Emerald Dreams (The Dream Traveler Series) Read online

  Emerald Dreams

  The Dream Traveler Series

  Book One

  Nicole Knight

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any ocurances, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by author.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.

  [email protected]

  To my family and friends, especially my husband, who put up with my large time investment to create a different type of magic.

  ◆◆◆

  To all the female heroines in my life, keep going.

  ◆◆◆

  I can't forget to say thank you to those who take the time to read this book. You are the real MVP's!

  ◆◆◆

  Introduction

  Have you ever wanted to feel special? So much so, that you are willing to believe in something you had once thought not possible? Have you desperately felt the urge to be wanted and needed, even desired? That was me once, I was a high school senior that didn’t know where she fit in. Then something crazy happened that changed my life forever. It gave me a place and a purpose. I learned of the Prophecy, and it changed my life forever. The Jury is still deliberating the verdict, for better or worse?

  Chapter One

  I was in my own head again when I felt something bounce off my shoulder.

  I am always in my own head.

  “Hey loser! Watch where you’re walking,” a girl just called out to me. I cringed; I knew her voice all too well.

  I had just collided with the biggest bitch in school.

  If I was a gambler, I’d bet that she leaned into me. She goes out of her way to make me miserable.

  Her name is Lacey Peterson, and she has long blonde, pin straight hair. It is the hair of models.

  I would do just about anything to have her hair. Maybe I could shave it and make it into a wig?

  Mr. Peterson’s money had bought her the biggest boobs at school.

  One week she looked like an average teenager, nothing to be overly jealous about; the next week, she looked like a porn-star. It was hard to ignore the way some of the teachers and other students looked at her. They were so blatant about it too. Everyone flocks to her like a moth to a flame.

  Lacey knocked my books onto the floor. She and her two minions Stacey and Macy, laughed.

  I know, right? Their names all rhyme, it’s stupid.

  I don’t think that’s their actual names, though. I heard she made the girls change their names to sound like hers.

  Where Lacey is pretty, confident, rich, fake, and popular, I am the opposite.

  I, Violet Brown, have wavy long reddish-brown hair and green eyes. I am short and have freckles all over my face. My family is very far from wealthy. The reason I attend Arlington Prep, which I refer to as hell, is because I studied hard and received a scholarship.

  My Grandmother went to this school when she was my age.

  I think they only let me in to please her.

  She may not be wealthy, but she has connections around here. This school has been around since forever, just like this town.

  Everyone knows everyone and their dirty laundry. I have little laundry to air, but it doesn’t stop others from looking down on me…

  Anyone who has lived here long enough knows that my Grandma was forced into an arranged marriage when she was around my age. Her husband’s family had money, and they paid for her to attend classes here; back then, it was more of a finishing school. To them, anyone joining the family needed to have an education as well as high standing in society.

  For some ungodly reason, it is important to my Mom that I follow in my Grandmother’s footsteps and get my education here. I could be smart anywhere, but this is where Mom planted the metaphorical flag.

  Things have changed since Grandmother took her classes here. Our family lost our place in the societal hierarchy, and our money when my good for nothing grandfather took everything in the middle of the night and left my Grandmother alone with three kids.

  What a little shit head. If I find out he’s not already in a grave… never mind, I won’t finish that thought...

  I picked up my books off the floor, took a deep breath to steady myself, and stood up.

  It felt like I just stood up in front of a firing squad, and I was waiting for the trigger to be pulled.

  I refused to make eye contact with Lacey.

  I won’t give her the satisfaction.

  Fourth period had just ended, and I was about to put my books in my locker when Lacey did her usual harassment routine.

  I put my books in my locker and pulled my paper bag lunch out. I walked towards the courtyard. I heard Lacey make a snobby comment, but I wasn’t really listening. My mind was focused on the sunlight shining through the windows.

  The sunlight that filters through the windows is the only proof I have that this place isn’t a dungeon or a prison. On nice days, the Dean lets us eat out there.

  I knew my best friend Madison Parker, would be out there in our favorite spot waiting for me.

  I walked into the courtyard and sat down at our spot. Madison has blonde curly hair. It fell in perfect ringlets.

  Even my curling iron couldn’t make them that perfect.

  Freckles dotted her cheeks, and she had what I thought was a button nose.

  Madison also has the largest brown eyes I have ever seen.

  She has the best puppy dog expression, I’d kill to be able to pull that off.

  She is the very definition of pushy. A lot of times, it gets under my skin; but she was also a scholarship kid. One thing I had learned at this school is that you stick with your kind.

  I set my lunch on the table and started pulling it out of the bag.

  “What’s up Buttercup?”

  Madison seemed to be in a cheery mood, at least it beats listening to her in a bad mood. When she is in a bad mood, she is an even bigger pain to deal with.

