The Elevation (The Dimension of the Black Onyx #1)

By Adri G.M.

A DREAM IS JUST A DREAM, RIGHT?

My name is Vanessa, I’m seventeen and I’ve just found out that most of my dreams, and my nightmares, might be real, literally: the places, the monsters and, especially, him...
The guy that haunts my subconscious; the guy that keeps telling me I’m the Chosen One, the only woman in all dimensions (Yes! Dimensions!) with the ability to save or destroy the world.
Him, the guy I can’t stop thinking about.
No! I’m just going bonkers. That’s the only explanation, because dreams are just dreams, right? Mine can’t be real, not when every human soul is at stake.
But what if they are?

*Contains Bonus Material

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adri G.M.
• Release date: Sep 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463599747

Adri G.M.

Adri is a citizen of the world.She loves to write, to read, to travel and to binge on TV shows. She likes to meet new people, see old places and learn about interesting cultures; if you come across her path and then you think you’re reading yourself in one of her books, it’s a mere coincidence.“The Elevation” is the first one among many stories to come, so don’t hesitate to stalk her online:Facebook: Adriana González Márquez / Adri G.M.Twitter: @AdrianaGlzMInstagram: @AdrianaGlzMYouTube: Adriana GonzálezWebsite: www.adrianagonzalezmarquez.comThere you will find surprises, contests and extra material. Besides, fangirling is always fun ;)

Book preview

THE DIMENSION OF

THE BLACK ONYX

Book 1

THE ELEVATION

Adri G.M.

FBI Anti-Piracy Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

The Dimension of the Black Onyx, The Elevation

First Edition

Copyright © 2018 Adriana González Márquez

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, with or without monetary gain, including Internet usage, without written permission from the author.

This story is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters and all incidents and dialogues are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be constructed as real.

Cover illustration and design by Eduardo Vidal Mengelle

@DesignByLalo

Medallion illustration and design by Gabriel Sierra Henao

Map illustration and design by Fabián Parga

fabianparga.com

ISBN-13: 978-1718728233

To Marandy

∞ Contents ∞

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Bonus Material

∞ Chapter 1 ∞

A dream is just a dream, right? The product of hidden desires and a vivid imagination.

Then why did my dreams always seem to have more consistency than reality? Why were they more intense and fascinating than my daily life? Why was it sometimes possible for me to extract non-existent details from them and turn them into something tangible?

I thought it was time to ask my parents to send me to the psychiatrist when I felt more while I was asleep than awake; I didn’t, but maybe it would’ve been the right thing to do.

I was seventeen years old when I dreamed about him for the first time. I remember it more clearly than many of the things that went on when I was awake, which would be strange in any other person, but it happened so often to me that it came to a point when I stopped caring and dedicated myself to eradicate the idea that I was a freak.

Although, in spite of my efforts, in spite of pretending in front of all those around me, strange situations continued to happen to me, and those dreams never left me. He never left me.

Yes, I was seventeen the first time I dreamed about him, after an exhausting day of school, homework, and house chores.

It was Friday. It's also weird that I remember that kind of detail, isn’t it? It was Friday, and I just wanted to get to the weekend, because even though I’d have to help Mom around the house, I’d have time to watch TV, to hang out with my best friend, and also to rest... It was Friday, and the plans for Saturday made me feel impatient, so when I finished with all my errands, I went to bed early, forcing myself to sleep. I’ve always had that ability: I didn’t know how, but I could force certain situations so the outcome would be in my favor, therefore I concentrated on sleeping the moment I settled my head on the pillow.

I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, my bedroom had disappeared. I frowned, unaware of the moment I’d fallen asleep. I raised myself a little, leaning on my elbows while trying to adjust my vision over the prevailing darkness. Where the hell was I now?

Usually, my dreams took me to magical and bright places, where everything was colorful and full of sites to explore in the bright sunlight; once I dreamed that I was on a hill carpeted by exotic flowers of different colors, a stream running down the slopes, with the most transparent water I had ever seen in my life. I plucked a red daisy and took it up to my nose, appreciating the sweet aroma of pollen and summer, then I walked to the small stream, realizing until later that I was barefoot; I looked down and looked at my clothes: I was wearing a short white dress, made of soft fabric and that fluttered in the gentle breeze. I smiled when I arrived at the stream, where purple spots slithered at full speed, suddenly jumping and submerging again under the crystalline surface of the river. I woke up when the water splashed my face, still holding the red flower in my hand. That was the first time I extracted a piece of my subconscious towards reality. The proof of it is the daisy hidden between pages 278 and 279 of my favorite book...

