Dreamland (Riley Bloom 3)

I whirled on Balthazar, furious with him for interfering, for butting in at the most crucial moment. I mean, seriously—if anyone should understand the concept of delicate timing it should be him. Hadn’t he just spent an entire afternoon lecturing me about the importance of timing, of getting the landing just right? And yet, when it came to the scene I was directing, he just stormed right in without a thought.

“This is your fault!” I yelled, my voice containing a fury that surprised even me. “He was this close to changing!” I thrust my hand toward him, pinching my forefinger and thumb closely together. “I’d almost convinced him—and I would have too—I definitely would have—if you hadn’t barreled right in and wrecked the whole thing!”

My cheeks grew hot and flushed, my throat grew all lumpy and hoarse, as my eyes stung from the threat of crystalline tears. Hardly able to believe just how close I’d come—only to lose it all in an instant.

But I didn’t cry. Instead I turned to the side and blinked and blinked until I was ready to face him again.

“Don’t you get it?” I said, my voice still shaky. “Satchel was my big chance! He was my big opportunity to advance myself straight into being thirteen! And I was so close—I was almost there—until you came along and wrecked everything.” I shook my head, swiped a hand across my eyes. “You just had to butt in, and now … and now I’m right back where I started. Stuck as a scrawny, little twelve-year-old kid!” I stared at my feet, waving my hand before me as though erasing the words. There was no point in continuing, no point in anything. And as far as Balthazar was concerned, well I was really and truly over him. Everything bad could be traced back to him. If he’d just let me have my dream jump like I’d asked from the start, then the whole mess with Satchel never would’ve occurred.

I’d be back home, safe in my bed, dreaming sweet dreams after having g

otten some good and solid advice from my sister.

But nooooo! Thanks to Mr. Skunk Hair, I was right back where I started, which was pretty much nowhere at all. Feeling so disgusted with myself and my stupid, level 1.5, barely there glow, I tugged hard on my sleeves, yanking them over my knuckles and down past my fingertips so I wouldn’t be reminded of just how far I had to go.

Then I unstuck my bolted-down feet and made for the doorway.

Stopping just shy of it when Balthazar said, “You think I ignore Satchel? You think I did not try to speak with him, to reason with him? You think that you are the only one who has failed with the boy?”

I stood very still, thinking: Um, yeah, that’s pretty much exactly what I thought. It never even occurred to me that there might be others who knew what Satchel was up to. But it’s not like it made a difference. It was what it was.

“Dreamland is my creation, and at one time Satchel was my number-one apprentice,” Balthazar said, an unmistakable hint of pride in his voice. “Nothing can happen here that I am not aware of.”

“Then why haven’t you stopped him?” I turned, but the second my eyes met his, I already knew. Free will, it ruled everything.

I shook my head and moved for the doorway. Removing the first slat and placing it on the floor when he said, “You know, Riley, you will never turn thirteen this way.” I glanced over my shoulder just in time to catch the concerned look that he shot me.

“Oh, yeah?” I grumbled, grabbing the next slat and hurling it toward the ground. “Well, that’s just great, Balthazar. Seriously. Thanks for sharing that. Thanks for the really useful, super-duper handy tip.”

I frowned, blew my limp blond bangs out of my face, and removed the last remaining slat, eager to put some serious distance between us.

“This is not how you grow older. Winning is not all that you think it to be.”

“Oh, yeah? So just exactly how is it done then?” I asked, my voice thick with sarcasm, while the rest of me secretly hoped he might tell me.

“The way you grow older is … well, by growing older.” He nodded as though he’d just made some huge revelation.

I groaned, rolled my eyes, thinking: More useless words of wisdom from the great director himself! Then I ducked down low and placed one foot solidly on the outside.

“You have so much potential, but no idea how to channel it,” Balthazar said.

The next step came slower, I’m embarrassed to admit, but I was curious to see where he was headed with that.

“If you were not already apprenticing as a Soul Catcher, I would ask to train you as an assistant director. You are full of heart and fire. Every time you speak, I expect to see hot flames shooting out of your mouth.”

Okay, I know I was supposed to be mad, but I couldn’t help but smile at that. It wasn’t entirely kind, but still, there was no denying it described me to a T.

“You also seem to have a fondness for ignoring the rules. Like the Dreamland closing time, for instance?”

My smile faded. And since I had no intention of sticking around for yet another lecture, I ducked and crouched ’til I was on the other side of the doorway. Already headed for the gate when Balthazar came after me, saying, “You have the soul of an artist. All great art is about bending rules—discovering a new way to blaze an old trail. You approach your afterlife with fierce determination and passion, and you love to win more than anything else. Qualities that must come in very handy in your job as a Soul Catcher, but, as you see, some souls will always choose to go their own way. It is just how it is. It bears no reflection on you.”

I gulped. I couldn’t help it. I guess I’d never thought of it that way. I figured the Council had made me a Soul Catcher because I could relate to the ghosts—because I knew firsthand what it’s like to cling to the earth plane, the old way of life, refusing to move on to where I truly belonged. But maybe they saw something more in me too. Maybe my fire and heart and determination and passion and desire to win above all … well, maybe that had also played a small part in why I was chosen to do what I do.

My thoughts were interrupted by Balthazar saying, “And while these are very good qualities to have, one must learn to direct and channel them in order to achieve greatness. Without focus, they are just a pile of emotions left to run amok. It is the ability to channel one’s emotions that is the mark of maturity, no?”

My jaw dropped, while the rest of me stood as frozen and solid as … well, as a snowman. Suddenly understanding it—or at least part of it—feeling as though I’d just been handed one more piece to the puzzle.

Balthazar tilted his head back, peering up at a sky that while still mostly dark, showed hints of silvery brightness beginning to creep in—the promise of daylight to come. Then he looked at me and said, “There’s still some time before Dreamland officially opens for the day.” His fingers worked the silk scarf at his neck. “What do you say we check in on that sister of yours?”