  “Nothing much,” I replied quietly.

  I know she can read me like a book.

  “Let me guess, Lacey showed her ruler of the school attitude again? You need to do something, Violet. You can’t just let her keep picking on you. Show her you aren’t rich, but you have guts. Guts and spunk can always beat money given a chance. You know something cheesy, like a Lifetime movie.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Sorry Mads, but that’s unrealistic. She’d squash me like a bug before I could even say two words. In fact, she would probably smack me down before I could even make eye contact. I can’t subject myself to that. No way,” I told her.

  I am not glutton for self-inflicted punishment.

  I took a bite of my sandwich and chewed longer than necessary. I knew Madison was going to speak her mind one way or another; it would be easier if I just didn’t put up a fight.

  “Violet, I don’t understand, you’re the smartest person in the whole school. One day you’ll discover a cure to cancer or something, and Lacey is going to be paying you the big bucks to scrape off the cancer growing on her face. I think you should tell her what you think of her. If she were bullying me, I would,” she said.

  That earned another eye roll from me.

  It’s easy enough for M
ad’s to say. Lacey avoids her like the plague. Lucky bitch.

  Madison’s Mom works as a housekeeper for the Peterson’s. Madison would hang around the house before Lacey and Mads were even old enough for school. One time Lacey tried to pinch Madison and make her cry.

  Yes, she was evil, even at the prime age of four.

  Madison slapped her as hard as she could across the face. Lacey left Madison alone after that, I’m guessing she is afraid to see what Madison could do now.

  I would be too; Madison has some mean leg muscles now.

  We finished our lunches and continued waiting for the end of lunch. The leaves from the few trees scattered through the courtyard were starting to blow around. It was late fall, so most of the leaves were already gone. A few stubborn ones held on to their branches.

  When the bell rang, Madison and I walked our separate ways. I stopped at my locker to grab my books. I barely made it to the classroom moments before the bell rang, signaling the start of class. I was the last one to walk into the classroom.

  This was my least favorite class of the day. I shared it with Lacey, Stacey, Macy, and Kennan Smart. Kennan is Lacey’s boyfriend, even though I wish he were mine.

  He is a star football player for the Arlington Lancers, and his Dad bought him the shiny yellow Camaro sitting out in the parking lot. His Dad also purchased the Country Club across the street from our school.

  His family literally has more money than they know what to do with.

  I swear they wipe their butts with hundred dollar bills.

  Kennan isn’t intelligent, as his last name may imply, but he is easy on my eyes.

  As I made my way toward my chair, I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. I heard the giggles that were no doubt the result of mean jabs whispered about me. This is an everyday occurrence.

  I am so sick and tired of it. However, it is all out of my control.

  I can’t get up and punch everyone in the face, as much as I wish I could.

  I took my seat and waited for the teacher to start talking. Our lecture was on the history of the Aztecs. They were a savage group of fierce warriors. They probably would have beaten the Spaniards if they hadn’t been wiped out by disease. It’s like me in the social hierarchy in the school.

  I had the potential to be great; I was smart and resourceful, just like the Aztec. I wasn’t gross, though. However, my bullies in this metaphor are the Spaniards. They had money and power, which is something I didn’t have. It pushed me down and eradicated any chance at popularity.

  I sat through class, trying not to beat myself up too much. I always find this difficult; I have the self-esteem of a gnat.

  When classes ended for the day, I walked outside and sat down on a bench near the shade of a tree. I pulled out my sketch pad and finished my sketch of the outside of the school.

  It didn’t look very inviting. It was made out of stone and stood three stories high. It had three high towers peeking out from the roof.

  It looked more like a castle from the middle ages than a school.

  I previously drew the building with sharp lines and angles to add to the tone I was trying to give it. I just had to finish my shading. When I was done, the sketch looked accurate but made the school seem as harsh and cruel as I felt it was. When you looked at the sketch, you could believe there was a dungeon in the basement.

  Sitting in a classroom with people who couldn’t appreciate what was given to them was my own form of torture, my own personal hell.

  Put some bars around my desk, and I am sitting in a dungeon.

  I heard a horn honk at the same time I felt my phone buzz. That’s my Mom all right. She sent me a text but was too impatient to wait for me to see it and reply. I stood up and walked to my Mom’s rusty van.

  It’s older than I am.

  I threw my bag in the back and then jumped in the front seat next to my Mom.

  “How was your day?” she asked me.

  She is just as cheery as Madison was earlier. What is this crap?

  “It was okay, I guess. I didn’t get beat up, so I’d call it a good day,” I teased.

  I had to keep a smirk off my face at my own response.

  “I hate it when you joke around like that. The thought of you getting beat up is not a laughing matter. Why would anyone beat you up anyway? You are one of the smartest kids in school. Shouldn’t they throw themselves at your feet to try to copy your homework or something?” she asked.