That's how my dreams used to be. Used to, the keywords.

This dream was very different. To begin with, it was dark, so dark. I continued to lie on the hard, cold floor, leaning on my elbows and trying to see beyond my own feet, and it was my feet that attracted my attention: my shoes, to be more specific. Beige military boots? Since when did I wear military boots? I like comfortable shoes, and I only wear high-heels for parties that require more formal attire. But military boots? Never.

Those were followed by dark blue jeans, which was also weird because although jeans were a regular part of my daily wardrobe, they never made appearances in my dreams: in them, I always wore dresses that I wouldn’t dare to wear in real life. Finally, a black tank top and a leather jacket completed my outfit. I smiled at the latter; I’d wanted one for a while, but my Dad had a thing against leather garments, so he never agreed to buy it for me.

By then my eyes had finally adjusted to the accentuated gloom that surrounded me, so I stood up. I frowned again as I looked around, running a hand through my dark, long curls as I tried to make out what were those figures that stood in front of me... Trees? Yes: gigantic and terrifying dry trees, that seemed to stretch their claw-like branches to reach me.

I sighed, staying still, trying to calm myself, repeating over and over that this was just a dream, a very vivid and spooky dream, but nothing more. The disturbing images in front of my eyes were the product of a stressful week and a mind overexposed to horror movies. A dream, it is only a dream, I repeated in my head, turning around to distinguish something more than those ghostly dead trees that seemed to spy on me in the midst of the darkness. A nightmare, more like it, my mind said when I finally found the courage to move.

The first step was the worst. The floor creaked under the weight of my body, causing a chain reaction; a plethora of sounds echoed through the dark forest: creaks of dry wood, howls of unknown animals, the howling of the wind. I stopped short, realizing that my interruption drew silence again; I took another step, and the sounds returned along with the wind, almost as if the dark nature of that place came alive through my movements.

I've never been easily scared, but this place was doing the trick. Chicken! A voice in my head teased (resembling my brother Andrew), making me angry. I swallowed, squared my shoulders and, after taking a deep breath, started walking without allowing the rebirth of the sounds to stop me. Maybe I was scared, but nobody would call me a coward, not even myself.

I went among the trees, crouching now and then to keep the branches from reaching me, and genuinely grateful for the jacket: if it weren’t for it, I’d have scratches all over my arms. It was after a few minutes that I finally hit a trail: it looked no less creepy than the rest of the forest, but it naturally should lead somewhere, and as I had a habit to explore within my dreams, I decided to follow it to find out how far it’d take me.

Vanessa, I stopped with a halt when I heard that hiss calling me. I opened my eyes wide, trying to find where the voice had come from, saying my name with such clarity that it seemed that it had been whispered right in my ear.

Nothing. No one.

My eyes told me I was alone in this place, but my instincts shouted something else. I shook my head, getting rid of the paranoia that began to take over me, and with renewed strength, I resumed the walk along the path that seemed endless. As I went along, I looked from side to side, then in front and behind me, without managing to discard the sensation of being watched by thousands of invisible little eyes, hidden, studying my every move.

Idiot! I scolded myself in silence: why didn’t I think of it before? I’ve always been able to control my dreams (another one of my bizarre abilities), not entirely, but I usually manage to imagine inert and inanimate stuff, never living beings, and force them to take physical form. So as soon as I remembered my unusual skill, I wished with all my might to create a source of light. I closed my eyes, imagining the sizeable red flashlight that Dad keeps in the closet in case of a blackout, one of those gigantic artifacts that get in the way more than help, but that would be very useful right now.

I heard a thud to my side, so I immediately turned to look for the object I’d summoned, only to realize that what had appeared in my dream was not exactly what I imagined. Sure, it was a lamp, but one of those antique lanterns that were used before the discovery of electricity; I lifted it with my hand, listening as the metal squeaked, feeling it cold against my palm while I smelled the unmistakable scent of oil.

