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dimmed.
    “Go to sleep. Without your chain.” Noni suggested as she walked across my room. She paused at the door. “I’ll be up for a few hours. If you need waking, I will do it.”
    I nodded my agreement, gaze on the floor. Noni knew better than anyone how a dream vision might go, having shared a bed with my grandfather for so many years. In the years before my mom perfected the spelled chain, she had often been the one to wake me when I fell too deeply into a dream vision.
    They left and I climbed into bed. The alcohol would actually help with the dreams, dulling my fear and breaking down my resistance. Assuming I would remember everything in the morning, I could interpret them then.
    I imagined the Fae, his wet feet on my floor, his body near my bed. Had he looked around? Had he taken anything else? No, Mom would have sensed it during her investigation. But he’d been here. He’d been right here . His hand had probably touched the exact spot where I was lying now.
    I breathed slowly, focusing my thoughts. I wasn’t practiced enough to keep my visions on a specific topic, but I had enough skill to guide myself toward a broad subject. Or try to. I struggled to stay on target, thinking about the missing journal. But as I fell asleep, I wondered if he’d been wearing those long swim tights, or that skirt from my first vision.

 
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER FIVE
     
    The skirt. He wore the skirt. Now, up close, I could see it more clearly: a wide solid band at the waist gave way to a fringed skirt made up of thousands of silken aqua-blue strands. I caught a glimpse of thigh, pale and bare, and wondered if he wore anything underneath.
    His long hair was braided. I glanced at his face, noted his smile, his sharp cheekbones and bright blue eyes, but my gaze was drawn back to his hair. It hugged his scalp in two thick braids, tied off with something like twine or cord, not a proper elastic. An unusual style for a man. Had he done it himself?
    “You like my hair?” His voice came out deep and smooth, much stronger than I’d imagined based on his delicate looks and the one “yes” I’d heard from him in my visions. He slid onto the bed next to me, and I moved over to avoid touching him.
    I sat cross-legged on my bed wearing nothing but my boxers, just as I’d worn to sleep, and for a minute I was confused. “This is just a dream.”
    “Yes. And no.”
    “How can you do this?” At his curious look I added, “Interact with me, I mean.”
    He smiled. “One of my skills.”
    I tilted my head and scowled at the ridiculous answer.
    He laughed softly, blue eyes sparkling. “I can do it the same way you are speaking to me here. With most people your vision is one-way, like closed circuit television. You see, but you remain unseen. However, I am also a receiver, also able to ‘see.’ So together, we can form a network of sorts…like a video conference.” He lifted his chin up in a smug gesture, as if he were pleased with the explanation.
    “I’ve never been able to have a conversation inside a vision with any other precognitive witches.”
    “I am not a witch. And you could not do this if I were not helping you.”
    He had tiny freckles on his nose I hadn’t noticed before, and up close I realized his hair was lighter at the ends than the roots, fading from pale blond to almost white.
    I blinked and looked away. Focus . “Where is my grandfather’s journal?”
    “Safe.”
    “Why did you take it? Why are you here?”
    He shook his head gently. “I cannot tell you that.”
    “Why not?”
    He just shook his head again, and I groaned in frustration.
    He placed his palm on my knee, a careful comforting gesture, his skin smooth and cool against mine. Desire rose in me, sharp as a knife and just as dangerous. I pulled my leg away. “Don’t touch me.”
    He sucked in a quick breath, and I looked up in time to see hurt flash across his face. He folded his hands on his lap and pressed his lips together.
    I instantly