Glinda sat inside a white room, her white hair almost luminous as she tilted her head, lips slowly forming an insolent smile as I stopped in front of her, her immaculate white table the only thing standing between her and my asperity toward that arrogant smile and the utter ignorance in that tilted head.
"It's not uncommon for powerful witches to aspire to be an Astral, Aster," she said, smile mirroring the satisfaction in her blue eyes. "I hope you don't take this personally. We have to do our job during the assessment."
I walked toward the wall and touched it. "Interesting," I said, as the glass window appeared, revealing the city below.
Her gaze followed me. "You still have much to learn about the Saint Society—windows, apparently one of them," she said.
"Why do you think I'm not befitting to be an Astral?" I asked, brow furrowed with curiosity.
She let out a breath and shook her head. "With no disrespect to the past, witches of the new age are stronger and wiser now. We have technology that you didn't have in your time. You may have been powerful and you may have discovered the secret to immortality, but to be an Astral is far beyond that. You have to have true power—one that transcends the living world. You must have a connection to different worlds—real worlds. Not just some fabricated version of them."
"Hm," I muttered, walking to the center of the room with my hands inside my pockets. "I'm disappointed."
She blinked a few times. "Excuse me? Disappointed with what?"
"With everything," I said, lifting a shoulder.
She scoffed in disbelief. "The Council has given you a great favor through an unbiased assessment. We didn't have to, but we did. Not all witches get the same treatment."
"I'm not disappointed with the Council," I wryly said, getting bored. Once again, I looked around, landing my gaze on her. "I'm disappointed that you dream about this."
Her brows fused together. "What do you mean?"
"And I wonder why you dream about my failure," I said instead of answering. I walked closer to her, and with each step, the walls slowly vanished, "when my success can give you everything you desire."
She jumped to her feet, planting her hands flat on her table as the strong wind rushed in with the sound of the city below. There was nothing in the room but the floor, her table, me, and herself. A passing vehicle blew her hair to the side.
Fear glowed in her eyes as she realized what was happening. "Get me out of here," she demanded.
"Dreamers always say it the first time. I'm just getting started," I said, tilting my head as the floor floated in the air, flying over Genesis City. "Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you. Anything."
"I want to wake up!"
I saw the door behind her and hid it behind the trees that sprouted from the white floors. To give her credit, Glinda did not scream. She only stepped to the side when a crack ran between her feet. It broke in half as water poured in, filling the gap, carrying her white table to the far horizon, falling down into the city below. Soon, the water rose, drowning the buildings to give way to the gentle sea. And from the stream scrawled grass and flowers.
"Have you ever been to a place like this?" I asked her, watching the calm, azure ocean. I looked over my shoulder when she didn't reply. What I saw was terror and awe woven into one as she touched a trunk, the reality of the dream sinking in. I faced her as the first drop of rain fell on her cheek. She ran a finger through its trail, blue eyes wide and filling with wonder.
"It feels real." She gasped when the trees moved and arched above her, squeaking as their branches wove around each other until Glinda was completely shielded from the rain that gently poured down.
"It is real," I said as I joined her. "At the moment, this is your world."
"But this is just a dream. It can't be real."
"Is it?"
She looked around. "Where's the door?"
"What else do you want?" I asked, catching her eyes, trapping her in a trance. "What do you really want to dream?"
The slight panic in her eyes disappeared as her mind told me what she desired the most. I smiled at her, twisting my wrist to reveal the beauty of her dream.
The ground turned to marble, the branches moved away and pushed a rock behind her. It morphed into a chair. The raindrops covered it in gold as the trees morphed into hundreds of people wearing white, all of them bowing down at Glinda.
She looked at the throne behind her.
"Please, take a seat," I said, stepping aside so she could look down at her subjects. The forest had turned to a giant hall, arched windows lined on all sides. "Enjoy your kingdom, my queen," I added with a smile, although I knew she didn't hear me. She was already lost in her dream, staring at her vassals as they pledged devotion to her rule.
I entered the blue door and walked into another quiet office, but this time, the dreamer did not see me. Petros Saint had his eyes on the woman serving him a drink. She laughed at something he said and bent down to kiss his forehead.
"You never changed," she said, laughing. "You are still the same man."
"What do you mean, sweetheart?"
I leaned against the wall, out of sight, as I witnessed his dead wife tell him he was dreaming.
"I'm not. I'm here with you."
"Of course you are, dear," the woman said, patting his cheek. "Now, tell me about the boys. How are they doing?"
A chain of emotions swept through his face. Confusion, realization, denial, grief... and then fervor as his face crumpled, and he reached for her, gasping for air as he held her in his arms.
"Oh, my darling Petros," his wife whispered.
"I missed you," he sobbed.
"I know," his greatest desire replied, pulling away to cup his face. "I've missed you, too."
I could step in and change the dream to show him more of my power, but in the many years I had been doing this, the easiest way to have your way is to give others what they want first. Let them get used to it that they'd loathe to live without it. That the mere threat of never having it again will make them give you anything you want.