Great, I thought wryly. That night my dream was nothing more than a cluster of disappointments. And how am I supposed to turn it on? I asked as if someone could hear my complaints; to my surprise, the lamp sparked, and a faint flame began to shine inside. Much better, I murmured, turning a small handle to lengthen the fire and thus light up a little more.

I lifted it over my head, watching around me with the soft light projected by the lantern. The trees looked just as frightening, but being able to see their old, crumbling bark and the mossy, gray ground, gave me a slight sense of calm, by being more in control within my own imagination.

Vanessa, that voice again, coming from every direction. I turned from one side to the other, trying to light as much space as possible, but even then I couldn’t make out more than the same.

Nothing. No one.

I inhaled deeply and hurried my steps, looking ahead with my mind fixed on the idea that once I reached my destination, I’d wake up from this unusual and gloomy nightmare. I loved to dream; I was fascinated by my dreams, so why the hell did this stupid nightmare come to snatch from me something that I loved so much? I blamed my parents and my brother for their ridiculous fixation on horror films, with plots that I couldn’t resist and ended up watching with them.

I went on, cursing my imagination again and again while, little by little, my walk turned into running. I no longer looked where I was going, I just tried to get away from what I could feel behind me. I ran as fast as my legs would allow, with those stupid boots that were helping me so much at that moment, knowing by pure intuition that the end of the road was near, that soon I’d be safe.

Vanessa. I turned my face without stopping.

Nothing. No one.

I continued advancing at high speed, distracted, frightened, trying to force myself to wake up, but for that, I had to concentrate, and at that moment it was impossible for me to think of anything other than the voice calling.

Aaah! I yelled as a dark mass crossed in front of my face, forcing me to stop; I raised the oil lamp, relieved to discover that the shadow that had flown down my path had been just an owl. You scared me, moron, I told the nocturnal bird, which was perched on one of the branches of the tree at my side, looking at me with wise indifference.

I realized something else then: there were never any animals in my dreams before. Why was I dreaming about them now? And with strange voices?... And why the hell was I so afraid, if this was just my mind? I let out a laugh as I noticed how ridiculous I was behaving; I took a hand to my hair as I continued walking, relaxed again, calm and unhurried, taking the time to check out my surroundings.

I should conjure a weapon, I said to myself, devising ways to feel safer. But I immediately dismissed the idea; with my luck that night, I’d try to summon a revolver and end up with a squirt gun.

I kept moving for a long time, surprised at the duration of the dream, although by now nothing should shock me. It was strange that more than an hour had passed and I still wasn’t awake when my dreams usually lasted only a few minutes, no matter if I’d gone to bed early and waken up way after dawn.

My feet ached from walking and my arms from holding the lamp up, when I finally saw the path coming to an end. I wrinkled my forehead, moving faster, surprised to see a new luminosity appear in front of me, not very powerful, but enough to break through the blackness, even if just a little. White, soft light... Moonlight.

I smiled when I saw the road opened to make way for a massive clearing, crowned with a bright full moon reflected in the still water of a lake, located right in the middle of the gray meadow. I lowered the lamp, moving slowly towards the undulating lagoon, feeling a soft breeze brushing my skin, caressing me, reassuring me. Despite the darkness and the lack of color and warmth, I had to admit the place was strangely beautiful. I bit my lower lip, trying to contain a nervous giggle, closing my eyes to allow the night wind and the moon's rays to overflow me, calming my senses and granting me a rare sense of peace.

But then I felt something on my neck: something cold, hard, sharp. I opened my eyelids, unable to see anything other than the long blade of a sword in front of me, with its tip placed softly over my jugular. I let go of the lamp, which fell on the floor, its flame disappearing instantaneously. I swallowed hard, trying to figure out what the hell to do while making sure that the edge of the sword wouldn’t pierce my skin due to some unexpected movement.

I heard a low, threatening voice. A voice that I had never heard before but that I know I’ll always remember: What the hell are you doing here? It was the voice that forced me to look up. And that was the moment when I came across a pair of emerald eyes, bright, sparkling, stunning. I asked you a question! What the hell are you doing here?

Back then I didn’t understand the reason, but it was at that moment that I started to chuckle, and within seconds, I was bursting out laughing, the sound echoing in the middle of the quiet environment, interrupted by my amusement.

