture shimmered faintly, and I stopped halfway through unrolling the scroll, blushing.

Romero had been so nonchalant, handing it to me. It wasn’t just the magic that surprised me—it was his total lack of embarrassment at his attraction to men. Then again, maybe he didn’t even like guys. Presumably, Dean Mansur had told him about my preferences. Or maybe Romero could tell who I was attracted to, just by looking at me.

I flushed deeper. I hated that people knew this part of me. It made it worse, seeing them act like it was no big deal. It didn’t get rid of my shame—it just made me feel stupid for having it.

“See anyone you like?” Romero asked

I glanced down at the faces and torsos that filled the scroll.

“This feels wrong,” I whispered.

“Wrong how?”

“I don’t…know how…to pick.” My stomach roiled. Maybe I really was going to be sick. “I’m not—I don’t really—” I looked at Romero helplessly. “I don’t want to want them. I don’t want to be gay.”

He nodded like that was a reasonable and not completely pathetic thing to say.

“We can use a different scroll. Look at women,” he offered. He touched another scroll on the coffee table. “I made one just in case.”

“No.” I shook my head. “It won’t help. I’ve tried.”

God, I’d tried my whole life, I realized, to like girls. But I just never did. Not in that way.

“I was starting to think I was asexual,” I said. “I’d rather be. That would be better than—than this.”

“What is it that bothers you about your attraction?”

I had no idea how to answer that, and I didn’t want to try. Romero was nice, but I didn’t want to tell him about my dad and his cruelty, no matter how nice he was. That was mine to keep.

I shrugged.

“Would it help if I told you that men have had sex with men for centuries—millennia—without it meaning they were gay?” Romero asked. “Not even bisexual, necessarily. There are all sorts of reasons it can happen. Modern culture has put labels on things that have been normal human behavior since, well, probably since humans came into existence. It’s modern culture that puts judgements on those labels too.”

That was what the dean had said. It was supposed to help. Maybe it did, a little. But this still felt huge.

“It feels like I’m spying on these guys,” I said. “Even if they did put themselves on an app. They’re looking for people to date or hook up with. Not to have their dreams entered.”

“I know,” Romero said, so understanding that I wanted to throw something. “But you can’t make anyone do anything they don’t want to do. You simply won’t be able to force that. And they won’t know. It will just be a particularly vivid dream to them. One they very much enjoy.”

“Ugh.” I stared down at the scroll, hating everything about this. But no matter how much I complained, I was still backed into the same corner.

Maybe, once I gained control of my powers, I could find a way to not need to do this anymore. That was the only hope I could hold onto right now.

I held the scroll out to Romero. “Can’t you just pick someone?”

He took it and studied it for a moment. Then he tapped a picture. “How about him? He’s not too far away, geographically, which might make it easier for you to find his dreams.”

He rotated the scroll to show me the picture. Geoff . He was stocky, with warm brown skin and wavy hair. A gentle smile. He was wearing a sweater vest.

I wondered briefly if this was the type of guy Romero liked, or if he’d just picked the least threatening guy he could find. Geoff was all the way over in Duluth, but I supposed pickings were rather slim in Vesperwood’s immediate environs.

“He’s fine,” I said.

“Alright then. Why don’t you lie back?”

That antsy, jittery tug came back with full force, but I did as I was told.

“The dean put me into a trance,” I said as I settled my head on a blue pillow worked with gold embroidery. “Is that what you’re going to do?”

Romero shook his head. “I don’t have nearly the power Dean Mansur does.”

“Then how am I going to fall asleep? I’m not actually tired yet.”

Romero’s forehead furrowed. “I’ll be honest, Cory. I’m not sure how this will work. I’ll be attempting a mild form of hypnotism and lucid dreaming with you. It will differ from the dean’s trance, as entry will be entirely voluntary on your part. But the goal is to guide you into contact with your subconscious, which will in turn guide you into unconsciousness. Once unconscious, you will attempt to enter someone’s dream. At that point, I won’t be able to talk to you anymore, but I’ll be in the room, ready to wake you.”

