Night Sky (28 page)

He'd turned away to rinse off the washcloth in the sink. He was focusing intently on the task. And he was turning red.

He
had a dream last night?

I took a step toward him and, in a moment of impulsive courage, grabbed his shoulder, because God knows I wasn't going to ask this question out loud in front of Dana.
You
had
a
dream
about…me?

He looked up at me, his expression one of desperate embarrassment, and I felt more than heard his reply. He was unable to form a coherent thought other than
God, I'm so sorry
.

But I saw, without a doubt, that somehow, someway, we'd had the same dream last night. The
exact
same dream.

Oh
God
, I asked him,
did
I
make
you
kiss
me?

And Milo looked mortified, which made me feel even more mortified. But I kept my hand on his shoulder as he gazed at me and…

Sky, you didn't
make
me
do
anything.

I sighed. And I studied his face.
But
you
remember
it? Last night, with the fog and the—

…highway
, he finished for me.
And
that
silly
hospital
gown
you
were
wearing. Why were you wearing that thing?

“Holy crap!” And I must have said
that
out loud, because Dana and Calvin both said “What?” at the same time.

“Do you want to tell them or should I?” I asked Milo as I took my hand off his shoulder.

But Milo touched my arm and silently said,
It
was
just
a
dream. You don't have to say anything that will make you uncomfortable.

He let go of me and I took a deep breath. “I had another dream about Sasha last night,” I told Dana and Calvin, “and Milo had the same dream.”

“You're dream projecting,” Dana said, and it was more of a statement than a question.

“I'm not sure what it is that I'm doing,” I said.

“Dream projecting is when a telepath is so powerful that her unconscious essentially forces her dreams on anyone who might be susceptible.” Dana looked from me to Milo and back.

“So it
was
my dream,” I concluded, unable to meet Milo's eyes. I
forced
my dreams on him?

“And therefore, it contained psychic elements,” Dana concluded. “How many times has it happened?”

“Just once,” I replied.

“Five, er,” Milo blurted at the same time. I glanced over at him, confused. “I mean, I'm not sure.” He looked absolutely horrified. “I've had several with… Skylar has entered a few of my dreams before. Two or three. Or five.” He cleared his throat. “Five total. Give or take.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dana said, her eyes glinting. “So Miles, you've had a total of five dreams in which Skylar was present, but Sky, you only remember one, which happened last night?”

Milo nodded miserably. I stared at him, but he wouldn't meet my eyes. So I turned to Dana. “That's correct.”

Dana stood and rolled up the sleeves of her fitted white T-shirt, creating an impromptu tank top. “Okay. I'm only going to say this once. And Milo knows it already, so more shame on him than on you, Sky.” She sniffed. “Nature loathes a vacuum. And I. Loathe. Secrets.”

Milo studied the contents of the bathroom's medicine cabinet, pulling out a box of gauze pads and medical tape.

“And when I think about things that I loathe, I get angry,” Dana continued. “And you don't want to see me angry. Believe me.”

Calvin giggled a little bit. He couldn't help it. It's what he did when he was profoundly uncomfortable.

“Scooter, something you wanna share with the group?”

“No, ma'am,” he said quickly, and used massive amounts of effort to force the corners of his mouth down.

Then there was an extremely awkward silence that lasted far too long.

Milo alone was busy—opening a paper-wrapped gauze pad and digging back through the cabinet to find some antibacterial gel.

But then Calvin raised his hand and said, “I've had dreams with Sky in them before…but that doesn't mean that she planted those images in my brain, right? I mean, I also have a say in what I dream about, right?”

“That's right,” Dana said.

“You have dreams about me?” I asked Calvin.

“Usually they're nightmares,” he replied. “Like the recurring one where you show up at my house with bedhead and dragon breath and I have to hide under the covers until you go away.”

“Lovely,” I said as Milo finally turned back to me with the gooed-up gauze pad and tape. I reached to take it from him, to apply the bandage myself. That way he wouldn't have to touch me again. Although, if I could force my dreams on him while we both slept, he was kind of doomed. I could smell his embarrassment mixed in with his ever-present vanilla, but I suspected that what he was really feeling was enormous embarrassment
for
me. And I felt my face heat.

