Jillian Spectre and the Dream Weaver

Chapter 2

I guess I should catch you up on how my powers work these days, since I spent most of the summer working on my newfound projection and healing abilities.

As far as my duties as a seer go, not much has changed. I can still only see five years into the future, still only read romance, still get occasional views of the afterlife. Luckily I'm still in contact with the angel Carrielle, though he hasn't needed me for any special projects since we put my father into a deep freeze. I simply meet him when I need inspiration or advice.

But when it comes to projecting myself to a different location (Ryan refers to my alter ego as Jillian 2.0) I've made significant progress with the help of Fuzzball. My alter ego trips fall into two categories. If I simply project and don't have to heal anyone, I return to my body and wake up immediately feeling perfectly normal. If I have to heal someone during an out of body experience, I need recovery time but I don't black out unless it's a life or death situation, which I have just learned. It's taken less time as I've gotten more experienced, but the rule of thumb is this: the more drastic the healing process, the longer the recovery time. However, I had never saved anyone as close to death as the detective's partner.

Sadly, for Ryan anyway, I cannot be awake in both my real body and the projection at the same time, denying him his fantasy of being with two Jillians at the same time. What is it about men and twins?

Now that school has started, my mystic seer duties are down to two nights a week. Fortunately Fuzzball has helped me replace that lost income by helping him on a few of his moonlighting jobs that all cops seem to have. We're quite the buddy cop duo, projecting ourselves to solve mysteries, which pays pretty well. I'm working for him Friday night, on an assignment that should be a hoot. Politician's wife thinks he's cheating (yeah, there's a real stretch) and she wants to find out if the guy's hot female "consultant" is taking care of more than focus groups.

But right now I've got a new client to take care of, and hopefully I'll be done quick since the Giants are on Monday Night Football and I never miss a game. He's a young guy, probably my age, which is surprising. As you can imagine, most of our clients are older, and most are women. Most college age men aren't exactly worried about romance as they are about sex. (There should be a freshman class to teach them the difference.)

Anyway, this guy has that lost puppy dog look which tells me he's got it bad for some girl. He tells me his name is Stan as he shakes my hand, then sits down opposite me. He's very average looking, five on a scale of one to ten, maybe five-foot-six with a scruffy blonde beard and curly hair to match. He might qualify as a six if he bought a razor.

"So, you have some concerns about romance," I say.

He nods. "There's someone I'm very interested in. And to be perfectly honest, I think she's probably way out of my league."

"Why do you say that?"

"She's really pretty, and I know a lot of guys are interested in her."

"Well, that's true of most attractive women. Doesn't mean you don't have a shot. You might be her type."

"I doubt it. But I'd like to save myself the pain of getting shot down if possible."

"I hear ya. Did you bring a photo?"

"Sorry, don't have one." He describes her, and I can tell he's right about the out-of-his-league thing since she sounds like a supermodel.

"Okay, Stan, here's how this works. I want you to ask a question about romance, and only about romance. Then focus on the question and nothing else. Got it?"

"Sounds simple enough."

"So what's your question?"

"Is it possible for me to have a relationship with her?"

"Now close your eyes and focus."

I do the same and try my best to create a mental picture from the description he's given me, adding his image in the process. I open my eyes and the crystal ball is already fogged up. "Okay, Stan, you can open your eyes."

He looks at the ball and sees the fog. "Wow, that was fast. You see anything?"

"Not yet, but the picture is clearing. It won't take long." The fog dissipates and I see Stan walking along a hallway with a lot of doors. It looks like a bunch of offices. He heads for the door at the end of the hallway and is about to reach for the doorknob when he appears to hear something. He leans his head against the door and listens. The image dissolves to the inside of the office. I can see shadows on the floor, two people kissing. And then I see the two people creating the shadows.

Ms. Cruise.

And Jake.

"She could be a dream weaver."

Mom's words make me furrow my brow. "A what?"

"Dream weaver. It's legend really, as there's no evidence on record that one has ever existed. But it's an old tale about a woman who can manipulate others into thinking they're dreaming when they're actually awake." Mom puts down her coffee, gets up from the kitchen table and heads upstairs. She quickly returns with a very old leather bound book and slides it onto the table. The cover is plain, with no title visible on it or the spine.

"What's this?" I ask.

"Call it the big book of paranormal legends." She flips it open. I see her name, Zelda Spectre, written on the inside cover.

"How old is this thing?"

"I think it was put together around 1900. You're in it, by the way."

My eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

"Remember you were told there was a legend of a seer who could see beyond the physical world?" She flips through the book, stops at a page, turns it around and shoves it in my direction. "There you are."

To say my jaw dropped would be putting it mildly. There I was, a crude pencil drawing like the kind you see in dictionaries. But it was definitely me, complete with freckles. I quickly scan the description of the legendary seer, which describes me perfectly. "When were you gonna show me this?"

She shrugs. "I actually forgot it was in there."

"Your daughter is in a hundred year old book about paranormal legends and you forgot?"

"Hey, I'm middle aged. I'm getting C-R-S."

"What's C-R-S?"

"Can't remember shit." She grabs the book and turns it around, then starts flipping through the pages. "Car keys, grocery lists, where my glasses are even though they're on top of my head, lately I can't remember a damn thing. Anyway, I remember reading about the dream weaver when I was a little girl." She stops and points to the middle of a page. "Here it is."

She starts to read aloud but I grab the book.

DREAM WEAVER

A person of high intelligence who is able to manipulate the reality of those around her. Subjects will assume they are having lucid dreams when in reality they are awake. The Dream Weaver is then able to manipulate them into doing anything since the subjects believe they are dreaming and there are no consequences. There is also a mind control factor, as the dream weaver is able to implant thoughts and ideas into the subject.

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.