Page 20 of The Second Sight (Wanderlust Emporium Presents, Season One)

Chapter

Fifteen

KASI

Ifloated in darkness, my mind drifting through that strange realm between deep sleep and waking.

Seven’s sheets felt like warm water against my skin, but my thoughts couldn’t settle into stillness.

Images began to form behind my closed eyelids.

I saw Chicago at night, but not the Chicago I knew.

This version was emptier, darker, almost dystopian in appearance with neon signs blurring into streaks of color that bled like watercolors in rain.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. I wasn’t just dreaming.

I was seeing something real. Something coming in the future.

With my fae background I could now trust my thoughts and my visions.

The city streets stood before me, empty of people but somehow still alive with sound. Tall buildings loomed overhead. I moved without walking, floating down avenues, streets and boulevards I recognized but couldn’t name.

The air felt charged with electricity that raised the hair on my arms. This wasn’t a normal dream.

I’d had enough prophetic visions to recognize the difference.

There was the hyper-clarity of certain details while others blurred into nothing.

I had a sense of watching and participating simultaneously.

A shadow detached itself from the darkness of an alley.

A man stepped into the weak glow of a streetlight.

His light brown skin caught the artificial light.

He was Black like me but not quite like me.

The man was handsome in a way that wasn’t welcoming.

Something about him triggered an immediate sense of danger in my sleeping mind.

He moved with the careful precision of a predator.

Each of his steps were deliberate and silent.

His eyes scanned the empty street before he continued forward, heading toward a destination only he could see.

I followed without a choice in the matter.

I was being pulled along by the current of the dream.

We passed through parts of Chicago I’d never visited.

The bad neighborhoods with crumbling facades, abandoned lots strewn with debris, burned out buildings where the city had favored neglect over renovation.

Places that had not yet been taken over by gentrification.

The man moved faster now, more confident as he entered his territory. When he finally stopped moving, it was at the entrance to what looked like an old factory building. Its brick exterior was stained with decades of industrial grime.

He slipped inside through a door on rusted hinges, and I followed.

Inside, the space opened up into a room with high ceilings and exposed steel beams. Moonlight filtered through broken windows, casting eerie shadows across concrete floors.

The man, Gideon, my dreaming mind somehow knew his name.

He stood waiting, his stance alert with head cocked as if listening.

Heavy footsteps echoed from the darkness at the far end of the room.

A figure emerged, tall and imposing, draped in shadows that covered him from plain sight.

As he stepped into a sliver of moonlight, I saw his face clearly.

His dark skin appeared with features carved with the harshness of ancient stone.

But what held my attention, what sent a jolt of recognition through my sleeping body, was the scar.

The deep, jagged line that ran from just beneath his right eye and down across his cheek to the edge of his chin.

The same scar I’d glimpsed in fragments of dreams over the past six years.

The scar that was born from that golden blade wielded by my mama.

This was the man who had been hunting my mother in my visions. This was Desmond Moreau. The name I heard in my dreams the day my mother disappeared from my life. A name I vowed never to forget.

Gideon approached him with a careful deference, head slightly bowed but eyes never leaving Desmond’s face. When he reached the scarred man, he leaned in close, lips moving near Desmond’s ear. His voice was barely a whisper, but in the dream, it carried to me with perfect clarity.

“I found a Yumboe descendant living in Chicago.” Gideon growled as he presented Desmond with a thick piece of paper.

This girl? Did they mean me? Even in my dream I couldn’t see the photo Gideon held in his hands.

Desmond’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in his dead eyes. There was a hunger, a focus that hadn’t been there before.

“Are you sure?” Desmond spoke. his voice was cold like Chicago winters. “The last girl was just a regular human.”

“Yes, my King. I’m sure.”

“Just like you were so sure Theia was in Chicago six years ago.”

“King, I believe she’s Theia’s daughter.”

“A daughter? Go and confirm if Theia is her kin.”