What’s so funny? the guy asked, looking at me between annoyed and bewildered as if I was an insect he didn’t know whether to ignore or crush under his sole. I shook my head, trying to calm myself, without success. For all that is sacred, this is not funny! He yelled, lowering his sword and placing it in a holster that hung from his belt with a quick movement. I'll ask you one last time: what are you doing here? You shouldn’t be in this domain; it isn’t time yet.

With a superhuman effort, I was finally able to stop my laughter. I brought a hand to my cheeks to wipe away the tears that had fallen. Sorry, what? I mumbled, not understanding anything he’d said.

You shouldn’t be here. You’re in danger. Don’t you get it?

I raised an eyebrow with utter sarcasm: Well, this is, without a doubt, the freakiest dream I've had in my life.

Dream? Do you still think you’re…? Although the guy kept on talking, I didn’t listen to him anymore. He looked at me with confusion reigning in his face... In his very attractive face, I must add. His dark hair reached his neck, and a couple of strands crossed his forehead, falling over his right eye, drawing my attention there. I saw two very thin, perpendicular and parallel scars on his left eyebrow, which gave a certain degree of danger to his features. His bright green eyes shone as he stared at me. His nose was slightly crooked and masculine. And God, that mouth! The upper lip was thin, but this detail highlighted his plump lower one.

After his face, I turned my gaze to his body. He was way taller than me, even though I'm 5’6’’. He wore a black shirt with wide sleeves, a black leather waistcoat with an extended and weird cut, and fitted trousers of the same fabric; to complete the outfit, he wore rough, dirty black boots, covered of dry mud. His shoulders were broad and, despite the clothes, his chest looked strong and muscular; on it, a silver medallion stood out, adorned with an intricate although slightly familiar shape... But none of this caught my attention the way those emerald eyes had.

My intense and not too subtle scrutiny prevented me from remembering the last thing he’d said: Again, what? I mumbled when I managed to take control of my overheated brain.

I asked if you still believe that this is just a dream? He spat with disdain and raising an eyebrow with cynicism.

I smirked mockingly. Yes, and quite original, if I may add.

Original? This isn’t original; it’s extremely dangerous! Get that in your hard and beautiful little head. You shouldn’t be here!

Dangerous? I said, again feeling the urge to laugh. All of this is part of my imagination. How can it be dangerous?

It is! Damn it! There must be a way to get you out of here without using the Vortex hidden over the rocks, for a moment he seemed to be talking to himself more than me, because if we used it, he could sense its location and that would hurt us a lot... If only you’d trained, you could force yourself to return home, but...

Hey, handsome! I exclaimed, snapping my fingers in front of his face, trying to attract his attention; never in my life had I acted like this in front of someone, but this was my dream, so I assumed that my manners didn’t matter much. You're babbling a lot, and you’re making me dizzy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll continue exploring.

The only place you’re going is out of here. He ordered, crossing my path with the intention to stop me.

Fabulous. Even though you're a creation of my mind, you're not very polite, you know?

Yeah? Well, you’re not acting as sweet as you’d think, either.

During a dream, it doesn’t matter how I behave. Now move outta my way.

By the spirits, Nessa! You don’t know what you're getting yourself into! He roared, and with that, my fear returned; not because he raised his tone, nor due to the dangerous glare in his eyes, but because of how he’d called me, and the way he pronounced the nickname that I loved but people had stopped using since I finished elementary school… As if he knew me.

How do you know my name? I asked, taking a step back.

The man seemed about to answer, but he stopped himself like he’d suddenly realized he made a mistake: That’s not important at this time. The urgent thing now is to find a way to get you out of here before he finds you, he grumbled, taking me by the elbow and making me walk next to him.

What the hell are you talking about? I snapped as we began to surround the considerable perimeter of the lake.

Be quiet. We attracted enough attention to ourselves already.

I freed myself with a jerk, stopping while crossing my arms over my chest. I'm sorry, hottie, but you’re starting to annoy me. Either you tell me who you are and what you want from me or I won’t move from this place.

He took my face in his big hands, leaning so close to me that I could feel his breath against my lips. I literally forgot how to breathe: I'm the man who’s trying to save your life.

