Happy Holidays

Neither Jo nor I had any useful combat skills.

Burrowing my hands in the depths of my unruly hair I let out a sigh.

We weren’t any less of a witch than the other students. But we couldn’t shot jets of fire from our hands like a human flamethrower or levitate a building. Our talents ran more toward espionage than any conflict situations. Jo, for example, was worth her weight in gold when it came to reconnaissance. She could observe any place she wanted to, without moving, or even casting a spell, as long as her endurance allowed. Not only that, she could project those observations on any reflective surface, a mirror, glass or even water. She only needed to have a rough idea of the location she was spying on.

It would be useful for finding the snow bees, whatever that was, but if they were dangerous or we ran into another threat, it wouldn’t be helpful at all.

My own talents weren’t any better suited. Of course, my magic wasn’t limited to consuming and replacing dreams, but I didn’t really like the other aspects. They were very intrusive - even more so than Jo’s, who could practically focus in a specific person, and follow their routine without lifting a finger, making her the unrivaled queen of stalkers.

I, on the other hand, was able to rifle through their deepest fears and desires, simply hitchhiking on their dreams. And once a person fell asleep in my presence I would be able to keep them that way, feeding them whatever dreams I desired - ones so beautiful they never wished to wake up, or ones so horrifying they would never recover from the psychological trauma. They would keep on sleeping under the influence of my magic, until their bodies collapsed from thirst or hunger. One top of that, if I’d chosen to train and hone that skill, I would also be able to convince the brain of the sleeping person that what they were currently dreaming about was actually real - going so far as to cause phantom pains as bad as an actual wound would feel.

As a child I liked my magic. After all, I could manipulate my own dreams as surely as anyone else’s. Depending on my mood, at night I could be a princess or a fierce warrior, fly or breathe underwater, star in any favorite movie or book, practically living in my own fantasy world.

But sooner or later I had to realized, that if other people had use for my magic, it would not be so they could experience what it was like to be the little mermaid. They would use me to spy or torture, or worse things I couldn’t even think off.

Aiden was the only person aside from myself and my family I’d ever used my magic on. And to this day, I was sometimes afraid that I would mess up and bring him in danger.

But in a real fight, my ability was even more useless than my cousin’s. If my opponents weren’t already sleeping there was nothing much I could do to harm or stop them.

I rubbed my tired eyes and forced myself to read through the journal in front of me again. The pocket dimension Ms. Jenkins wanted us to go into was used as a training ground for senior students, but only with strict supervision from the teachers. Afterwards, the students were supposed to record their sightings and experiences inside the logbooks.

I don’t know how, but Aiden had somehow gotten hold of one, and since then I was trying to find any useful information, or maybe even a description of the unknown snow bees. Jo was talking to some of the seniors, to get as good a layout of the pocket as possible. Otherwise she wouldn’t be able to catch a glimpse of it with her magic.

Lots of snow. Wear warm clothes, one student had written. The entry underneath it didn’t make me feel any better: There are no natural plants. Even the trees seem to be made from ice. The cold is fierce. We weren’t allowed to enter the forest or the cave systems. Summoning heat was almost impossible.

‘Summoning heat’ made me think of Colin. Of our little group he was the only one whose magic was suitable for conflicts. The destructive power of fire, especially magic fire, was almost unrivaled. But I wasn’t so sure that he would actually accompany us anymore. After Ms. Jenkins spooked him with her little name trick he was back on the ‘the culprit is responsible, and it has nothing to do with me’ track.

I flipped the page. Excursion only lasted ten minutes as Mr. Garcia detected malicious presence. The pocket will be accessed again next week.

‘Malicious presence’ sounded just perfect. Why could no one write about some strange little insects an occult store owner lady would like?

Robert Hannigan was so scared he squealed when I threw a snowball at his back, sadly Ms. Summer saw me and gave me detention. Throwing snowballs at fellow students is bad. Especially at losers like Hannigan.

Yawning I rested my head on the table. It was late afternoon, but I didn’t know how long I had been cooped up in my tower room already, reading that stupid logbook. It felt like my thoughts were slowly turning to mush.

A grunt and the waft of a nightmare woke me from my daze, making me look up. Aiden lay on his couch across from me. My candles had burnt down and darkness cloaked the room, meaning I could barely make out his silhouette. Even so I could tell his jaw was clenched so tightly the muscles were bulging in his neck. Struggling up from my slouch on the table I stumbled towards him, flopping down next to the head of the couch, only thinking about helping him out.

I should have known better than to try and consume a dream, while I myself was sleepy. I should have waited a few minutes, maybe splashed some water in my face, instead of simply reaching for the dream the minute I sat down, only because I couldn’t stand the tortured expression on his face.

But I didn’t take any precautions, so instead of me swallowing it, the dream consumed me. Just like being pulled under by a strong wave I had been calmly surfing a minute ago, it crashed over me, carrying me away. One little wobble in my balance had been enough.

Being drawn into a dream without control could be dangerous, but more than anything, it was wrong. It was worse than reading someone’s diary, or watching them through a window.

Even while it was rushing over me, I knew the dream was going to be bad. I had tasted them more than often enough to know that I could expect pain and bleakness.

When I opened my eyes I looked down on a square, windowless room, grey and sparsely decorated. On the single bed in the corner rested a small boy with unkempt hair, curled in on himself, like he was trying to preserve warmth.

