Chapter Sixteen
“People are staring again.” Alice glanced surreptitiously around the lightly crowded coffee shop. She and Owen were seated at a table next to the mezzanine railing that afforded them a view out over the busy hotel lobby. “This is so awkward.”
“The attention is yet another line of defense,” Owen said. He did not look up from the menu of coffee drinks. “You need to take Sebastian’s attitude. He could give lessons in cool. Talk about a natural-born Illusion Town celebrity.”
She looked at Sebastian, who was perched on the back of a chair. His sunglasses were on top of his head, and his necklace added a festive touch. He appeared utterly unconcerned with the speculative gazes of the people seated at nearby tables.
Owen was right, she thought. But she had never considered herself cool, let alone a celebrity.
She was a dream therapist, a teacher, a practitioner of the Ballantine Method.
She had been accustomed to keeping a low profile professionally and—for the past seven months—in every other aspect of her life.
The abrupt transition to Illusion Town celebrity was jarring.
At least the stares were not hostile or accusatory, she thought; they were more like varying degrees of curious.
Owen tossed the menu down on the table. “I don’t know about you, but I slept well last night.”
“No bad dreams?”
“Nope. What about you?”
She thought for a moment. “No,” she said, more than a little surprised. “No bad dreams. Maybe we were too exhausted to dream.”
Or maybe she had slept soundly because for the first time in a very long while she felt safe. She and Owen and Sebastian were a team, at least for now.
Owen gave her a knowing look. “That’s right, we’ve got each other’s backs,” he said. “You, me, and the dust bunny.”
“There’s no such thing as mind reading, you know,” she grumbled. “So stop doing it.”
He grinned. “No mind reading involved. All I have to do is look at your face and I’ve got a pretty good idea of what you’re thinking.”
She frowned, distracted by a stray thought. “Is reading body language an aspect of your talent?”
“No.”
She was about to ask more questions when a tall, elegantly curved blonde with sunglasses appeared at the entrance of the coffee shop.
There was a copy of the Curtain under her arm.
She surveyed the small crowd and then started toward the table where Alice sat with Owen and Sebastian.
She moved with the graceful, long-legged stride of a showgirl.
“She’s here,” Alice whispered. “She sees us and she’s coming our way.”
“Between the front-page headlines and photos and the lucky dust bunny, we’re hard to miss,” Owen said.
The woman reached the table. Anxiety sparked in the atmosphere around her. Sebastian chortled a cheery greeting.
“Please sit down,” Alice said, unable to resist the urge to touch the woman’s arm and focus a soothing pulse of energy into the invitation.
The ability to reduce someone’s agitation was an aspect of her talent.
Anxiety triggered unstable dreamlight. Stabilize the currents to some extent and the individual usually calmed.
It was the reverse of what she would do if she was trying to put someone into a nightmare.
It was also the basic principle behind meditation.
The blonde seemed to relax a little.
Amusement flickered in Owen’s eyes as he rose and pulled out the fourth chair at the table.
Alice knew he was aware of what she had done to calm the visitor.
That was annoying. She had always worked hard to keep that aspect of her talent subtle and unnoticeable.
But this was not the time to fret about his ability to pick up the vibes of her aura.
In fairness, she was learning to read his energy field, too.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t show up,” the woman said. She glanced uneasily at Owen and sat down. She fixed her attention on Alice. “My name is Brooke.”
“Brooke what?” Owen asked, taking his seat.
She bit her lip and then appeared resigned. “Brooke Wyatt.” She put the newspaper on the table and turned back to Alice. “I told you in my text, I’m the girlfriend that creep Travis mentioned in the video and I owe you an apology.”
“Let’s order,” Alice said. “And then we can talk.”