Dreamland (Riley Bloom #3)(22)

16

“The secret to dreamweaving is to keep the ingredients as organic as possible. It needs to come off as real and authentic, otherwise the dreamer will wake and the message will fail.

With dreamweaving you have to make it seem like something the dreamer would’ve come up with by themselves—something they’d never even guess was not their own creation. Dreamweaving is all about leaving a big impression. It’s all about the impact you make.”

I nodded, committing his words to memory, wondering if I should maybe manifest myself a small notebook so I could scribble it down, just like Balthazar had done with my backstory.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Satchel said, nodding at me. “You can use all the monsters, dragons,

witches,

warlocks,

fairies,

werewolves—whatever fantasy creatures you like—as long as it’s real to the dreamer—as long as it’s part of their experience, part of their world. As long as it’s something they either secretly, or not so secretly, believe in.

If it’s real to them, then it’s fair game. It’s all about knowing the dreamer. Knowing what they care about … what they desire … what they fear. Or, in many cases, what they overlook.”

I squinted, wondering how he could possibly know all of this. But just as soon as I’d completed the thought, he smiled and said,

“I studied under Balthazar.”

I gasped, wondering how that could possibly be when I figured him for the same age as me. And then it hit me—maybe he was the same age as me.

Maybe he had been the same age as me for a very long time.

Maybe there was no way to grow and mature.

Maybe Bodhi had lied about all that in an attempt to get me to shut up and stop complaining about being eternally twelve.

Maybe we really were stuck.

Maybe I’d live Here for infinity and nothing about me would change!

“I was his number-one intern,” Satchel said, invading my thoughts, but I was happy to let him, they were putting me into a serious mental tailspin. “I was the best assistant director Dreamland ever saw …”

“And then?” I gulped, eager to hear what came next.

He shrugged, patted his hair, a gesture he’d done twice in the short time I’d known him, and I wondered if it was his own personal nervous tell.

“And then …” He paused, tugged at the cuffs on his shirt (another tell?), took way too much time inspecting his sleeve, pretending to remove a nonexistent piece of lint.

“And then, we had a disagreement.” He shrugged. “A sort of … falling out, if you will.

And

now

Balthazar

does

what

he

does— dream jumps—and I do what I do— dreamweaving. Trust me, Riley, my way is better. You’re lucky you found your way here. Balthazar has talent, there’s no doubt about that. But what he lacks is vision. And whether you’re directing a dream, or a movie, or even a play you put on for you parents and your dog in your garage …” He looked right at me, and I wondered how he could possibly know about that, how he could possibly know about Ever’s and my Rainy Day Productions—that’s what we called our theater company, we even made brochures to go with it. But then he just smiled again, and I began to relax, figuring lots of kids did stuff like that. It was an easy guess on his part.

“Anyway,” he continued, reclaiming my attention. “No matter what sort of production you’re directing, vision is everything. ” I looked at him, remembering how Balthazar had claimed that the imprint was everything, and that the landing came a close second. Clearly they worked from two very different perspectives.

“What Balthazar does is nice, don’t get me wrong,” Satchel continued. “And it definitely serves a purpose, there’s no doubt. But, as you’re about to see, there’s just no comparis-on. His stuff … well, it’s a little schmaltzy. A little … sappy. Too many rainbows and smiling puppies for sure. His stuff is dripping with sugar, and spice, and everything nice.

Overly sentimental in the most obvious way.” He grimaced, making clear his disapproval, his distaste. “It’s not near as important as the work I do here. The same work you’ll soon be doing here too. What I do changes lives, Riley. After one of my dreamweaves … well, let’s just say that the dreamer’s life is never quite the same. They begin to see their place in the world in a whole new way.” I looked at him, wondering if Balthazar knew he was here, wondering if anyone knew he was here.

“So, what do you say we get started?” he said, not allowing me enough time to reply before he added, “Oh, and just so you know, there is no dream jumping here. There’s no need for it. What I do covers everything.”

“So, how do you do it?” I asked, more intrigued than anything. Following the curve of his arm, all the way down to the tip of his slim, pale finger as he pointed toward a dark, empty stage with the stained screen right behind it.

“For starters, you need to head over there.

Stand right on your mark. You’ll see it when you get there. And then I’ll start the projector, and you just sort of … go with it. Remember how you did with the dream jump? Well, that part’s the same. You just keep on acting no matter what. You stay in character until I tell you to stop. Deal?” He looked at me, looked directly into my eyes, and all I could do was nod in reply.