Velli

The Conference of Desires—easy to get in, hard to leave. Dream and I arrive at a hotel lobby with a beige floor so clear it broadcasts our reflection back up at us. A golden chandelier hangs from the ceiling and lights up the room. The cathedralesque windows behind us help the light by letting in a little 2 a.m. moonlight. I give my reflection a once-over and…

You don’t look ready for the job.

I look prepared enough. I need a haircut—I’m sure my mom will remind me of that. My hair’s grown wilder, into some sort of afro. I put up my hood to cover it. In my black hoodie and black joggers, I’m inconspicuous enough. The hoodie hides a more athletic frame and makes me look lankier than I actually am.

Dream glances up, down, and all around, checking the safety of our surroundings. An oversized baseball cap covers her enchanting hazel eyes, which I’m sure are bulging. I tower over her, and I’m not that tall. She’s not new to this, but I worry for her. Sometimes, I think everything hurts her more because she’s so petite. She only comes up to my chest. Despite her stature, she’ll enter the conference because there’s nothing on this planet that could stop her from saving Anne’s baby. Same for me, so we—

No.

Same for me, so—

No.

Same for—

No, Velli. Be honest. You’d let the child die—you’d let Dream die—if you got to buy what your greedy, needy mind wants so badly. You’re as sick as everyone else inside the Conference of Desires.

The weight of my weathered backpack presses on me like the cash inside wants to escape.

No, Fate, lie to me about why I have trouble sleeping, not about this. Buying powers will help me make Dream the happiest woman in the world, and it’ll help make a world where babies won’t be snatched from their mothers’ arms.

Dream and I stride forward.

To our left, the front desk is empty. On a regular day at this hotel, that’s where we would check in. Well, not us, we couldn’t afford it. Well, Dream could, but I couldn’t. Regardless, the front desk is empty today.

Right in front of us is an unassuming, plain plastic table that merely says “Welcome” with a taped-on piece of paper. It does not fit the majesty of a four-star hotel. Behind the table is a massive red curtain, fun theatrical red, not bloodred. It’s a little past 2 a.m., and yet the energy from behind that curtain pulses—the excitement, the fervor, and the ecstasy. Odd voices, shuffling feet, and the occasional scream mix behind the curtain.

Sain “the Spreader” and Maggie “the Face Bank” sit at the front desk, slouching and humming, respectively, as we knew they would be. Dressed casually, they wear plain orange T-shirts and khaki shorts with sneakers that fit their moods. Sain draws in a notepad, and Maggie swipes through her phone.

Maggie notices us first as we step forward, her curly brown hair bounces, and her gray eyes squint with curiosity then fake joy. I’m sure she’s confused. We’re dressed down for the occasion—black joggers and black sneakers, and I have on both a thick black jacket and a thick black hoodie with my hood up. Dream will need my jacket in a minute because she’ll get cold. She always does.

“Heeyyy.” Maggie drags out her words. Her glare tells us she’s wondering why we’re here.

“Hello.” Dream gives a wave and a big smile. “We’d like entry into the conference, please.”

“Oookaaayy,” Maggie says. “You know this one’s almost done, right? Were you looking for the next one the hotel is hosting? I won’t be a part of it, but I bet I can—”

“No,” I interject. “We want to go into the Conference of Desires.”

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She flinches. People aren’t supposed to say the name. The name has weight, probably some guilt for Maggie too. That’s fine. Frankly, she deserves whatever nightmares she gets tonight.

“Excellent, well, we are enormously happy to have you.” Maggie’s plastic smile stretches.

“Happy to be here,” Dream adds with equal pep.

Sain has not looked up from his drawing, a small comic strip of a blue hedgehog battling an orange-striped cat.

“Okay.” Maggie leans forward. “So I just have to do a face scan to learn who you are, real quick. Whoever wants to go first can. I just need five seconds of eye contact.” Everything she says sounds like a saleswoman at a mall.

I step up first and look into her eyes. Two tiny, random faces appear in them, replacing her pupils. They’re candid snapshots. I try not to think of how she got candid pictures of everyone. New pictures of people appear in each eye. They change again, faster and faster, now changing in milliseconds. Every inch of her eyes has so many colors in it, colors so mashed, they appear cream white. She closes them.