So I left, entering another blue door, finding another member of the Council already reveling in a dream that felt so real. I passed through each one in a breeze, stopping only a while in Cedric's dream because his dream was about me.
He was in a dark room, the large window overlooking the rainy streets outside. None could have fractured the neon signs reflected on the wet street because there was no one there but him and a version of me dressed in a stiff dress, dark hair bound at the nape. I frowned, seeing the time on the wall. It was past midnight. He should be asleep just like everyone else, but he wasn't. He was awake because that's his dream—to be alone with the company of the current subject of his desire.
Interesting. I wondered how I could use him in the future. How this infatuation could give me an advantage.
I scoffed in the shadows when he approached the woman who looked like me. Shook my head when she rested her hand on his nape, right where his halo should be. He bent his head, smelled her neck.
"You will never want another after tonight," he whispered against her skin.
I was tempted to ruin his night. To turn her into iron chains and pull him off his feet. Hang him upside down with blades pointed up at him, waiting for his fall. And maybe I could transport him to where his mother was so she could witness him get skewered.
But I meant to make him crave for more of this. I wanted him to live each day wishing he could return to this night where he could have me.
I turned to the blue door behind me and smiled, ecstatic for the final dreamer.
Walking through the door, white smoke swirled at my feet. I stopped and the smile on my face froze as a force pulled me forward. Mertha was waiting for me, standing on still water. Around us was endless white.
Her long black hair remained light and still as I approached, still pulled by her magic.
"Welcome," she said, her voice an echo around us. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Aster, but I'm not keen on the idea of you taking me somewhere I cannot have control. I took you to my world instead."
I looked around, finally free to move. As I did, I realized we were not alone. White shadows moved around us, as if coming through invisible doorways.
"I have to admit, I was a little afraid when you first started talking about the doors. When I found myself escaping into the spirit realm, I realized..." Mertha took a step closer with a satisfied smile on her full lips, "You're not powerful enough."
"You have an interesting gift," I said. "I had never seen such a realm before."
"For someone who only creates dreams, being in a real, existing realm must be a little daunting." My eye twitched, but I remained mum, waiting for her next words. "There are many in the spirit world," she said, pride in her voice. "This is just one of them and I call it the garden."
"Hm," I said, looking down at the water, smiling as it moved, taking us to solid ground covered in grass. Finally, some color. Thousands of them, most I had never even seen in both the waking and dreaming world. There were flowers of every kind, all seemingly more alive than anywhere. The spirits had no faces. Just smoky forms that moved about. "This is beautiful."
"It should be. This is where the souls live in peace. But for some, they don't reach this place." A large mirror appeared before us and Mertha led me through it. We emerged in a dilapidated manor. The floors creaked as we walked down the dingy, long corridor. "Some of them are still trapped in our world." A ghost walked across our path and disappeared into another room. I only glimpsed her bloodied face before another one—a child—ran through me, the echo of his laughter dying as he disappeared. "They wander endlessly, lost in a world that could not see them."
"Except for people like you."
Mertha smiled. "They always ask for help and I try my best to give it."
"I assume there is something worse than being trapped in the world of the living," I said, pausing when another mirror appeared at the end of the corridor.
"Utter darkness," Mertha replied as we stepped into a void. I had to be honest—the hairs on my arms stood. I could see nothing, save for Mertha who seemed unbothered by it all. She must have been here many times. "I call this the fog. Here, they're always hungry. Stay close if you want to remain safe." I stepped closer, hinting an earthy smell from her hair. "I come here often because help is always ready when I ask for it."
I flinched when a hand appeared in front of us and caressed Mertha's face as she passed. Another held on to my arm, holding me back. Mertha let out a gentle, "Shh," and it instantly let me go.
There was a heaviness in this place that I could not point out. The darkness felt like walls slowly squeezing, trapping me in a tiny space, depriving me of air. The pitch darkness was nothing but a veil hiding the miserable souls beyond and the farther we walked, the more they pushed.
I didn't realize we stepped through another mirror until I saw the waterfall of scorching fire that blew sweltering air toward us. I flinched as I stepped on thorny ground.
"Let me guess—This is hell," I said as a bead of sweat formed in my temple.
"If that's how you like to call it," said Mertha.
"And as an Astral, you can travel through these spirit worlds..." I said, stopping to study what I thought was a rock, but was actually a whimpering form, curled into a ball, its hands and feet peeling from its flesh. "I wonder what else you can do."
"The traveling is just part of the gift," Mertha explained, leaning down to help the soul from the ground. At her touch, its wounds healed, and it rested its head on Mertha's shoulder. I wondered if this was its first rest in eternity. "I can touch them, give them ease," Mertha continued, running a soothing hand over the wretched soul's head. "And I can take them into another realm with me."
Her last words sent a chill up my spine. I blinked as she finally let the soul go and it shook in pain again, curling back on the ground to suffer for another eternity. Mertha immediately forgot about it as she turned to me, feet careful not to step on thorns. Every part of her knew every fiber of this realm. I tore my eyes off the suffering soul. I guess it was not lucky enough to be taken to the garden today.
