Revived (The Lucidites Book 3) (23 page)

“I told you this was a waste of time. I can’t give you what you want.”

Silence. Hurried footsteps. I take three quick steps back and drop to the floor, pretending to tie my shoe. “Oh hey, Trent,” I say when he enters the hallway.

A fake smile layers over the anguish I saw initially. “Well, hey there, Roya. Tell me, when you and Joe were in the womb, did he hoard most of the space? That’s what I’d expect from a selfish jerk.”

“You know, he probably did, but my memories as a fetus are kind of fuzzy.”

He pats me on the shoulder as he passes. “Few have the wit to keep up with me. In another life, Roya, I’ll make you mine.”

“Well, then I’m going to start believing in reincarnation right now,” I sing, walking into the classroom and shutting the door behind me.

“How much you hear?” Joseph says, not looking up. Arms crossed, leaning against the far wall.

“Hear what?” I know it’s absurd to try and lie to Joseph, but what the hell.

“You’ve never been late a day in your life. It’s five after.”

“Well, I didn’t much think that barging in was a good idea—like you did to George and me the other day.”

“I wish you would have interrupted. That would have saved me.”

“Saved you from what? Yourself?”

“Oh, so you think I’m being heartless too?”

“I think you’re a chicken, and you’re going to only hurt yourself and the people you love if you keep down this path,” I say.

“You make it sound all tragic. That stuff you read makes you as brooding as a hen clucking after laying an egg.”

“And you’re so stubborn you can teach a pit bull a thing or two.” I close the distance between us, yanking one of Joseph’s arms down so they’re no longer tied across his chest. “You don’t stand in my shadow. It’s because of you that I can do anything of great significance. Actually, it’s because of you that I survived the Grotte and didn’t become Chase’s concubine.”

“Well, while all that’s true, it’s not the perception of the people around this place.”

“For the life me I can’t figure out why you give a damn what others think.”

“And sometimes I look at you with your ratty little ponytail and apathetic attitude and wonder how you don’t give
more
of a damn.”

“People either like you or they don’t. And honestly, what other people think about me really isn’t my concern.”

“You know, it’s probably your unlikability that makes everyone adore you so much. People love a challenge. Maybe I should try it and see if it works,” Joseph says.

“Just try being yourself. That would, no doubt, win over every person in a ten-mile radius.”

“Only ten?”

“And you’re not a disgrace to Trey.”

“Roya, how about you resurrect the man who’s gonna kill our father and get back to me on that opinion.”

I want to hug Joseph. Tell him that no matter what he does he can’t lose my love, but a dull pain in my chest waylays my attention. To feel someone else’s pain so acutely has a unique discomfort.

“Are we gonna train or would you like to spend the rest of the day berating me?” Joseph says.

“I’m not meaning to berate you.”

“Nah, you’re trying to help. I get it,” Joseph says, defeated. “Well, we’d better get started or we’ll be late for dinner with Trey.”

“What?!”

“Oh, yeah, I meant to tell you, he invited us to dinner tonight,” he says casually, like giving me the weather forecast.

“Where? The main hall? Chuck E. Cheese?”

“Nope.”

“Well, is he finally taking us to McDonald’s for an overdue Happy Meal?”

“Nope.” Joseph smiles for the first time since I entered the room.

“I give up.”

“He’s hosting us in his private quarters,” Joseph says proudly.

“Oh, gag.”

“Come on, Roya. That’s rude.”

“Do I have to be there? Can’t you make up some excuse for me like I’m hormonal and not fit for company?”

“That’s not a made-up excuse,” Joseph laughs and ducks from the hand targeted at his head. “It won’t be so bad, so just try and have a positive perspective.”

“Fine, however, if you’re too beat up from sparring to attend dinner then I don’t have to go either.”

“Don’t you worry ’bout that. I’ll go even with a broken limb.”

“Why?” I ask, befuddled.

“Because I like spendin’ time with him,” Joseph says in a rush.

“Oh God, you’ve been spending time together? What do you two do? Play catch? Collect stamps? Snipe hunt?”

“We talk,” he says. “He’s actually an easy person to talk to. He listens.”

“I listen,” I say, instantly offended.

