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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I t had been more than a few decades, even before he was stuck in a coffin, where Lucius had to dream walk and either steal information or plant information for a client.

It was a unique art form to dream walk this way and one that took a very sharp and careful mind.

This was a more structured dream walk.

Only the most ancient fae understood the power of dream walking and its limitations, but Lucius’ teacher had been uniquely skilled. He had discovered a way to manipulate one’s mind without arousing suspicion—all based on the specific elixir both parties had to drink.

Lucius would enter this guard's mind, searching for memories and information. But the most crucial part of this heist was planting the idea.

As he entered the dream world, the dream muddied the scenery like a watercolor painting, one his father used to draw, and he waded through various memories.

It was the barracks of the Brotherhood.

The guard was younger. He was training with a sword and shield in his arms, fighting another guard.

The other guard quickly overpowered him and left.

A group of other young males, teenagers, the humans called them, laughed as Travis fell into the dirt and walked away.

Travis picked up his sword and shield and shuffled off. All he wanted was to be a guard one day, maybe even a knight. He wanted to protect and serve, but somehow he wasn’t strong enough.

The memory shifted.

He and the human were sitting at a table, eating dinner. There was a younger boy to his left, his mother to his right.

The father slammed his hand on the table, rattling the dishes, and screamed at Travis’s mother. Though the voices were muffled, the memory hazy, Lucius could discern what was taking place.

Suddenly, the father stood, knocking over his chair, and immediately turned to his mother. The mother cowered in her seat, and Travis stood, hands fisted.

Suddenly, Lucius understood Travis's need to protect.

His father's gaze looked over at him and he laughed before he grabbed his coat. He slammed the door before leaving, causing his mother to flinch and cry.

“We need to leave him,” Travis said as the memory sharpened. His younger brother began crying too.

“We can't,” his mother replied. “There's nowhere to go.”

Travis walked over. “I'll get us out of here. I promise.”

The memories shifted, and Lucius realized that this was going to be more difficult. He followed as a silent watcher, sifting through the memories, searching for the one he needed.

Years passed, and someone he wasn’t expecting appeared. Travis was talking to Hacinda, who was crying.

Lucius wanted more, but the memory dissipated, shifting again .

The visions were changing too quickly.

Lucius needed to focus. He needed to know where the vault was.

“The Brotherhood's vault,” he spoke aloud.

The images swirled around, blending from one to the next before coming back into focus. Travis was sitting at a desk, a gate next to it. He frowned, tapping his fingers along the desk.

“Everyone has to do vault duty,” another guard said to him.

“How does this help anyone?” Travis groaned. “I should be out there fighting, helping. This isn’t what I signed up for.”

The guard shrugged, lifting his feet onto another chair, biting into an apple.

“Gotta pay your dues,” he said.

Travis eyed the vault, and Lucius knew Travis wanted to prove his worth, move his station.

Since the memories had shifted, Lucius wondered if they all still lived with Travis’ father, or if he had eventually saved his mother.

But this was the moment that Lucius had to step in .

Visualizing the pocket watch in his hand, he stepped into the memory, forcing it to change.

“This item is corrupted with dark magic,” he said, holding the pocket watch. “Someone has put it in the vault for safekeeping, but it could be disastrous. The artifact could infect everything in there. But you, Travis, had a vision.”

While the memory didn’t change, Lucius could sense the idea taking root in Travis’ mind.

“You could protect the Brotherhood from an unknown threat by simply removing this pocket watch and throwing it into the river.”

Travis’s expression glazed over–a sign that the idea of removing the pocket watch from the vault would now be at the forefront of his mind.

When he was sure he had planted the idea, he dropped the visualized pocket watch and stepped into the shadows, trying to diminish his presence.

The guard reached down and grabbed the pocket watch, closing his fist over the golden object.

Now came the difficult part–leaving this dreamworld.

Getting in was always easy. Getting out proved more difficult. He needed to find a happy memory, one that he could whisk out of.

That familiar laughter turned his attention as he stepped into a recent memory.

Hacinda was wearing a red dress and walking with Travis down a hallway.

“One day, you’re going to make someone very happy,” she said.

“If only you were in love with someone else,” he chimed back.

Hacinda stopped.

“You need to get out of here,” Travis whispered.

“Don't say that,” she whispered back. “There’s no way out. You know that once you're in, you're always in.”

Voices trailed down the hallway, and Travis pulled her into a room and closed the door. “What if I can get you out?”

“How? What about the medicine? He’ll die if he doesn’t get anymore.”

Travis shook his head. “What you’ve been doing, keeping him alive, it’s not natural.”

“I thought if I turned him, he would be okay. But it didn’t work. How did I think I—”

Travis sighed and hugged her.

“You did what you thought was best,” he said. “You did not know turning someone when they were infected by a darkthing’s bite could change them into something else. How long has it been since you've been trying to save him with this medicine? It's only prolonging what needs to happen.”

“I can’t. I can’t do it. I’ve already risked and hurt so many people to keep him alive.”

“Let me help you,” Travis said.

The walls around the memory were solidifying.

The images were becoming clearer, a sign that Lucius had stayed too long, but he wanted to know how Hacinda and Travis knew each other and who she had been protecting.

Was this the reason she had betrayed him?

He needed to stay to hear the rest of it, to finally have the answers he sought.

Hacinda gazed past Travis, almost as if she was looking right at Lucius, which was impossible, because this was a memory—one where Lucius didn’t exist—but yet she looked right at him .

“I had a friend once,” she said. “That I betrayed. I was more than a friend to him; but he was a dear friend, and I ruined him. I did it to save Mario. It feels cruel and wrong, and I regret it. But that betrayal, it—”

“Lucius!” a voice called to him, but he was finally hearing what he needed to hear.

“Lucius!” The voice was louder, and suddenly, everything was shaking and moving.

“No!” he yelled. “Tell me!”

Hacinda continued to stare at him as if he was there. She opened her mouth, and the dream shattered.

Tavia stood over him, smacking his face.

He blinked his eyes. “What? Why did you wake me?”

“I think he’s waking up,” Tavia said.

Lucius looked over as the guard moved, a sign the tonic was wearing off. Dazed, Lucius tried to stand and wobbled a bit, but Tavia pulled him to his feet and looped her arm around his waist.

“What do we do now?”

“Leave. He’ll be waking up soon. Come on, hurry.”

“There’s someone here looking for you. ”

Lucius already knew who it was, but they had no time for that. “Come on, let’s go.”

Tavia pulled him to his feet, and Lucius tried to gather his bearings, but it was difficult because the answers he saw were in that guard's mind.

But if they were caught, he’d be right back in that coffin, and Tavia arrested or worse—taken by the same organization that kidnapped him.

And he couldn’t let that happen.

He had to keep going.

He just didn’t seem to have the strength to do it.