pick us up at eleven. We're going to meet his grandmother, then we'll go riding.”
I sat in the room's one chair. “On a horse?”
“Unless you'd like to try a bull.”
“Have
you
ever been horseback riding before?”
She shrugged. “I went to summer camp once. And last fall some friends invited me to their place up in Maryland.”
“Oh.” I tried to wrap my head around the idea of D&D Lisa in jodhpurs and boots. She was a long way from her goth days. Instead of dyed black, her hair was a rich reddish brown. After two days in the sun, she had a smattering of freckles on her nose. But her pajama pants were covered with skulls, so maybe not everything was different.
Going to the cubby of a closet, I pulled out the jeans I'd worn to the Duck Inn the night before. They still smelled like cigarette smoke, so I figured horse couldn't make them smell any worse. “Are you learning anything new from that book?”
“Yeah. I am.” I heard the rustle of another page. “The Native Americans called this land the Wild Horse Desert. But you know what the Spanish called it?”
“What?”
“
El Desierto de los Muertos.
The Desert of the Dead.”
I dreamed that night of the fence, of searching for the red-eyed creature. I didn't see the horsewoman again, but I had the sense she was just out of sight, maybe even watchingme. Once again I woke with a clear memory of the vision, but no hangover headache. It seemed ungrateful to complain, but there was something really weird going on.
“That's so strange,” I said aloud, staring at the cracks in the plaster ceiling.
“What?” Lisa looked over from her bed. She had the South Texas history book and a notebook full of orderly scribbles in her lap.
“I feel great, like I slept a week.” I sat up and swung my legs off the bed. “You didn't
do
anything, did you?”
She closed the book with a snap. “It's bad manners to enchant a friend without their permission.”
I got up and walked around the room, feeling my way with my extra senses—like trying to track the source of a smell, or find a chirping cricket. “It's two mornings in a row now I've had no psychic hangover.”
Lisa watched me pace. “But you're still dreaming. Not like when the Sigmas blocked you.”
“I know.” Last fall an item had been hidden in my room that had stopped me from remembering my dreams. “This is different. But kind of not.”
She joined the search; we got systematic, checking all the drawers, under the beds, even behind the furniture. It didn't take long to explore the whole room.
Hands on her hips, Lisa scanned for something we might have missed. “I could do a general break-curse spell, but that would be a lot of work and energy.”
“I don't feel
cursed.
” The strangest thing about saying that aloud was how it didn't really feel strange anymore. My yardstick for “bizarre” had changed drastically.
My eyes kept going to the beds, even though I'd checked underneath them thoroughly, and found not even a dust bunny. Lisa followed my gaze and then slapped her forehead. “I am such an idiot. That's exactly where
I
would have put it.”
She reached between the mattress and box spring and pulled free a small drawstring sachet made of red linen. After giving the bag a once-over, she held it out to me. “Tell me what your mojo says. I can't open it without breaking the spell.”
I raised my deflector shields, even though I trusted, more or less, that she wouldn't have offered the bag if she knew it was something
bad.
When my fingers met the red linen, a cozy heat flowed up my arm—the warmth of a comforter and a cup of chamomile tea, of sun-warmed meadow flowers and a fat cat purring on a lap.
My eyelids drooped, and Lisa plucked the sachet from my fingers. “That's what I thought.” She sniffed it again. “Red is deceptive. It's a power color, but one of those powers is protection. The botanicals are basically comfort, good sleep, that kind of thing.”
“Well, this
I sat in the room's one chair. “On a horse?”
“Unless you'd like to try a bull.”
“Have
you
ever been horseback riding before?”
She shrugged. “I went to summer camp once. And last fall some friends invited me to their place up in Maryland.”
“Oh.” I tried to wrap my head around the idea of D&D Lisa in jodhpurs and boots. She was a long way from her goth days. Instead of dyed black, her hair was a rich reddish brown. After two days in the sun, she had a smattering of freckles on her nose. But her pajama pants were covered with skulls, so maybe not everything was different.
Going to the cubby of a closet, I pulled out the jeans I'd worn to the Duck Inn the night before. They still smelled like cigarette smoke, so I figured horse couldn't make them smell any worse. “Are you learning anything new from that book?”
“Yeah. I am.” I heard the rustle of another page. “The Native Americans called this land the Wild Horse Desert. But you know what the Spanish called it?”
“What?”
“
El Desierto de los Muertos.
The Desert of the Dead.”
I dreamed that night of the fence, of searching for the red-eyed creature. I didn't see the horsewoman again, but I had the sense she was just out of sight, maybe even watchingme. Once again I woke with a clear memory of the vision, but no hangover headache. It seemed ungrateful to complain, but there was something really weird going on.
“That's so strange,” I said aloud, staring at the cracks in the plaster ceiling.
“What?” Lisa looked over from her bed. She had the South Texas history book and a notebook full of orderly scribbles in her lap.
“I feel great, like I slept a week.” I sat up and swung my legs off the bed. “You didn't
do
anything, did you?”
She closed the book with a snap. “It's bad manners to enchant a friend without their permission.”
I got up and walked around the room, feeling my way with my extra senses—like trying to track the source of a smell, or find a chirping cricket. “It's two mornings in a row now I've had no psychic hangover.”
Lisa watched me pace. “But you're still dreaming. Not like when the Sigmas blocked you.”
“I know.” Last fall an item had been hidden in my room that had stopped me from remembering my dreams. “This is different. But kind of not.”
She joined the search; we got systematic, checking all the drawers, under the beds, even behind the furniture. It didn't take long to explore the whole room.
Hands on her hips, Lisa scanned for something we might have missed. “I could do a general break-curse spell, but that would be a lot of work and energy.”
“I don't feel
cursed.
” The strangest thing about saying that aloud was how it didn't really feel strange anymore. My yardstick for “bizarre” had changed drastically.
My eyes kept going to the beds, even though I'd checked underneath them thoroughly, and found not even a dust bunny. Lisa followed my gaze and then slapped her forehead. “I am such an idiot. That's exactly where
I
would have put it.”
She reached between the mattress and box spring and pulled free a small drawstring sachet made of red linen. After giving the bag a once-over, she held it out to me. “Tell me what your mojo says. I can't open it without breaking the spell.”
I raised my deflector shields, even though I trusted, more or less, that she wouldn't have offered the bag if she knew it was something
bad.
When my fingers met the red linen, a cozy heat flowed up my arm—the warmth of a comforter and a cup of chamomile tea, of sun-warmed meadow flowers and a fat cat purring on a lap.
My eyelids drooped, and Lisa plucked the sachet from my fingers. “That's what I thought.” She sniffed it again. “Red is deceptive. It's a power color, but one of those powers is protection. The botanicals are basically comfort, good sleep, that kind of thing.”
“Well, this
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