“Yeah, but you’re different. You’re in my head. Sometimes it’s nice to have a more objective listener.”

“Well, now I really don’t understand how you’d think Trey sees you as a disgrace. If he did, he wouldn’t make the effort to spend time with you.”

“Yeah, I hope you’re right,” Joseph says with a sigh.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“M
aybe we should have brought something.” Joseph says, staring at Trey’s door like it’s made of crystal.

“What, like apple cider?” I ask.

“I dunno.” He raps at the door three times.

“I brought attitude. Will that do?”

Joseph narrows his eyes. “Try and behave yourself.”

“I’ll do no such thing. If you don’t like it then I’ll be leaving.” Seizing my golden opportunity I whip around and trot back down the Head Official’s rooming hallway, which was left open for us.

“Not so fast,” Joseph sings, jerking me by the wrist.

“Everything all right?” Trey asks from the open door.

Joseph’s face flushes red. “Yeah, Roya was just gonna run back and get the apple cider she forgot.”

“Although a thoughtful gesture, it’s not necessary,” Trey says to me, a cynical surprise on his face.

“Then I won’t worry about fetching the hash brownies Joseph made either,” I say, striding past my brother and into Trey’s quarters.

“What?!” Joseph startles behind me. “I made no such thing.”

“Well, he was going to, but he used up all the ingredients,” I say, swiveling my head over my shoulder in time to catch the look of humiliation on Joseph’s face.

Trey shakes his head, amusement hemming his turquoise eyes. “I know when she lies too, don’t worry,” he says, giving Joseph a consoling pat on the back.

What’s that supposed to mean? Have I lied to Trey? Probably.

I turn back around, busying myself, studying Trey’s living quarters, which are as expansive as a penthouse apartment. The hallway spills out into an oval-shaped living area complete with an oversized dark brown leather sofa, a six-candlestick chandelier wrapped in rope, curved bookshelves that line every single wall, and two doorways on either side of the room. Vintage books and colorful objects fill the shelves. My feet bring me to the nearest bookcase, my fingertips about to clutch an ancient copy of
The Merchant of Venice.

“How about you follow me in here?” Trey says behind me.

Sliding my finger down the spine of the book, I turn, disappointed. “Sure.”

He strolls through one of the doorways and into a dining area, dimly lit by a few wall sconces. A large glass tabletop sits on a stunted column. Draped across it is a chain like one that might be used on a Navy ship. Each link is as large as my head. The far wall is adorned with a single tapestry. Woven into the shell-colored linen is a neat symmetrical pattern in a rich shade of bark brown.

“It’s an endless knot,” Trey says, spying what drew in my attention. He appears to be interested in watching my reactions to the various accoutrements embellishing his living space. “In Tibetan Buddhism it symbolizes eternal love since it has no beginning and no end.”

“You said before you were raised by Tibetan monks,” I say, remembering the disclosure when he gave me the statue of Achi Chokyi Drolma. It was on the morning of the day he informed us he was our father. Our birthday. “Why was that?”

“My mother, your grandmother, died in childbirth. Flynn had help raising me for a few years but then he became busy trying to establish the Institute. I think for him it made sense for me to live away.”

“So there’s a pattern in the family of sending children to be raised by other people?” I say with a morbid laugh.

“Roya.” I hate when he says my name in that reprimanding tone. “Flynn’s priority was always the Institute. I didn’t resent him for that, it was just a fact. And my priority has always been you and Joseph.”

“You have a funny way of showing it,” I say, shaking one of those ship in a bottle things I found on a nearby shelf.

Trey plucks it from my hands with an irritated look. “What is it that you want from me?”

“I don’t know,” I say, slumping into a giant chair that’s so high-backed it looks fit for a giraffe to sit in. “I’m obviously not getting it.”

“Clearly you’re unhappy with me,” Trey says.

“Flynn must have cared and made you a priority if he was willing to terminate his partnership with Pierre in order to protect you and Eloise,” I say.

“I was always a priority, but Flynn was a born leader and knew the sacrifices it took to secure peace. He also knew the children Elle and I bore would go on to do great things because he was a clairvoyant, as has been everyone in our family.”

“Oh.”
Just another pawn in this great arms race among the Dream Travelers.
“You said before that you visited us every day…”

“Every day,” Trey confirms.