I felt slightly woozy and somewhat stunned as if I were floating. The heat that radiated from him crashed in warm waves against my skin; at the same time, the freshness of his breath contrasted with the fire that I could feel spreading on my cheeks. What? I blathered with a choked tone, still forgetting how to inhale, still sensing his breath on my face. The words man and life resonated in my soul, like a mantra, as if something within me had identified a hidden meaning that my mind couldn’t rationalize.

Enough questions. Without warning, he lifted me up, but not in the gentlemanly manner in which a woman imagines herself to be held, oh, no! He picked me up like a sack of potatoes, throwing me over his shoulder as he began to move forward again. Astonishment struck me; then the outrage made its way through.

Put me down! Put me down, you lousy cockroach! I blurted out as I hit his broad back, feeling the strong muscles of his arm and chest against my legs and stomach. Put me down, I tell you, or I'll start screaming for help!

"Don’t you get it? I am the help."

You’re crazy! Psychotic, deranged, insane! Let me go, now! I continued screaming insults while I punched and kicked with all my strength, but he didn’t even flinch.

The man kept walking around the lake, getting us farther and farther away from the path through which I had reached the clearing; I couldn’t see where we were going thanks to the very unflattering posture of my poor little body, which bounced against his hard muscles thanks to his pace. I pushed myself up and then let myself fall, I stirred and kicked, complaining every time his arm held me tighter. Nothing seemed to disturb him, while I was practically bawling with impotence, anger, and annoyance.

Stop twitching, he grunted a few minutes later, and I could almost swear I felt him laugh.

No! Put me down, second-hand hero! I mouthed off, filled with anger. Although he seemed amused by the situation; then I realized I was hurting myself more than him with my punches; I stopped, looking at my redden fists, snorting to remove the hair that fell on my face; I bent my elbows on his back and set my chin on the palms of my hands. This is ridiculous. Ridiculous! And it's not funny.

Sorry, but I beg to differ. He chuckled.

I can walk, you know? And I don’t need to be rescued, that's for sure.

You're really stubborn.

And you're going to tell me that you’re not?

I’m determined, not stubborn, he clarified sarcastically. I could swear he was grinning.

Same thing!

No, it’s not: take into consideration which of us is walking, and who travels with her butt pointing to the sky.

I reached the limit of my patience: Agh! Let me down, now, stupid circus monkey, I want to go home!

Well, we finally agree on something. I also want you to leave.

Ha! Very funny! Have you considered becoming a comedian?

Impressive, you're the fifth person to suggest that today, he added with amusement.

Put me down, baboon without a zoo!

"The things one has to do to go from handsome and hottie to baboon... You come up with hilarious insults."

I have an extensive repertoire, brainless troglodyte!

He let out a laugh: I can’t wait to hear them all...

"Vanessa." The gloomy voice interrupted him. I froze on his shoulder, sensing he had also stopped his movements.

You heard that, too, right? I whispered, scared once again; the guy nodded without speaking. Well, at least I wasn’t crazy: he’d also heard it, so I felt slightly relieved.

"Vanessa" Goodbye relief, hello terror!

He's here, the man announced huskily.

Who? I asked, widening my eyes.

Arematis.

Arem-what?

Silence! He ordered without raising his voice, finally lowering to my feet, although his arm was still around my waist, protectively. I had to lean my head back to look up at him, surprised again with his imposing height; he licked his lips, covering his eyes with his free hand; he then muttered some words I couldn’t understand, lowering his arm a second later and then squinting, as if trying to see beyond the blackness that reigned over the woods. He looked fierce, focused and implacable… Despite my fear, I never felt safer than at that moment.

It was until then that I realized I’d fisted my hands on the fabric of his shirt, holding it tightly as if trying to get even closer to him; I released it and involuntarily smoothed the wrinkles I’d made with my hands. I raised my face again: the guy was looking at me in the most intense way I’ve ever felt.

"Vanessa." The hiss broke our eye contact.

Damn. Run! He commanded, taking me by the hand and forcing me to move. At first, I managed to keep up with him, but in seconds he was dragging me behind him. I was about to complain, feeling like he was going to tear my arm off, but then I looked back. I shouldn’t have: the darkness grew and grew, turning into the deepest of the nights, the most frightening nothing. There wasn’t a significant change in the landscape, but somehow my eyes managed to see the blackness devouring everything, with sharp teeth that were engulfing trees, bushes, rocks.

Oh, my God! Oh, my God! I said, almost breathless.