“What about you, Milo?” Dana said, ignoring Calvin's joke. “What are your dreams about?” And there was something challenging about the way that Dana was staring Milo down as she asked him.

Milo glanced at me. “Well, they're all pretty vague. Except for the last one that I had…so I'm guessing the others don't really matter. Especially since Skylar doesn't remember them.”

“Come on,” Dana said, clearly irritated.

“He's right,” I said before Milo had a chance to respond. “He's never been in any of my other dreams—psychic or regular. It would be a waste of time dissecting every one of his.”

“All right, Madam Freud,” Dana said snootily, but she moved the discussion forward. “Then at least tell me the details about the dream that you imposed on Milo.”

I didn't like the way she'd phrased that, and I must've looked pained, because Milo shot me an apologetic look as he mouthed an “It's okay.”

I told her the dream in detail. Okay, so maybe it wasn't one hundred percent detailed. I left out the whole make-out session, but everything else was accurate and thorough—down to the types of leaves I'd noticed on the trees. Deciduous leaves on decidedly non-indigenous trees.

“I noticed them too,” Milo said.

Dana looked pleased, for once. “Okay, this is good,” she said. She turned to Milo. “Do you think you could identify the type of leaves if you saw them in a picture?”

“Definitely,” Milo said.

I nodded too. They'd had a very distinct shape.

“Cool. Let's get on that quick,” Dana decided. “Calvin, can Milo use your computer to do that research?”

“Of course,” Calvin said, leading the way out of the bathroom and over to the table where his Internet computer was set up. “But aside from our little science project, what's the next step here?”

Dana blew out a frustrated breath as she followed him. “I'd say Plan B is all about figuring out why Skylar gets whiffs of the sewage deal around our good friend Quarterback McDouche with the stupid car, so…”

“I love you,” Calvin mentioned.

Dana rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Boyfriend. But we need to get into his potentially smelly-ass house.”

Milo and I were engaged in an awkward little dance to leave the bathroom, each motioning for the other to go first. This was not a battle I could win, so I gave up and went out the door.

“He's having a party tomorrow,” Cal replied. “A sunset luau on the beach—whatever that means. Skylar scored all of us an invitation because Garrett totally wants to do her.”

Milo tugged at a cuticle with his teeth before reaching into his jeans pocket and pulling out his pack of gum.

“What time does this fabulous shindig start?” Dana asked.

“Five thirty,” Calvin said.

“How…early bird,” Dana said. “But we can use that to our advantage if we come up cold. There are a lot of places in Coconut Key to search.”

She looked from Milo to Calvin to me. And I knew she was talking about the club scene. I still didn't know—even with a fake ID—how Calvin and I would ever get into an over-twenty-one hotspot.

“We'll meet—right here—tomorrow at five,” Dana continued. And then she smiled as if she could read my mind. “Don't worry about what to wear. I'll bring clothes. For both of you.”

“Oh, boy,” Calvin deadpanned. “I can't wait.”

Dana snapped her fingers. “Bubble Gum,” she said. “You're with me for some serious discussion and then a little training. Riding the Bus 201, followed by Storing Calories 202. Let's do it. Let's move.”

I jumped to follow her—and tripped over my own backpack that I'd left in the middle of Calvin's very hard marble tile floor. I braced myself for my second skinned knee of the day, but I didn't hit the ground.

Because Milo leaped forward and saved me.

He caught my arm and kept me from going full horizontal, instead slamming me hard against the broad expanse of his very solid chest.

And an image coursed through me with the precise rhythm of a heartbeat, filling my brain and sending heat waves into the core of my body.

Milo, his hands traveling up my waist, my own hands dug into the thick of his gorgeous hair, his lips brushing mine as our tongues touched…

“Oh my
God
!” I said, and jumped back away from him.

“Shit!” Milo exclaimed, and I realized it was the first time I'd ever heard him swear. But he immediately apologized. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

And there we were, staring at each other, wide-eyed and both breathing hard.