  I must be the queen of eye rolls today because I couldn’t stop the one I just gave her.

  “Sorry Mom, it doesn’t work that way anymore. I don’t think it ever worked that way, to be honest.”

  “It’s a shame. People aren’t as resourceful as they used to be. On the bright side, guess what you get to help me do this evening?”

  I grunted at the irony; the resource is money, not intelligence.

  “You don’t need to be resourceful when you have so much money you don’t know what to do with it all,” I replied.

  “What do I get the joy of being suckered into?” I asked.

  “You get to help me sort through the stuff in the attic. I want to get rid of some of it and have a yard sale. But I can’t do it on my own.”

  She too, had mastered her puppy dog face. She turned the dial up on the dramatics so high that there was no way I could refuse, and she knew it. Brat.

  “All right, all right. I’ll help, but I won’t like it,” I told her.

  “All I’m asking is to borrow your muscles, not your enthusiasm,” she replied with a smile.

  She thought she was clever.

  That got a little chuckle out of me.

  Good, after the day I’ve had, I don’t have any enthusiasm to give her.

  A few minutes later, we made it home.

  My house was an old beat up Victorian. It used to be painted white, but the paint has chipped off thanks to some hard storms over the years. It is now the ugly brown of old weathered wood.

  The house had a wraparound porch, and an old tire swing hung off the big maple tree that grew next to the deep creek that cut through our property.

  The house now only sat on five acres of land. This house has been here for one hundred and seventy-five years. It was kept in great shape except for the last two decades or so. The house has been in my family since it was built by a distant great grandfather.

  My family used to own the 100 acres surrounding our house. It was used as farmland and put food on the table for the family. The rest of the food was sold and used to take care of the family.

  My Grandmother had to sell most of the land thirty years ago to help pay the bills and some of the repairs the house desperately needed.

  The barn that sat on the back of our property sat empty. The only indication that it was used for animals was the pile of rotting hay lying in the middle of it.

  The land was sold to the wealthy, and big houses were built on it. I could see at least five mansions from my bedroom window. One of those homes belongs to Lacey’s family.

  It is a constant reminder that life was unfair.

  Thirty years later, the house needs many repairs again, much of which Mom can’t afford.

  This house wasn’t always Mom and I’s home. My Mom and Dad had a house before he left us. Without his income, Mom could barely afford the rent. Grandma Winslow asked us to move in with her, and we have been here ever since.

  I don’t remember the old house. I was two when Dad left, and Mom moved us out here. We couldn’t leave the house now, even if we wanted to. Grandma can’t fully take care of herself and this place anymore. Mom and I mostly run it now.

  I walked up the spiral staircase to my room. I quickly changed out of my uniform into a pair of old jeans and a grey t-shirt. Then I met Mom in the attic.

  Her brown hair was pulled back into a braid. She was wearing her old painting clothes. She must be expecting a lot of mess.

  Great, the attic is a perfect metaphor for my life. Go figure, only one of use would
be sorted out today.

  Chapter Two

  WWe walked up the very narrow and dirty staircase that led up to the attic. It creaked and groaned beneath our weight. Replacing its floorboards was another thing to add to the repair list.

  It smelt horrible up here. It was dark and musty.

  What had Mom gotten us into?

  There were lots of old pieces of furniture that needed cleaning.

  Who was going to come and buy any of this junk? We’d be better off burning it, in my opinion.

  I saw at least three different kitchen tables. There were four old couches and many trunks scattered around the open attic. Mom and I were going to have a hard time pulling most of the big furniture out. She would most likely have to ask some of the men from work to help her get it out.

  Hopefully, it was more trouble than it was worth, and she would just leave it. It wasn’t hurting anyone by staying up here.

  We made an executive decision to just sort through the trunks today.

  I walked to one of the wardrobes and opened it up. I found a couple of big gowns. One was a light blue silk gown. It has a massive poufy skirt and looks like it is in excellent shape for sitting probably a hundred or more years. The white material that made up the volume of the dress is yellowing, but that is to be expected with something this old. There was a little bit of dust sitting on the fabric because it wasn’t in a garment bag, but it could all be removed if we carefully washed it.

  I don’t see the point, though.

  I went to one of the trunks on the far side of the room. I unlatched the rusty lock and opened the trunk. Inside I found lots of old documents, deeds to parcels of land and animals. There was some old paper money, as well as coins. There were also several pieces of jewelry.

  The first one to catch my attention was a beautiful emerald pendant; it was the size of a quarter. The emerald was framed by what looked like gold vines and leaves wrapping around the outside edge. It never crossed over on either side to cover the center of the stone. It was identical on both sides. The pendant rested on a gold chain with delicate-looking links.