“Okay,” I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I really was. My chest felt like it was full of mice, scrabbling and clawing, trying to get out. But if I waited until I felt ready—well, that might never happen.

Romero asked me to close my eyes. I did, and let my hands fall to my sides as he suggested. His voice was as soothing as ever, reminding me that I chose to be here, that I was doing this to gain control. It became a drone.

He walked me through nighttime imagery, feeling the cool air, the sound of wind in the trees, the light of stars overhead. At some point, he asked me to merge with the starlight, and I felt like I was floating above Vesperwood.

But somehow, I was also floating in a sea, deep and endless, with a black sky overhead, but stars shimmering under the surface of the water. They should have been in the sky, but instead they waved and undulated like forests of kelp, or vast coral reefs of thousands—no, millions—of points of light.

I could still feel that tug in my core. It was pulling me underwater. I was scared to go under, despite the beauty of the lights. But the tug wouldn’t stop, and between one breath and the next, it yanked me under.

I coughed and spluttered as it pulled me downwards. My lungs were tight, then tighter, as I ran out of air. The tugging dragged me past hundreds of stars, swirling spirals of light along the seabed, on rocky outcroppings, or floating in the water itself.

My vision began to go black, my lungs screaming, and my heart pounded. I never should have said yes to this. I was going to die, right here and now, without ever making anything of myself. I was going to die as the fucked-up degenerate my dad had always said I was. I sighed, the last pinpricks of light disappearing from my vision. My mouth fell open, water rushed in—

And suddenly, I could see in technicolor. My whole body was lit up. Every inch of my skin felt electrified. And I could breathe. Sweet God, I could breathe again.

I looked around. What was I so afraid of before? This ocean wasn’t dangerous. It was home. It was right. And it was beautiful.

Before, the sea had been dark and dim, the lights a uniform white sparkling in the darkness. Now, they were every color imaginable, and they lit up the water with their glimmer and shine.

And the tugging—that cursed tugging in my midsection—was gone. I’d surrendered, and now I felt a peace I’d never known.

I floated for a moment, just taking in the dazzling colors and drifting currents. Reveling in the warmth of the water, which was somehow both calming and giving me goosebumps. Could you get goosebumps in water? I looked down at my arm to check and did a double-take.

I didn’t have an arm.

I looked left and right, up and down, everywhere I felt my body to be—but it was nowhere. Was I invisible? It didn’t make any sense.

I frowned, looking at the pebbled, jewel-like seabed beneath me. There was a rocky ledge with a swirling gold and blue star on the very edge. I flipped over, diving deep, and stretched my invisible hand out to touch the rock.

I didn’t feel anything. I knew when my fingertips should have been touching the rock, but it was as if my hand went right through. So I wasn’t just invisible, I was incorporeal.

What the hell? Was I a ghost? Did I die when I sank under the water after all?

My invisible heart thumped in my non-existent chest. How would I know if I’d died? What if I were lying back there on Romero’s couch in the real world, cold and gray, and Romero was freaking out, trying to revive me?

A worse thought occurred to me. What if Romero hadn’t even realized I was dead? He’d said he’d never worked with an incubus before. What if he thought looking dead to the world was normal?

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I looked around in a panic. What could I do? I had to get out of here. Maybe if I swam up to the surface, I’d see some way back? I nodded—as much as it was possible to nod without a neck—and pushed off the rock ledge with my foot.

My toe swept through something weird. A patch of water that felt hot and tingly. I looked down at the place my foot should have been and saw that swirling blue and gold star spinning faster than before.

It was getting bigger. Or maybe it was getting closer. Or I was getting closer to it. It grew and grew, and I felt my essence flowing down into the vortex of the star. I kicked frantically, trying to pull free, but it was a maelstrom. The star grew larger still, and I fell deeper into it, submerged up to my knees, then waist, then chest.

I tilted my chin up when the star reached my neck. Was it possible to drown twice? It was my last thought as the rays of the star swirled around my face and closed over my head, encasing me in a tornado of blue and gold.