“What's going on?” Dana asked, glaring at us.

“Nothing,” we both said quickly. Except I was still waiting for my heart to stop thumping in my chest.

Dana stared us both down for another moment before finally dismissing Cal and Milo. “Come on,” she said to me. “Let's go.”

I didn't look back, but I could feel Milo's eyes on my back as I followed his girlfriend out of Calvin's house and into the humid heat of the late afternoon.

Pizza Extravaganza was almost entirely empty, so Dana and I gravitated toward the window booth.

I watched Dana as she slid into her seat. Every move she made was smooth, almost stealthy. Even doing something as mundane as finding a table at a pizza place had the charismatic strategy of a cat burglar.

No wonder she was Milo's girlfriend.

I tugged self-consciously at Kim Riley's gym shorts as I sat down, feeling hopelessly unsexy compared to Dana and her sleek leather pants.

“So what did you need to talk to me about?” I asked politely. I had some things that
I
wanted to talk about—like the distinct possibility that Sasha was still alive—but I wanted to wait until Dana had said her part. And I was fervently hoping that her part didn't include a
hands
off
my
boyfriend, bitch
speech.

I swallowed hard, thinking about the incredibly R-rated vision I'd had of Milo and me just a few minutes ago. Had Dana sensed it?

I wasn't a boyfriend thief! And yet I couldn't
not
notice how my pulse rate picked up when Milo was near. Ugh. I needed to get a grip, and fast. He was Dana's. She surely loved him—how could she not? So, game over. Or at least that's how it should go—unless Dana was wrong and the Internet was right, and I was spiraling into some sort of G-T-power-induced moral abyss, slowly but surely moving toward a monstrous humanity-free zone where I truly didn't care about ridiculous conventions like boyfriends and love and the difference between right and wrong and oh my God….

Dana took her sunglasses off, and then crossed her hands on top of the table as she looked at me. “We need to get even more serious about your training,” she announced.

“I know,” I said, dropping my eyes to the surface of the table to hide my relief. This was something I
wanted
to talk about.

But Dana couldn't smell emotions the way I could, and she read my body language as discouragement. “Hey.” She knocked on the table in front of me until I looked up to meet her gaze, and her usually icy eyes were filled with kindness and empathy. “I'm not putting you down. You're doing awesome. I just think that if we talked a little bit more about strategy and coping mechanisms, you'd get more done—and maybe even avoid the unpleasant side effects.”

I didn't say a word.

Dana decided my silence was an invitation to clarify. “I'm talking about your reaction to what happened today with Edmund, not to mention your professional-grade puking.”

I smiled at that. “Thank you
so
much for reminding me.”

Her lips twitched, as if she were holding back her own grin. “If it makes you feel any better, I've been there, done that. It was years ago, but it happened.” Dana's smile grew and then turned wistful, as if she was rewinding a memory. “Believe it or not, I didn't make it to a bathroom, either. I puked right in Milo's lap.”

I felt my eyes get huge. “Really?”

Dana nodded. “Eh,” she said dismissively. “You know him, though. He's a rock. Nothing bugs him. Well, almost nothing.”

“I can tell,” I replied warily, afraid we were entering the boyfriend-warning zone.

“You've only seen the tip of the iceberg, Bubble Gum.” Dana played with a packet of sugar. “Milo's been through it.”

I raised an eyebrow, not understanding.

“He's had a rough life,” Dana continued. “You know about the warrant. Imagine having to steal money that's yours from someone who's supposed to take care of you, someone whose idea of
taking
care
of kids included frequent use of their belt—and then having that follow you for the rest of your life.”

I couldn't imagine.

“I met Milo in that foster home,” she told me. “He'd been there for a while.” I could tell by the way Dana said the words
a
while
that she was talking years. “He'd been through the typical shit-show. You know, dead mom, wino dad who ended up in prison…all that loveliness.”

“I'd guessed it was bad,” I whispered, “but I really didn't know how bad.”