"You're like a god," I said to Mertha. "Or maybe you are one."
Mertha shook her head with a laugh.
"Or maybe I am one, too." Her laughter died down as I took a step toward her, the thorns breaking into fine white sand as I walked. The whimpering soul turned into actual rock covered in moss, and the waterfall of fire turned into thousands of yellow petals. The dark smoke above us parted, revealing a pastel pink sky. Cool wind blew past us, sweeping our hair to the side. Her light dress gently swirled as petals lifted off the ground and swelled into balloons.
"Because I can imitate worlds. Or if they're too boring, I create my own, which, in my opinion, is where the fun truly lies." Another petal floated toward her and billowed into a giant bubble. She stiffened as it gently covered her, encasing her inside. Her eyes quivered ever so slightly when they met mine, and when I smiled, she took a step. But the bubble did not burst. It thickened, hardened the more she pushed against it. Icicles formed within, pointing at her. Stretching, forcing her into the middle of the icy sphere. If she wanted to scream, she didn't. She was one proud woman.
Satisfied with the drop of blood dripping down her cheek, I let out a soft breath and the sun broke the sky, melting the sphere.
"You create nothing but imaginary worlds," she gritted out, wiping the blood off her cheek with one finger. The sphere had melted at her feet.
"And so much more," I said. The smile on my face softened, eyes on the puddle of water below her feet. "I can also create monsters." At my word, she fell through the puddle and a mermaid's slimy hand gripped her ankle, pulling her deeper into the dark, endless ocean.
As Mertha struggled to breathe, just like I did in her fog, the mermaid wrapped its scaly arms around her, cupping her face. Mertha struggled, but the mermaid leaned closer and kissed air through her lips. They swirled in the water until the creature melted around Mertha, turning into silk and cushions. "And like you, I can give refuge." She gasped as she landed in a giant bed.
"But most importantly," I said, wrapping an arm around the post of the bed, resting my head there as her furious eyes snapped toward me, "Real or not, I can create anything your heart desires. I can give you friends if you have none, lovers if you want one."
A naked man woke up beside Mertha and started kissing her.
"Get me out of here," Mertha said, pushing the man away.
"Of course," I said. The raw fear twitching beneath the surface of her calm facade was enough for now. With a turn, everything turned to white smoke.
I let her see the door. She stared at it, her jaw twitching.
"What color do you see?" I asked.
"White."
"Of course," I said. "To the dreamers, it's always white."
"And you're the only one who can see the true color of a door."
I nodded, although it was not entirely true.
"How convenient."
I just shrugged. "Your true door is white, by the way."
"How do I know you're not lying?"
I just smiled as the door remained white. "I can go through it first if you wish."
She hesitated, then lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. "White means I'll remember and manifest."
"Yes."
She took a deep breath and nodded. "I have no choice but to trust you, do I?"
I shrugged. "You can always wait until I leave. You'll wake up then."
"I'll use the door."
"Be my guest."
She reached for the door, then paused. "What about you? How do you get out?"
"I can only get out through a door."
"And if there's none?"
"There is always one for me."
She nodded, looking unconvinced, and pushed her door open. Then she was gone.
Before it closed, I reached for the handle. At the touch of my hand, it turned blue, and I went back to the other dreamers, tapping them out of their dreams, leading them through their doors: yellow, red, white—whichever I felt like giving. Glinda at first refused to go, but I had to take away her throne and make her face her white door. She reluctantly walked through it, still in a trance. I caught the handle as it closed, turning it red. Then I, too, stepped out.
I opened my eyes to the room in Good Blood to find my dreamers opening theirs, still in a haze between awake and dreaming. Two of them were confused, of course, because I gave them yellow doors.
"Do you remember anything?" one of them asked.
"Of course," said one. "I got a white door."
"I also got white, but it changed color," Cedric said, hazy eyes on me. "She's the only one who can see the true colors."
They only see white because I made certain it was so. They didn't have to know that I could manipulate the colors, change them at will. Having control of what they could remember and what they could manifest after the dream was the hidden power of my gift.
There were many reasons for the secrecy. One was that they would all demand for a certain color. Who would want to return to the waking world dying? Who would want to forget they had just made love to the subject of their greatest desire?
The second reason was more personal. All great things had a weakness, and mine was black.
My greatest enemy. The only door I could not change.
I found out about the black door by accident, and the one person who told me about it was dead. Since then, I made one rule: to always make the dreamer go through a black door with me so we'd both forget. So no one else could know my one weakness.
"Mertha, you're bleeding," Cedric pointed out, reaching out a hand. "You're manifesting your dream."
Everyone looked at Mertha, eyes wide with awe. Their attention was on the blood running down her cheek. The first actual proof that my dreams could be real.
Mertha brushed Cedric's hand away, eyes on me. I smiled at her and looked away. When my gaze landed on Petros Saint, his eyes silently begging me to return him to his wife, I knew I was the society's next great Astral.