Mama. They were talking about my mama. About me. My heart began to race. The physical sensation bled from my sleeping body and into the dream. Sweat broke out across my skin, dampening Seven’s sheets though I couldn’t feel them anymore. My breath came in shallow gasps as panic overtook me.

Desmond raised a hand, the movement drawing my attention. He wore a ring on his middle finger. The ring was a thick band of what looked like bone, carved with symbols I couldn’t read but somehow recognized as dangerous.

“Bring the girl to me.” His voice boomed. “If she carries Yumboe blood, she will serve our purpose. If not, she will die.”

The vivid images began to dissolve around me as my fear intensified.

Desmond’s scarred face remained clear while everything else blurred into the background.

Blood appeared, first as drops on the floor, then spreading into widening pools.

I saw my mother’s face, eyes wide with terror as she ran through darkness, looking back over her shoulder at something I couldn’t see.

“Kasinda,” she called. “Hide it. Hide what you are.”

The scar on Desmond’s face began to glow greenish in color.

An unnatural light seeped from the damaged tissue.

His eyes fixed directly on me as if he could suddenly see me watching through the veil of my dream.

His lips pulled back in a smile that revealed teeth too white, too perfect against his dark skin.

“Daughter of Theia,” he said, his voice surrounded me. “Your blood calls to me.”

Pure darkness closed in on me. Not the darkness of sleep but something evil and hungry.

I tried to run away but had no body to move.

I tried to scream but had no voice to use.

Images flashed faster, and more muddled.

There was the glint of a blade, the ring of bone, my mother’s hands weaving magical patterns of light in darkness.

I saw Seven’s face contorted in rage, fangs descended and blood around his mouth.

The last thing I saw before the dream shattered completely was Desmond holding something in his palm, a small vial filled with luminous green liquid that pulsed like a heart and glowed like the moon.

“The blood of the Yumboe.” he chanted. “The key to immortality.”

Then everything went black, and I felt myself rising toward consciousness, propelled by terror and the certainty that what I’d seen wasn’t just a dream. It was a warning. And Gideon was already hunting me.

I woke with a scream. My body launched upright in Seven’s bed. Terror gripped me. My chest was tight, and I couldn’t breathe. Sweat plastered my hair to my forehead and neck. The nightmare, the vision, still played behind my open eyes.

“Kasi.” Seven was beside me. One moment I was alone in my dream panicked and afraid. The next Steven hands were on my shoulders, steadying me as I gasped for air. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t form words through the terror. My body shook with aftershocks of fear. Seven gathered me against his chest, his strength enveloping me like a shield. His naked skin comforted me. He stroked my back in slow, soothing circles. His firm touch brought me back to the present.

“Breathe with me,” he murmured, his lips close to my ear. “Slow and deep. That’s it.”

I tried to match his breathing. The steady rise and fall of his chest, something I hadn’t taken into account until now. How was he breathing. He was a vampire, and I always believed they didn’t have a heartbeat.

“I saw him.” I finally managed to get the words out. “The man who was hunting my mother. The one with the scar.” I pressed my face against Seven’s shoulder, as if I could hide from the images still flashing through my mind. “He knows about me.”

Seven’s body tensed against mine. His hands continued their soothing motion along my spine, but there was a new alertness in his posture.

“Tell me what you saw,” he said, his voice gentle but insistent. “Everything you remember, even details that seem unimportant.”

I pulled back slightly, needing to see his face as I recounted the nightmare. His pale blue eyes were intense in the dim light and focused entirely on me. I described the empty Chicago streets, the light-brown skinned man moving through shadows, where he met the scarred man.

“Gideon,” I said, the name coming to me with certainty though I didn’t know how I knew it. “The first man’s name was Gideon. And the one with the scar was Desmond Moreau.”

Seven’s expression hardened at the name. There was fleeting glimpse of anger or maybe even disgust. I couldn’t quite make it out. His thumbs brushed against my cheekbones, wiping away tears I hadn’t realized I’d shed.