“Well, how would you?” Dana shrugged. “Anyway, you have to understand something.” She focused her eyes on mine, gazing at me with an intensity that made my throat turn dry. “Milo hasn't met many girls like you. So just take that information and file it somewhere useful in that big brain of yours, and back the hell off.”

I leaned across the table, because it was so important to me that Dana understand. “I would never,” I said, shaking my head. “I mean, yes, he's great, he's amazing, he's…” I tried to make it into a joke, of sorts. “Mere words cannot describe the wonder that is Milo.” But Dana definitely wasn't laughing, so I quickly added, “But he's my friend, and
you're
my friend, and I would never,
ever
do anything to come between the two of you.”

Dana blinked, once. Other than that she didn't move a muscle.

“Never,” I added for emphasis.

“Well, good,” Dana finally said. She glanced toward the door to the kitchen as if looking for our waiter, but there was no one in sight. “Milo and I have been…”
—
she cleared her throat
—
“together for years. I'm glad to hear that you respect that.”

“I do,” I said.

“Good,” she said again, and then she sat there, just looking at me as if she was maybe going to say something else, or as if she were waiting for me to say something else to her.

I didn't know what there was to add, maybe an additional reassurance that I'd understood her message—back away from my boyfriend—but then I didn't have to say anything because an absurdly cheerful waiter approached our table.

“Hi! I'm Mike! I'll be your server today! Can I start you off with something to drink?” Mike chuckled a little, as if he couldn't contain his own jubilance.

“We're ready to order,” Dana replied, not bothering to check with me.

Mike nodded eagerly, his pen perched above the pad and ready to write.

“We're gonna need a large pepperoni pizza, extra cheese, sausage, mushrooms, and stuffed crust. Two baskets of bread, two large colas, and a lot of napkins.”

The waiter's hand moved furiously across his notepad. He punctuated the order with an expressive pop as the pen hit the paper. Then he looked up and nodded. “Be back soon!”

“Wow.” I asked Dana, “Are you trying to fatten me up?”

“Who said I ordered anything for you?”

I frowned.

“I'm kidding.” Dana grinned. “But I'm not kidding about you needing to eat more. You're skinny as it is. And if we really do train the way I want to, you're going to be burning a seriously huge amount of calories. The telekinesis is an enormous drain. I bet the telepathy is too. And, believe it or not, the more full you keep your stomach, the less likely you'll be to…regurgitate the contents.”

“I'm not sure about that,” I said skeptically.

“Just try it and see. It can't hurt to try, right?”

I nodded cautiously.

“It's a nourishment thing. If you don't provide the fuel, your body starts to, well, kind of cannibalize itself. You don't just burn fat, you burn muscle, and that weakens your entire system. Keep yourself fed, and you're less likely to have nasty-ass side effects.” Swiftly, she grabbed a clean napkin off a nearby table. “You got a pen?” she asked me.

I started to dig through my bag as she added, “Anyway, I'm serious about taking this training thing to the next level. And I want to make sure that things go more smoothly tomorrow when we're sniffing around McDouche's house looking for clues.”

I was still searching when Mike came back to our table with the sodas. As he leaned over to place the drinks on the table, he made eye contact with Dana. His head tilted abruptly to the right. “I would love, very much, to give you my pen,” he announced almost robotically, and pulled a blue ballpoint out of his shirt pocket.

He presented it to Dana as if it were the Hope Diamond, and she took it from him just as gravely. “Why, thank you, Mike.”

It was the same thing she'd done to Calvin when we were all in his car, driving around Harrisburg.
Mind-control
, Cal had called it.

I laughed out loud as Mike walked back to the kitchen. “That's so crazy.”

Dana didn't reply, but moved our soda glasses out of the way, leaned over the table, and motioned for me to do the same.

“All right. Let's get organized here.” Dana scribbled my name at the top of the napkin. Underneath that she made a vertical column of dashes, as if she was planning to write a list. “Okay. I want to review your talents—everything that you know about so far.”

I thought for a moment. “Well, the most obvious one is the telekinesis.”

Dana nodded and jotted it down.