That hurt. I rub my head to soothe the pain and keep my eyes shut because they’re begging for a break. Feels like I binged a season of TV without blinking. Then the pain leaves. That easy. Maggie opens her eyes, and they’re her normal gray again.

“Okaaayyyy, Velli, you’re good to enter.”

I nod to say thanks and step aside so Dream can come as I pretend to be interested in Sain’s drawing. Dream looks into Maggie’s eyes.

It doesn’t take two seconds for Maggie to recoil. “Oh, oh, oh, no, no, no,” Maggie sings and looks at Sain, who is unbothered. “Dream Tower.”

“Hi,” Dream says, embarrassed.

Sain hears the name and jerks his head up in Dream’s direction. He trades glances with Maggie, and black steam comes off his T-shirt.

The steam speaks. “Dream Tower is here. Dream Tower is here. Dream Tower is here. Dream Tower is here,” it whispers and floats through the other side of the curtain like a ghost.

The noise behind the curtain ceases. Maggie’s breath is heavy. The noise starts again, but to the notable listener, it’s less boisterous.

“Dream,” Maggie says in as stern a voice as I would guess Maggie can muster, but that’s not saying much because it still has a pleading undertone. “I would love it if you could tell us the nature of your visit before I grant you entry… if that’s okay.”

“Sure,” Dream says. “We need to speak with one person, then we’ll be on our way.”

“And your sister?”

“I have zero interest in letting Rose or the other Heirs know where you’re meeting or in bringing her here,” Dream says.

Whenever Dream talks about Rose, I get a minor nervous tic. I pinch my arm hair or, if I’m conscious enough, hide my fingers by my side and pinch the air. Rose is royalty, but more importantly, she represents a different class of person. A class I claim to hate but I’ve aimed to be a part of for my entire life. It wasn’t the people in the class that I wanted to be around, only the result.

A class of people who life is made for. They have no mental hang-ups about their life or purpose in the world. They aim for the college scholarship, they get the scholarship. They aim for the girl, they get the girl. They aim for the job, it’s theirs. I fake confidence well enough that I don’t think Dream knows I fail at everything—that I am not in her class. I fear the day she finds out and leaves.

Maggie sighs and laughs at herself. “Well, perhaps we can call that one person for you, and they can meet you out here. I’m sure they’ll be happy to oblige. Sain can deliver that message for you.”

Sain nods.

“Sure, that’s no problem, we—” Dream says.

“No,” I cut in, snapping out of my melancholic thoughts. “We want to go inside and meet them.”

Maggie glances at me, wondering why my opinion matters, then glances at Dream. Dream tilts her head, waiting for my explanation. I can’t tell her we have to go in because I’m carrying forty thousand drops to buy something to change my life and the whole world.

Dream makes a face, a false smile. It hurts me because I can tell she’s uncomfortable with the decision. My mouth opens to tell Dream never mind, it’s fine.

It’s not fine.

It’s not fine, so I shut up.

“Ms. Tower?” Maggie says.

“Yes.” Dream nods. “Yes, we need to go in.”

Maggie glances at Sain. “Okay, Sain, you heard her.”

The black mist flows from Sain’s skin. “Dream Tower is coming. She only wants to talk to one of you. Stay out of her way. Dream Tower is coming” echoes through the curtain.

I know the “stay out of her way” part of the message bothers Dream. She’s made up her mind on if she would rather be loved than feared. So have I. We’ve come to separate answers. Shame our lives don’t correspond with our wants. The message makes me smile.

I push aside the red curtain for her. She shivers from the chill of the room. I place my black jacket on her shoulders. Thanks to our years of friendship, she wants to say she’s not cold, but she takes our pact to never lie to one another seriously, so she’ll thank me and put her tiny hands in my jacket.

“Thanks, ghost. Velli, when we go in…” Dream takes the tone she takes when she wants me to do something she knows I’ll hate. She’s lucky I’ll say yes to almost anything she asks. “I really wish you’d be gentler with everyone when we go in there.”

“Almost” is right. “No, Dream, you don’t need to be kind to demons when you’re walking through hell.”

We walk through together.

“This can’t be hell. It’s too cold,” she mumbles.