Waking the Fae [BOOK ONE]

Chapter 4

Mikael Bertoz.

Even the name annoyed Rebecca.

Mikael Bertoz had been constantly in her thoughts. All throughout the night she’d tossed and turned, her dreams keeping her awake. It was odd. To begin with the dreams weren’t her usual dreams. The strangest thing was that she could remember every detail of her dreams – every word spoken, every place she’d visited. And, the most annoying thing about it all was the Mikael Bertoz had been in every single one. They’d started out relatively normal – normal for Rebecca, that is, which in truth wasn’t all that normal – then he’d shown up and they’d just turned into something Rebecca didn’t have the hope of understanding. He’d spoken in another language all together, yet Rebecca had understood every word as if he’d been speaking English. The weird thing was that now she couldn’t understand what he was saying; every time she thought back on the dreams they were just in a language she didn’t know.

I’m going crazy, Rebecca reasoned with herself, because, yes, that was the perfect way to describe it; she was simply losing her mind. How else did you explain understanding a language you’d never heard before in your life? There was no logical way to explain it. Rebecca had heard of the people who woke up fluent in a complete new language they knew nothing of, of course she had, but that didn’t make any sense of her dreams. She didn’t know the language anymore and she didn’t want to even try pronouncing half the words he said – Rebecca had recognised it as French, but that didn’t make sense since Mikael had claimed not to know French. Rebecca didn’t see reason why he’d lie about not knowing it; Skye had already been grovelling at his mere presence, throwing in a French accent and words would have made her melt into a puddle.

There was one dream she hadn’t been able to forget, no matter how hard she’d tried. It had been disturbing and she’d felt like it had been real, like a distant memory. The tears she’d cried had been real; she’d known the minute she’d woken up with tears on her cheeks. The emotions she’d felt had been real.

She could picture the graveyard she’d been sitting with Mikael in, so clearly. If she had paper she’d be able to draw it – if she could draw in the first place; even her stick figures didn’t turn out right. Still, she could recall it that well. They’d been sitting on stone ground that had spanned about three metres along, in a perfect circle. The ground had been uncomfortable under her, the rough pebbles digging into her legs. The trees around them had been barely visible because of the fog surrounding them. In front of them had been a large grave, only nothing like Rebecca had ever seen before. It had been the size of a coffin, possibly slightly bigger. Only there’d been no coffin. Instead, the ground had been dug out and a glass box had been placed into it. That had been creeping Rebecca out before she looked into the glass. Mikael had warned her, or at least that was what Rebecca thought he’d been saying. Now that she didn’t know what he’d been saying, she wasn’t so sure. He’d sounded concerned though, so that meant it had to be a warning, right? It made sense too, considering what was in the glass box.

Rebecca was incredibly glad it hadn’t been real, just a dream.

“Elle n’est pas jolie. Ne regardez pas,” he’d said, suddenly with a perfect French accent. Mikael didn’t seem so scary with the accent, the words flowing of his tongue in a perfect rhythm. The language was beautiful. He was beautiful when he spoke with it – his suit he’d been wearing in the dream had made him more appealing. In that moment Rebecca had understood what he'd been saying – now she was clueless. Regardless of her understanding she’d looked, so clearly if it had been a warning it hadn’t been a good one.

“Ne regardez pas,” Mikael had repeated.

Rebecca had ignored him, getting up on her knees to look over into the glass. The black silk dress had cushioned her legs against the stone, though not by much. Rebecca still didn’t understand the dress she’d been wearing. It was way too formal and as someone who couldn’t stand dresses, it was something she’d never wear. Rebecca had still been able to appreciate the intricate design and the finesse that had gone into making it. It was a strapless silk, black gown, with material that was way too soft to be real. The dress had reached her feet; she’d been able to feel it brush over her them. Over her shoulders, going half way down each arm had been an intricate lace design, obviously hand-created. It had covered her back and upper body, meeting the bodice of the dress. Rebecca couldn’t deny that it had been beautiful. Still, she’d never wear it in real life.