“Then there are the smells. I don't know if that's something that's becoming more pronounced, or if I'm just more aware of it now that I know that I have that skill…”

“Probably both.”

“And then there's the whole psychic thing,” I continued. I almost wanted to laugh; our whole conversation sounded so ridiculous. And yet it was all true. I was psychic.

“Psychic abilities,” Dana said, nodding as she wrote.

I thought about the most recent vision I'd had of Sasha…the one that had appeared in my mind so clearly, right before Edmund's awful arrest—and how I'd asked him “Where's Sasha?” instead of “Who killed Sasha?” Hope rose in my chest like a tidal wave. I knew this was my opportunity to argue my case. “Dana, I'm not sure that my abilities are only psychic. You know, with my dreams and…visions?” I took a deep breath and just said it. “I think I might be prescient too.”

Dana looked up from the list without moving her head.

“I just… When Edmund showed up this afternoon, it was terrible. I mean, it was as awful as it gets. I had another vision when I spotted him. And it was strong. And powerful. And when I spoke to him? It was like that time when I just knew you were in that diner.”

Dana waited for me to continue.

I dropped the bomb. “I think Sasha's still alive.”

“No.” Dana dropped Mike's pen and took a long sip of soda from her straw. Swallowing, she shook her head. “No. I understand you want to believe that. But there's no way.”

I placed my hands on the table for emphasis. “But I
saw
her! She was asleep! She wasn't dead. And it wasn't a…a past-tense image. I really think it was happening
in
that
moment
. Like with Calvin in his car, with the hat.”

But my words didn't convince Dana. She leaned over the table, and with eyes brimming with sympathy, she covered my hands. “No, Sky,” she said again.

I pulled my hands free as I scowled and opened my mouth, more than ready to argue my point.

“And if you want to tell me why you disagree, Bubble Gum, I'm all ears—
after
we finish reviewing this list. Because whether Sasha's dead or alive, we need to keep working.”

I could tell she was just humoring me. Sighing mightily, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Fine.”

“Okay,” Dana said. “So we were talking about your psychic slash prescient abilities.”

On the napkin, Dana placed the word
prescient
between two very large and imposing sets of quotation marks. She didn't believe me.

So I'd just have to show her. But right now, I moved on. “I have an eidetic memory,” I said.

“'Kay. What else?”

“I can run really fast.”

Dana shook her head. “Man, I love that one. It is so freaking cool to watch you do that.” She smiled as she wrote it down.

“And recently…” I cleared my throat, feeling my cheeks heat up. “I found out that I can get into another person's head by…touching them. But it's only that…one person. Milo. I don't know why,” I added almost apologetically. “Ditto with the dreams.”

“Contact telepathy and projection dreams.” Dana nodded. She didn't look upset at all, which was a good thing. If I were Milo's girlfriend, I'd be way less cool with another girl invading my boyfriend's brain—but I guess Dana was just super confident. Of course, how could she not be? She was the epitome of sex appeal.

“I think that's it.”

“You forgot to mention your musical abilities.”

I blushed in spite of myself. “Oh, yeah,” I said. “But that's not something to fluff my feathers about. It's not like it would ever help us out.” I tried to make it into a joke. “
Excuse
me, creepy old lady who steals little girls. What's that you say? Listening to Mozart melts your brain…?
”

Dana studied my face, and I looked down at my fingers nervously. Finally, she spoke. “A few years ago, I went to a bookstore.” Dana took a sip of soda. After an appreciative
aah
, she continued. “I couldn't afford to buy anything at the time. Not even a cheap paperback. And my e-reader had just gotten run over by a very angry trucker in a neon-orange semi—long story. Long and very disappointing. Anyway. I missed the whole sit-read-and-relax process, so I picked up an old hardcover from the bargain bin. It was sixty-eight cents.” Dana smiled. “The book was called
Learn
French
in
24 Hours
. Well, I read it in two. And when I was done, I had learned French.”

I laughed. “You're kidding.”

“Nope.” She took another sip. “I remember thinking,
Well,
that
was
easy
. So I found another book called
Master
Japanese
. I read that too.”