Don’t stop, the man ordered softly and unnecessarily because, after that show, the last thing I wanted was to be swallowed by the dense darkness, that felt like a living entity, like a relentless monster, willing and ready to drag everything into oblivion, into the most intimidating emptiness.

What the hell is that? I asked, panting.

Don’t stop, that was his only answer.

We got into the depths of that lifeless forest, escaping as fast as we could for miles after miles, while I felt that my lungs would burst at any moment, that I’d vomit the cereal I had for dinner, with the muscles of my legs burning thanks to the superhuman effort to keep moving.

I can’t... I pleaded. Maybe that blackness wasn’t so bad; perhaps it'd offer some kind of comfort, some rest from this endless race, perhaps it’d be better than the feeling of all my organs about to explode due to exhaustion and the excessive waves of adrenaline.

Just a little more. We're almost there, he declared, turning his face for a second, smiling at me as if he wanted to encourage me.

I can’t keep going anymore…

Yes, you can, Nessa. Come on, just a little more. If someone can do it, that's you.

What the hell are you talking about? He stopped, so suddenly that my body collided with his. I was about to fall, but he held me by the waist, again surrounding my body with his protective arms. I set my hands on his shoulders, holding myself up while trying to keep my composure, not screaming in terror at this damn nightmare that was ruining my night.

Listen to me, because we don’t have much time, he launched in as soon as he noticed I’d regained my balance, although I still had a hard time keeping up; to be honest, it was still hard for me to breathe.

What? I rasped, trying to make out his words above the high-pitched buzzing that rang in my ears, turning my head to see if the pulsating darkness was still behind us. I managed to distinguish it in the distance, approaching, increasing its speed and intensity. It looked like one of those black holes from outer space, sucking everything in its path, transforming it into a wasteland of eternal night. I shuddered.

Nessa, listen to me, please! Pay attention just for a second! He growled impatiently, holding my face again with his rough, masculine hands, drawing my gaze back to him. You mustn’t come back here, for any reason, do you understand me? You’re not ready.

What are you talking about? I do not understand anyth...

I'll explain everything later! Now I need you to promise me you won’t come back here, ever. I wrinkled my forehead in bewilderment. I had no idea how I got into this forest in the first place, so how could I promise not to return? How could I force mind not to dream about it again? Promise me!

I was startled by his voice full of despair: I promise, I barely whispered.

Good... I know you must be very confused, but there will be time for explanations. I'll find you, okay? That's my promise to you. I nodded without finding a better answer. Here, the reached up to the medallion and yanked it out of his neck, take it. Otherwise, I won’t be able to locate you. I reached up to encircle the ornament with my fingers, feeling it strangely warm against my palm. Don't lose it, please. It's too important… And I won’t be able to get to you if you lose it.

I won’t! I snapped indignantly. Who did he think he was talking to? A distracted little girl who doesn’t know where she leaves things? Although I must confess that many of my accessories were scattered all throughout my house.

Good, that was the last thing he said, then he took me by the shoulders and pushed me slightly until I stepped backward.

What are you doing? I asked with a frown, feeling my back hit a tall rock formation behind me. My lungs emptied wholly, my heart skipped a beat, a blazing purple light exploded, blinding me instantly... and then I woke up on my bed, sitting up suddenly, inhaling large puffs of air in an attempt to catch my breath.

I brought a hand to my face drenched in sweat, and it was when I felt something cold and hard against my skin that I looked up, placing my open palm in front of me. The medallion seemed to return my gaze, shining in the morning light with flashes that appeared to be mocking me.

∞ Chapter 2 ∞

It had been only a dream... Exciting, vivid, thrilling, intense and very, very real, but a dream nonetheless.

I spent the next week convincing myself of this, and there were several theories I clung to, to persuade myself that I wasn’t going crazy, that everything had been the product of my very creative imagination.

The first (and most obvious) one was that I’d been asleep, on my narrow, fluffy and warm bed, with my ridiculous pink nightgown and within the safety of my room. The second were my vivid fantasies since nothing in this monotonous reality can be as exciting as those magical worlds I managed to create with the power of my twisted mind. And the third was him: the seductive and enigmatic stranger that had been impossible to eradicate from my thoughts, dwelling in them during every hour of every day. I’ve always been terrible at faces: introduce me to someone today and tomorrow I surely won’t recognize them. But the face of that young man seemed engraved with fire in the confines of my brain. What other explanation could there be than the fact that it was I who created him? Apart from the fact that it was impossible for a real human to be so undeniably attractive, so fascinating, so deliciously sinful.

