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Pom’s fur turns coral pink.
Damn hormones. I forgot just how attractive Valerian is. He looks yummy enough to end up on the menu, and it’s distracting me from my anger.
A server robot rolls over to the table, a plate of sashimi on his head. Valerian must’ve ordered it while I was staring.
I glare at him. “You’re kidding, right? One of us is not staying.”
He picks up a piece of sashimi with his bare fingers—proper werewolf table manners. Putting it in his mouth, he chews exaggeratedly slow.
I get up. “Fine. I’ll go.”
Suddenly, the other tables around us disappear, along with the restaurant’s windows and entrance.
Valerian leans back in his chair and swallows his morsel. “We need to talk. What can I do to lower your hostility so you’ll listen?”
Pom’s fur is now the angriest red. “You can build a time machine and not puck me over.”
He heaves a sigh. “Anything else?”
“Tell me everything you know about Soma. Let me see the precious black windows in your dreams, and maybe I’ll hear you out.”
His hands curl for a moment, but there’s no hint of emotion on his face—that or he’s tricking me with his illusion powers to think so. Sitting up straighter, he says, “This is important. I’m working with the Gomorran Senate and the Councils on Earth.”
I plop back into my chair. If I try to flee now, I’ll knock over a table or walk into a wall. Besides, if he’s telling the truth, I don’t want to anger the Senate or any of the Earth’s Councils. Instead, I give him my most seething stare. “How many times do I have to get nearly killed before you leave me alone?”
He narrows his eyes, his serene mask gone. “I’m here to save your stubborn hide. You know you’re in terrible danger, as much as you pretend otherwise. And I have arranged for your protection.” He makes the illusion go away, returning the tables, windows, and entrance to visibility.
“Danger?” I ask, the sashimi feeling like a stone in my stomach. “What danger?”
“Seriously?” He shakes his head. “The one you call Collywobbles. You got on his radar—and lo and behold, someone is hunting you in your dreams. How long do you think it’ll take before trouble comes for you in the waking world?”
That’s an interesting point. Even I wondered if those events were related. But—
A strange duo walks into the restaurant. One of them is a man with dark glasses and one of those special walking sticks the blind use to navigate the streets on Earth. Next to him is a giant canine wearing a guide-dog getup—a job a robot would do here on Gomorrah.
Only that’s not a dog.
It’s a werewolf, in his or her animal form.
The maybe-blind man beelines for our table without using his stick and doesn’t touch a single obstacle in his path, his guide werewolf lagging behind.
Without much ado, he sinks into the chair to my left and takes out a pair of tighty-whities from his pocket.
In a flash, the werewolf turns, becoming a naked man with sad eyes and unkempt facial hair that makes it difficult to determine his age. He snatches the underwear, robotically puts it on, then sits on the remaining chair and looks blankly into the distance.
The maybe-blind guy turns my way. “Hi, Bailey.” His gaze cuts to my companion. “Hi, Valerian.”
“Nostradamus,” Valerian mutters, looking as discombobulated as I feel.
This is Nostradamus?
A legendary figure, he’s said to be one of the most powerful seers in existence, and has been instrumental in saving all of the Cognizant kind at least once.
“At your service,” Nostradamus replies. “And my companion is Marius. Nice to finally meet you both—outside of visions, that is.”
Valerian glances at Marius. “Pleasure.” Then his attention homes in on Nostradamus. “Everyone thought you disappeared with the rest of the seers.”
The rest of the seers disappeared?
What’s going on?
“I’ll be gone too, after we talk,” the seer says sagely. “But first, I’m here to tell you how to save Bailey’s life.”
Chapter Six
Save me?
No. Not again.
Valerian looks at the werewolf as if for an explanation, and when none comes, he says, “I’m here to protect her.”
“Sadly, the protection you plan will doom her, and everyone else.” Nostradamus grabs a piece of sashimi off my plate and tosses it into his werewolf friend’s mouth.
The werewolf catches it and swallows without chewing, his sad eyes staring into the distance.
On autopilot, I move my plate toward Nostradamus and open VR to order the same thing again.
Valerian rubs the bridge of his nose. “The safe house the Senate prepared—”
“Will get broken into, the Enforcers overwhelmed,” Nostradamus says. “And though my powers aren’t as good when it comes to events that happen in dreams, I can tell you that most versions of the future you planned for her end with Bailey going homicidally insane.”
I blink. “As in, the Nutcracker kills me in a future fight?”
