Meritorium (Meritropolis Book 2) by Joel Ohman Read Free Book Online

different.
    Charley snored a rough snort, jerking himself awake. Sandy tore her gaze away from the fire and met his sleepy eyes. She twitched her mouth into a little smile.
    He mumbled, “Get some sleep; I think we’re safe by the fire.”
    “Okay,” she reassured him. But her eyes remained open long after his had closed again.
    She loved a lot about Charley, yes. But for all that she loved about his brash, take-charge attitude, it was not without its drawbacks. She was the one who had figured out how to get through the Bramble, and she had even successfully led them into the Bramble, and all the while she could feel resentment rising off Charley like steam from concrete. He had remained silent, but she could feel it. She had led the way, and led the way well. But it was something about the way he looked at her, as if he could only ever be happy together if he was firmly ensconced on the throne in what he deemed his rightful position. Well, if he considered himself the ruler, she wondered what that might make her? She wanted him to fight for her, but she wanted him to appreciate her, and respect her, too. Sandy sighed.
    But Sandy was aware there were bigger things to worry about. Around the fire, and inside of an outward ring of smaller fires they had lit as a precaution, they were safe from the Bramble, for the time being, but who knew what lay ahead? She looked up at the starlit sky, willing her eyes to close and her mind to shut off. It was going to be a long night.
    ***
    When Charley awoke, he was lying on a bed of flowers. He looked around, his movements sluggish, seemingly still in the fog of sleep. Everywhere he looked lavenders, saffrons, azures, and cyans burst into his field of vision; everything was coated in vibrant blooms of pastel. He shook his head, slowly pushing himself up onto his elbows. He was sure he was dreaming.
    Even the mat made of vines he had bedded down on was raised off the ground by the closely clumped florets. The smell was fragrant but overpowering; the notes of honey blossom, pine, lilac, and bergamot melded into an unholy mixture that assailed his nose. Forcing himself onto his feet, Charley wobbled unsteadily. He felt as if he was being waterboarded in a perfume factory.
    The others were also waking, each recreating Charley’s confused state from moments before.
    Charley scrunched his eyes shut forcefully and then opened them again. The flowers were still there. Finding it difficult to breathe, he needed to do something about the smell. Moving as if underwater, he strained to rip a corner from his shirt. Reaching up, slowly, he aimed the tiny fabric square for his nose and missed, poking himself in the eye.
    Charley swore under his breath, but then looking up, he met Hank’s eye. They both began to laugh uproariously. Standing, Hank picked an amethyst flower, staggered drunkenly to one side, lifted the bloom to his nose, and inhaled a deep sniff. Immediately, he started giggling, collapsing rapturously into a bed of harlequin hydrangea-esque bouquets that looked like giant clustered mopheads.
    His depth perception still fuzzy, Charley rubbed his sore eye and attempted to plug his nose again. Finally succeeding, and the cacosmia slightly receding, he felt himself regain some semblance of control. Charley wobbled his way over to Hank, the degenerate flower sniffer still picking little blooms and cramming them up to his nostrils in an ecstasy of delight. Charley paused, watching. He remembered learning about strong drink firsthand, even as a young boy, and how while under the spell of an intoxicating substance he imagined himself the possessor of truth or special insight. But in reality, it’s fool’s gold—he just looked like an idiot.
    Charley reached to help Hank, then stopped.
    There was something important here. Something his still-cloudy mind was furiously trying to process and alert him to. He closed his eyes, motionless, then opened them again, squinting. What was it?
    Sandy