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A best friend who recently admitted to using a section of my brain, but still. What’s a few neurons among friends? I was probably too smart for my own good.
Maxwell wrinkles his nose. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather just go into REM sleep from my own dreams.”
Huh. Is my father wary of touching Pom for the same reason I’d be—a totally reasonable and rational fear of viruses and bacteria that everyone else in the world lacks for unfathomable-to-me reasons?
Nah. He’d hugged me without a second thought.
Then again, I’d also hugged him without hesitation.
“Lie down on the floor,” I say, figuring if he’s really like me, he’ll object to that unsanitary instruction.
He lies down. He either doesn’t share my qualms or the prospect of touching Pom was the worse evil. “I’m ready.”
Figuring this might be a good time to practice using my sleep-inducing power remotely, I try it out.
It works. My father is instantly in REM sleep.
Seizing the moment, I turn to Valerian. “Did you miss me?”
His ocean-blue eyes glimmer. “What do you think?”
The room around us shimmers and becomes a lush bedroom once more, the one with an enormous bed swathed in silk sheets and scattered with rose petals.
I swallow hard, my pulse picking up. “I think you couldn’t stop thinking about me.”
He closes the distance between us and brushes his fingers along my jaw. His touch sends an electrical jolt through my body, making my skin prickle and my breathing hitch in my throat.
Biting my lip, I reach out to squeeze his muscular forearm. “Am I touching the real you?”
He nods, his eyes falling to my mouth.
Without a second thought, I rise on tiptoe and kiss him.
He returns the kiss hungrily, his tongue sweeping over the closed seam of my lips—which part of their own accord. He immediately takes advantage, deepening the kiss, and my mind goes pleasantly blank, empty of thoughts about germs or nearby parents or anything else. All I am is blissful awareness of how soft his lips are, how—
He picks me up and strides toward the bed.
Wow. Some of this can’t be real.
“You think you can handle more?” His voice is like heated molasses.
I nod as our eyes meet, my racing pulse making it difficult to speak.
His clothes disappear, and I no longer care if this is real or not. Pom’s fur turns coral pink on my wrist, and my own clothes feel like a straitjacket as heat thrums under my skin, making me feel like I’m melting. Breathing raggedly, I reach out to stroke the smooth, hard muscles of his chest and—
Valerian curses, and his clothes reappear as the bedroom poofs out of existence, revealing the reason.
Maxwell has just sat up.
Puck. Did he have to finish his dreamwalking so quickly?
I fight the urge to fan myself. How embarrassing would it be if I asked Valerian to use his powers to give me a cold shower?
“Later,” Valerian promises in a soft whisper, and I nod, flushing.
“It’s a date,” I whisper back. “And when it happens, I don’t want any illusions. Not the first time.”
Valerian’s eyes darken. “Your wish is my command.”
“It’s done,” Maxwell says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “We have a few minutes before she arrives.”
I look around the room, forcing myself to focus on something other than Valerian. “We’re taking Mom with us, right?”
“Of course,” Maxwell says.
“And leaving as soon as the jumper shows up?”
He nods. “Why wait?”
“In that case, we need the remote for Mom’s bed.”
Valerian’s already on it. “I’ll go talk to Dr. Xipil and tell Virgil we’re leaving.”
“But don’t tell them where we’re going,” Maxwell says.
Valerian opens the door. “I’m not the one who blabbed about Soma’s location to a random teleporter.”
My father stiffens. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“Well, I do, and I don’t intend to say anything.” Not waiting for a reply, Valerian walks out.
Maxwell turns to me. “He’s different than I remember him. Tougher. More like his father.”
“What about me?” I ask. “Am I different?”
“I don’t know yet.” He smiles. “Ask me again once we get to know each other a little better.”
I grin back at him. “Deal.”
“Actually, would you mind telling me something about yourself?” he asks. “You mentioned patients earlier. Are you a doctor?”
I tell him about the dream therapy I pioneered, and as I do, I can see his shoulders straighten with pride.
“Is that your main passion?” he asks after I’m done.
“There’s also virtual reality games,” I say. “I hope to use that technology to create something similar to dream therapy, but more accessible.”
He smiles. “You’re a lot like your namesake grandmother. She, too, is a healer in her heart of hearts.”
“I can’t wait to meet her,” I say, then frown. “She’s alive, right? She was already old in your memories, and Valerian said that time flows faster on Soma.”
“Dreamwalkers live very long lives,” Maxwell says. “Barring some unfortunate accident, Mama B should be alive, and in good health.”
