Page 48 of Realm of Dreams & Shadows

“Want to check out the band before we go all exclusive?” Tia asks. “We can use cocktail napkins for earplugs.”

I shake my head. “Let’s get this over with. If I chicken out now, I’ll never work up the courage again.”

We make our way farther into the Boring Side, and I immediately notice things I’d missed before, like the small silver pins shaped like a closed eye that at least half the people in the room are wearing. A membership pin, maybe? A fair guess, I think, since the pin people are moving through the crowd with purpose, engaging some guests in intense conversation while other guests stand awkwardly alone.

“They’re recruiting,” I whisper to Tia.

“You said Whitehall’s not a frat house.”

“Yeah, but it’s all about dreams. I told you who the Oneiroi are, right? In mythology, I mean. And even the pin is like someone asleep.”

Tia’s face lights up. “Girl, this could be amazing. What if they’re all about people like you? What if they know how to help you?”

It’s possible, and I feel a swell of hope in my chest. Time to ask where we can find Ms. Valdris.

I’m just about to interrupt a conversation about lucid dreams between a scarecrow-thin man and an extremely voluptuous woman when the girl from the door bounces up to my elbow. “Oh,” I say. “Hi. Um, can you tell me who Ms. Valdris is?”

She flashes a cover model smile, then giggles. “That would be me. Ready?”

The music from across the foyer pounds through the walls, a constant reminder of the normal college experience I’m about to leave behind. But I nod anyway, then take Tia’s hand. “She comes, too, or I go home,” I say, cutting off our escort before she can speak.

I stand tense, primed for an argument, but she just smiles sweetly.

“Sure thing,” she says. “This way.”

With our fingers twined, Tia and I follow her back into the grand foyer, then move through the crowd until we reach the base of a sweeping staircase that could have been transported from Gone with the Wind. As we climb to the third floor, the music fades to a distant throb and the crowd thins to nothing.

Valdris leads us down a hallway lined with oil paintings of stern-looking men and women in antiquated clothing. “Former Oneiroi,” she says, as if responding to a question.

“These guys were all Greek gods?”

She giggles again. “Don’t be silly. The society is focused on dreams and dreaming. We study dreams. Their meanings, their mechanisms, their possibilities. Most of all, we prepare for what’s coming.”

Before I can ask what she means by that, we stop at a set of double doors. She knocks once, then pushes them open to reveal a circular room that must be inside one of the turrets. Curved bookshelves line the walls, interrupted only by tall, narrow windows that offer glimpses of the moonlit campus below. Above the shelves, strange silver symbols decorate the walls, some faded and others seeming to pulse, as if this room has a heartbeat.

Nine people sit in leather chairs around a circular table, and all of them wear the closed-eye pin. They’d been talking, but the moment Valdris opens the door, their conversations die mid-sentence, and their attention turns to the man at the farthest arc of the circle. A man sitting essentially alone, unlike the others who are settled into groups of four, leaving a gap at the foot of the table where, I’m guessing, they expect me to sit.

“Ah, here she is.” The man stands up, his hands extended as if welcoming me to a holiday party. He looks to be in his mid-forties, handsome in a polished way, with chestnut hair dappled with a hint of copper and eyes so dark they look black in the dim lighting. Something about him tugs at my memory, like I should know him, but I can’t place where I might have seen him before.

“Cora Lyte,” he says, his voice warm and welcoming. “We’re so pleased you accepted our invitation.” His gaze shifts to Tia. “And you brought a friend. So glad you could join us, Ms. Mendez.”

Tia and I exchange a glance before she flashes a nervous smile and says, “Um, just call me Tia.”

“Of course,” he says, his attention lingering on me with disconcerting intensity. I cross my arms and try to look like this isn’t totally bizarre. “So?” I say. “You know us, but…”

“Of course, of course.” He gives a slight bow. “My manners seem to have disappeared in my delight at meeting you. I’m Sebastian Vance, current president of the Oneiroi Society. These are some of my colleagues.” He gestures to the others, who nod but don’t introduce themselves. The woman to his immediate right—silver-haired, maybe sixty—leans forward with obvious interest. A guy who looks barely old enough to be a freshman shifts in his chair, watching me like I’m some kind of specimen. The rest just steal glances at me but otherwise look at their hands.

Honestly, it’s pretty freaking disconcerting.

“Um, so…you lured me here with the promise of info about my dreams,” I say, rubbing the band of my mom’s ring with my thumb. “Now would be a good time.”

“Please, sit,” he says, gesturing to the single empty chair immediately across the table from him. I glance pointedly at Tia, then back at him. “We’ll stand.”

“As you wish.” Mr. Vance settles back into his chair.

Seriously? Like they can’t find another chair?

Tia and I exchange glances. The dream stuff is freaky for sure. But these folks? Definitely weird.