Every time I thought about him, I got goosebumps and shuddered from head to toe. During that boring week, more than once I discovered myself daydreaming about that mysterious face, about that green fire look, about that tall and powerful body. I smiled like a fool, until Renata, my best friend, made me react. What the hell is happening to you lately? she asked me next Thursday afternoon, while we were standing outside our classroom, in the ten-minute break between the sixth and seventh class.

I leaned my arms on the railing, fixing my eyes over some boys playing soccer in one of the high school fields: Nothing.

Nothing? Yeah, right. And I’m my Grandma. I laughed at her comparison, turning my face to look at her giggling too. Sometimes when I saw her, I wondered how we were friends, being so completely different. First, our physical appearances: Renata, despite being short, had a very well-proportioned body; it wasn’t the prototype of bulimic or anorexic girl that was so popular at the time since her complexion was slightly plump: she had the ideal curves in the ideal places. While I, tall and with genetics unwilling to further increase my breasts, would happily exchange a few inches of my height for a bigger bra size. Then there was her hair: straight, silky, between blond and coppery; and mine, long, uncontrollable, dark and with undefined waves. It was also more than evident to me that my brown eyes would never measure up to her enviable blue eyes, not to mention my thin lips compared to her lush mouth, usually shining with the most intense red lipstick. Damn it! I hated to compare myself to her because my ego was the one that got hurt! I know I'm not ugly, just ordinary, but Renata always looked beautiful, whether she made an effort or not.

Although I must add that, despite her beauty and popularity, she was never a ‘mean girl,’ she was fun, kind, outgoing and a very good confidant. She was the only one who knew of my crazy dreams (though I hadn’t convinced myself to tell her the most recent one) and instead of judging me, she found my stories amusing, and even insisted I should turn them into a script, sell it and make us rich with the royalties of a movie. That was another difference between Renata and me: she was witty and funny when I was cynical and sarcastic.

Hey, brat! My brother, Andrew, got me out of my thoughts. I looked down to find him screaming at me from the ground floor.

What do you want? I asked feigning annoyance. I hated being called that, and he knew it.

Andrew ignored my question, looking at the girl next to me: Hello, Renie!

What’s up, Andy? My friend purred with a flirtatious smile. I knew she’d always had a crush on Andrew, but she had never confessed anything, so I never pushed. I also knew Andrew wasn’t all that indifferent to her charms, because she was the only person he allowed to call him Andy.

Just life, babe.

Renata giggled; I began to get impatient: What do you want? I repeated.

Don't wait for me today; I'm not gonna go home.

I wrinkled my forehead. Why, where are you going?

Not that it's your business, but we'll hang at a friend's house.

Where?

You’re so nosy, brat.

Where, Andrew?

To the Mountain of the Dead.

You’re having a picnic or something?

Of course not! Jeez, you’re such a geek. We’re going to a country house near there.

I frowned; I couldn’t recall anyone living in the exclusive area on the slopes of the well-known Mountain of the Dead (a set of elevations that formed the impressive silhouette of a laying man). Whose house?

You don’t know him.

I pursed my lips: I knew all the idiots he dared to call friends: Who, you skinny wimp? I pressed, squinting so he would understand that, if he didn’t tell me, I wouldn’t tell our parents, the only reason he told me his plans, since they took his cellphone two weeks ago as punishment for something I didn’t care to find out.

You’re worse than Mom! I’m telling you, you don’t know him... He’s Cintia’s neighbor’s cousin’s friend.

What? I thought, followed by: Ugh, Cintia! I hated my brother’s ex, who three months ago had broken his heart in the most ruthless way possible: kissing his best friend (with whom Andrew was no longer on speaking terms) at a birthday party.

Why on Earth are you going to a place where she’ll be?

Andrew smirked instead of replying, then he turned around and ran back to his classroom. He was a few weeks away from graduating and that had turned him into a bigger jerk than before. I kept silent again, hoping that the last conversation with my brother had distracted Renata enough to forget the initial question... I wasn’t so lucky: Now, answer me.