“Well, I’m curious about two things,” I say. “How did you choose our fake families and when they proved to be a poor match why did you leave us there?”

A long sigh falls from Trey’s mouth. “Right. In hindsight I made mistakes. At the time I thought that both homes were good choices, but with time the reasons I picked them disappeared. Joseph, the mother in your family died, changing the entire dynamic of the home. Roya, you were simply unaccepted because unlike Joseph you’re not as good at pretending you’re a Middling.” Trey’s forehead creases as he stares at nothing. “The problem was that by the time these problems inside the households surfaced, you’d already been there for too long. Removing you would have created all sorts of confusion. You were both seven at the time that your family life became neglectful. I don’t think it was coincidence either.”

Trey takes a seat in an identical chair beside mine. Joseph’s doing a ridiculous job of trying to act natural as he props his elbow on a high sideboard. He’s eyeing an antique globe and I sense he badly wants to rotate it on its axis, but is too nervous to touch it. Trey watches him for a few seconds before turning back to me. “Have you ever wondered about your name, Roya? It’s unique.”

“It means dream,” I say tediously. I looked up the significance years ago, since neither of my fake parents had any clue.

“Yes, I gave it to you. Elle named you, Joseph,” Trey says, indicating my brother. “She was raised Christian and loved the teachings from the Bible although later she abandoned her religion.”

“Why?” he asks, curiosity dripping in his tone.

“She believed, much the same way I do, that stories are for the inspiration, but true faith comes from within. The stories from the Bible or any other religion are meant to guide and teach. The Bible or Koran or Bhagavad Gita are not faith. They’re stories of faith. Elle didn’t need Christianity just the same way I didn’t need Buddhism anymore. They were foundations, but we had risen to new levels of awareness.” Trey focuses on me, his head inclined slightly. “I think I told you before, Roya, one religion isn’t enough for me. I need multiple philosophies to navigate.”

Strange doesn’t even begin to explain how peculiar it feels to be sitting in Trey’s dining room and discussing religion like it’s something we do every Sunday evening. It’s no doubt going to take years for my present reality to not feel surreal. This silver-haired man who has the demeanor of an army general and the attitude of a laissez-faire monk is supposed be our father. The idea continues to hit the wall of my brain like a ball of silly putty.

“Are you guys hungry?” Trey asked.

Joseph looks to me, like I’m supposed to answer.

“Sure,” I say with a shrug.

“All right, well, I’ll fetch dinner and be right back,” Trey says, exiting through another doorway on the far side of the room.

Now that I’m free to peruse, I allow my eyes to wander around the room, studying every detail. Burlap fabric ripples in sections across the walls, but it doesn’t entirely hide the stainless steel behind it, indicative to the Institute. It peeks out in places where the burlap must make room for a metal filament sconce or a piece of artwork.

On the main wall is a large iron wheel that looks like a gear that would drive a gigantic machine. I want to run my fingers across this piece, but I don’t really feel like leaving the comfort of the oversized chair. The whole room is rustic and masculine, but feels warm and sensitive with its multiple curves. It’s understated, yet complex and intellectually intriguing.

Carrying two large round platters, Trey walks into the room and sets them on the table.

“I hope you two like Indian food,” he says, encouraging us to take a seat at the table. “That’s what I’ve ordered. It’s my favorite.”

It’s my favorite too, but I’m not divulging that.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had it,” Joseph says frankly.

“Well, this will be fun,” Trey says, handing us both large plates.

The food is done thali style. Rice, chutney, dal vegetables, yogurt, and a few entrees are served in small metal bowls. Along with them are layers of naan smothered in oil and garlic.

My mouth salivates at once. Rich curry spices waft up from the bowls, enticing me with their distinct aromas. I wait until Trey hands me a bowl of vegetable korma before moving an inch.

“Go ahead,” he encourages. With that we begin the procession of passing around the various bowls and spooning the contents onto our plates.

“So tell me,” Trey says, feigning a casual tone, “how have things been going?”

I have absolutely no idea how to answer that question. I do what’s expected of me and defer to Joseph. Predictably, he grins and starts in on a long explanation about how at home he’s feeling at the Institute.