Before I had time to take in the scene, the single door thundered open and a man-like creature entered the room. It looked like a giant with a gas mask for a face and black, reflective pools where the eyes were supposed to be. An oxygen tank was fastened to its back, providing air for the mask, and its whole body seemed to be made from darkness, sucking the light from the room.

The boy didn’t move, but suddenly I wanted to shiver. It was getting cold, an unnatural, bad cold. It wasn’t normal to feel temperature in a dream, which meant it was already making use of my magic, manifesting.

The oxygen-mask-creature reached for the boy and the dream started to whirl. In a blink, instead of the small, sterile room, we were standing on a grassy hill at night and this time I was next to the boy instead of hovering above him. The grass underneath us looked lifeless and washed out, as if the whole dreamscape was missing color. Even the moon was dull, the sky around it deep and all consuming black. Though I saw the grass moving in a breeze, I didn’t hear any rustle - the whole dream had turned mute, as if sound along with bright color was banned.

The cold was getting steadily worse. If I’d had a corporeal form, my teeth would be chattering.

I spotted glassy eyed puppets coming towards us up the sides of the hill, looking like humans … except somehow not. If they had rotting tissue and gaping wounds I would have called them zombies, but they were in good condition, clean and healthy. But something was off, in a way it often is in dreams.

The boy opened his eyes for the first time, and even though I expected it, I still startled when I saw the deep green color, the only fleck of color in this washed-out land. Aiden.

The figures, coming closer just a minute ago, dropped on the spot. They turned dark and melted into each other, and suddenly the gas-mask-creature was there again, looming over me and the boy. I wanted to intercept it, protect him, but I couldn’t move from my place as spectator.

It got colder still. It felt like slabs of my incorporeal flesh should be starting to freeze and die.

Gas-mask was smiling - even though it was impossible to see in its inhuman face, I just knew it. The boy stared at it, seemingly willing something to happen, but nothing did.

The next moment we were back in the cell. The boy was shuddering and sobbing soundlessly, but no tears rose to his eyes, even though he wanted them to.

Enough. It felt like my heart was being torn apart. I’m a witch who can control dreams. This nightmare is no match for me.

I concentrated on Aiden, my Aiden, the laid-back guy with a small smile on his face when I said something ridiculous. The Aiden that had burned his back just to draw me away from a miscalculated potion. The Aiden who had given me his jacket, when I was about to go home and it had started pouring. The Aiden that was always by my side, that made me feel needed and protected at the same time. The Aiden I could tell anything to - maybe except for the most important thing.

Warmth started to spread through me, battling the biting cold surrounding me. The hiccuping boy stopped sobbing, as the grey walls around him began to waver. Instead he slowly lifted his head, looking around.

I ignored the changing dreamscape, trying to keep my focus. I remembered the first glimmer of affection I had felt, when I spilled that disgusting potion all over myself, and instead of panicking or laughing, Aiden had calmly helped me wipe it off, asking if I was okay. The first spark of attraction, when he was stretching after his nap, and his shirt rode up, showing a glimpse of tanned skin.

Warmth was radiating from me in waves. When I opened my eyes, dream-Aiden, the child version of the boy I liked, was looking directly at me.

Busted. I’d promised Aiden I would never intrude on his dreams, and even though it had been unintentional, now I’d gone and done it anyway.

Before he could say anything, the dream dissolved around us. Instead of a new picture forming, the grip of the dream loosened its hold on me. Not waiting any longer, I struggled to the surface and broke through, into reality.

Soft, slightly dusty fabric tickled my cheek. Blinking my eyes open, for a second my whole view consisted of the mustard yellow couch upholstery in front of me. Apparently, while falling asleep I had toppled forward, which meant that most of my upper body was lying heavily on Aiden’s couch, while my legs rested on the floor. I slowly lifted my head and froze when my eyes met Aiden’s green ones, only a few inches from my face.

Something strange happened. It was like time itself stopped, as neither one of us spoke or even moved.

Finally, Aiden asked: “Mags? What happened?”

And just like that, the spell broke. My guilt came crashing back and distressed I bolted upright, my hands clutching the poor, innocent upholstery in a death grip. “Aiden, I’m so, so sorry. Please believe me, it wasn’t intentional. I was just groggy because I snoozed off, and then my magic backfired, dragging me into your dream, I …”

“It’s alright.” He rubbed a tattooed hand across his face and sat up as well, forcing me to look up at him.

“No, Aiden, really, I’m sorry. If you don’t want me to use my magic to help with your dreams any longer I can understand and …”

“No, Mags.” His hand covered mine, warm and heavy. “It’s really not such a big deal. What you saw is in the past.”

I tried not to let my shock show. In the past? So it had been memories of some kind? I had hoped they were just childhood fears, the same way some children fear the bogeyman under their bed or in their closets.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked carefully, for a second forgetting to apologize for my intrusion into his dream.

He smiled his Aiden-smile, but his eyes stayed bleak. “Nah. Like I said, it’s done.”

His hand closed around mine, and standing up he drew me to my feet as well. “Now, did those logbooks help in any way?”

I almost got whiplash from the swift change of topic.

“Uh, yeah … kinda, not really,” I stammered.

He chuckled, letting go of my hand. “Well, I didn’t expect much anyway. The teachers don’t really control those books, so …”

“Are you really okay, Aiden?”

“Don’t worry about me, Mags.” Giving me one last smile he turned towards the door, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair I’d been sitting on. “See you tomorrow.”

And with that, he closed the heavy wooden door behind him, hardly making a sound.

The following silence weighed heavily on me.