Answer you what?

Oh, come on, off with it! What’s up with you?

Nothing, really. It's just that guys in soccer uniform fog my mind, I said fanning my face with my hand; my BFF snorted.

Sure, she added, playing along: Sweaty, smelly, and muddy. My kind of men!

We continued laughing, leaning over the blue balustrade of the second floor and chatting about anything and everything until Professor Cuellar finally arrived and ordered us all to enter the classroom since history class was about to begin.

We took a seat in the back row and the furthest corner from the teacher's desk; I took out the Aguascalientes History book from my backpack because during the last month of school we would study the past of my hometown. With a pen in hand, I absentmindedly opened my copy, listening without paying much attention to Professor Cuellar began: he checked attendance in a few minutes, so I barely raised my hand when I heard him say Vanessa Mendoza Valdez with that sharp tone he always used when pronouncing my name. After that, it only took a few seconds to lose myself in my mind, blocking everything around me, while my eyes looked without seeing at the photograph of the Mountain of the Dead that was on the page I kept open in front of me. On the upper part of the image was space painted orange, thanks to the color of the sky at sunset, so with the pen I began to draw straight and curve lines without a specific pattern, without realizing what I was doing.

Only a dream, I thought at that moment. Get that in your head… in your hard and beautiful little head, I heard the phrase in my mind, with that hoarse and seductive voice, reminding me again of the man who had become the permanent tenant of my thoughts. I sighed impatiently at my own stupidity. I generally got obsessed with unimportant things, such as the upcoming release of a movie, books I liked or plans for vacations, but now I was acting genuinely ridiculous, blinded by a creation of my mind. What the hell was happening to me? You’re crazy Ha! I don’t know why, but whenever my brain makes fun of me, it does it through my older brother’s voice.

I shook my head trying to get rid of those ideas, but without making any effort to pay attention to the lesson, barely hearing the answer that one of my classmates was giving at that moment: "According to several historians, the tribes that inhabited this region were the Chichimecas and..." I stopped listening again. I folded my arm, placed my elbow on the desk (without halting the strokes on the battered book), and settled my forehead on the palm of my free hand, allowing my mind to wander once more to unsuspected directions. I closed my eyes just for a second, but when I opened them again, reality had disappeared.

I straightened, frowning, still sitting on the uncomfortable bench, still holding my pen, but there was no book, no classmates, no classroom... no high school! I was in the midst of an arid landscape, with reddish soil under my feet, a few cacti, and a sun that shone right above my head, white and blinding. I stood up, taking a hand to my face to protect my eyes from the bright sunlight, looking up at the squeak of a hawk, which was flying over the distance, on top of some rocky peaks at the horizon... Birds, once more. Why did my dreams, once empty, suddenly have flying animals? Again, this was incredibly different from what I usually dreamed. First of all, I’d never lost myself in such a way in the middle of the school day; second, that place was nothing like the green and fresh landscapes of my imagination.

I checked my attire then: a blue dress with thin straps, very flowy, light and fresh; the long skirt waved with the wind, showing me the sandals on my feet; I got the impression that my clothes had been specifically designed to contrast with the environment. I moved forward, wanting to explore the luminous depths of that place. Suddenly I stopped in my tracks, remembering that, in my reality, and not in this imaginary world, I was in the middle of history class, and if Professor Cuellar realized that I’d fallen asleep, he would kick me out of his course for the rest of the semester.

I had to force myself to wake up; I knew that was the right thing... However, something stopped me: the enervating hope that my dark savior would suddenly appear. Accepting that hurt my pride, but there was no point in lying to myself; I wanted to see him again, and during that tedious week I’d slept every night in the middle of a dreamless rest, which disappointed me to no end.

So I took another step, looking in every direction in an attempt to find him. Hello? I yelled. Anyone here? I waited for an answer, but the only thing that reached my ears was the sound of the wind against the reddish gravel and the constant flutter of the hawk’s wings, which continued to hover several miles above the ground. Hello? Um... I winced, feeling like an idiot; the guy had never told me his name, so how was I supposed to call him? Handsome? I wanted to bite my tongue the instant I said the word, but then I heard a laugh behind me.

So I'm ‘handsome’ again?

I turned around with quick motion, losing my breath when my