“In your dream, what did the men say?” He asked, his voice carefully neutral.

I closed my eyes, trying to recall the exact words through the haze of confusion and fear.

“Gideon told him I was a fae descendant of Theia’s.

He said I was living in Chicago. And Desmond said to bring her to me.

” My voice cracked on my mother’s name. “They’re looking for me and they have been looking for her, my mama.

Desmond said something about bringing me to him, and about Yumboe blood. ”

Seven’s hands moved to cup my face, tilting it up until I had no choice but to meet his gaze. “What else? Was there anything about why they want fae blood?”

The fragmented images of the dream’s end flooded back to me. “Yes, Desmond said the blood of the Yumboe is the key to immortality or something like that.”

Seven was completely still for a long moment, the kind of immobility only a vampire could achieve. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight with controlled emotion.

“This is why you need to practice controlling your fae abilities,” he said, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. “These visions aren’t just dreams. They’re warnings. And right now, they’re controlling you instead of the other way around.”

“What do you mean, controlling them?” I asked, the idea that I might have any power over these terrifying visions seemed impossible.

Seven shifted on the bed, moving to sit cross-legged facing me. He took my hands in his, his touch an anchor in the storm of my emotions. “Precognition is one of the strongest fae gifts,” he explained. “Your mother would have had full control of her visions. She is able to summon them at will.”

“I can’t do that,” I protested. “They just happen to me, usually when I’m asleep.”

“Because you haven’t been trained,” he said simply. “Your abilities are undeveloped. But with practice, you could learn to access your gift consciously rather than being ambushed by it during sleep.”

I stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. The idea that these frightening visions could be a gift, a power I might control rather than something that controlled me, was both terrifying and exhilarating.

“How?” I asked.

“We start with the basics,” Seven replied, straightening his posture. “Breath control and mental focusing techniques. The fae understand that breath is the bridge between conscious and unconscious thought.”

How did he know all these things? In this light, Seven’s face looked almost human.

He looked so intent on helping me. It was hard to reconcile this man with the blood-drinking predator I’d met in a club.

I had never believed in love at first sight, but I loved him without rhyme or reason.

I loved him despite all the warning signs that came with him.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, his voice taking on a hypnotic quality. “Breathe in through your nose for a count of four, hold for seven, exhale through your mouth for eight.”

I followed his directions, feeling slightly foolish but willing to try anything that might give me control over the frightening visions.

“Again,” he said after my first attempt. “But this time, as you exhale, imagine pushing your consciousness outward, beyond your physical body.”

I tried again, focusing on the sensation of my breath moving through my body. On the exhale, I attempted to visualize my awareness expanding outward. Nothing happened, but Seven seemed pleased.

“Good,” he murmured. “Your energy is strong. I can feel it responding already.”

“I don’t feel anything at all,” I admitted, opening my eyes.

“You won’t, not at first,” he said. “This is like learning any other skill. It takes practice, repetition, building pathways that didn’t exist.”

“But will it help me understand what I saw? About Desmond and my mother?”

Seven’s expression grew somber. “The vision you had was a warning, Kasi. Desmond Moreau is one of the most dangerous beings in the supernatural world. He’s a Bambara Hunter, their leader.

He has pursued the Fae and other supernatural creatures.

The Bambara use magic to capture and kill.

Desmond is what humans call a shaman or Warlock.

I’ve seen the Bambara kill. If he’s looking for you, we don’t have much time. ”

“For what?” I asked.

“To prepare you,” Seven replied. “To awaken your abilities fully. And to find your mother before Desmond does. Yumboe have more than visions. You have magic inside you that only your own people can unlock. You need Theia to help you so you can protect yourself. I will do everything in my power to protect you. I would lay down my life for you and I have an army of vampires, but fae magic is strong, and we need all of it to fight the Bambara.”

The vampire who had threatened me in an alley announced he would lay down his life for me. He was now my protector, my teacher, perhaps my only ally against whatever was coming for me.