she a minion of my father? Is it possible she's got some mind controlling powers? If she's got powers, Sebastien will know.
Finally, after this five minute manifesto about how to possibly recapture the false utopia promised by the Spectre phone, I've had enough.
"Excuse me, I'm just curious," I yell, stopping her in her tracks.
She shades her eyes with her palm as she moves away from the projector, squinting in vain to see who's interrupted her from the back of the room. I know there's no way she can see me in the dark. "Yes?"
"Well, you know, I pay forty grand in tuition in order to learn about political science, not to listen to your opinions. Would it be possible for you to stick to the curriculum and leave your personal views at home?"
A collective "whoa" floats through the room from the students. The teacher's face tightens, her eyes narrow into a glare. "Excuse me?"
"Hey, you said we should challenge authority. So I'm challenging yours by saying the Spectre phone was part of the biggest con job in the history of this country. I'm happy it crashed. It would have destroyed society."
"Who's back there? Lights!"
And just before a student in the front row reaches the light switch, I book on outta there.
I guess I should catch you up on how my powers work these days, since I spent most of the summer working on my newfound projection and healing abilities.
As far as my duties as a seer go, not much has changed. I can still only see five years into the future, still only read romance, still get occasional views of the afterlife. Luckily I'm still in contact with the angel Carrielle, though he hasn't needed me for any special projects since we put my father into a deep freeze. I simply meet him when I need inspiration or advice.
But when it comes to projecting myself to a different location (Ryan refers to my alter ego as Jillian 2.0) I've made significant progress with the help of Fuzzball. My alter ego trips fall into two categories. If I simply project and don't have to heal anyone, I return to my body and wake up immediately feeling perfectly normal. If I have to heal someone during an out of body experience, I need recovery time but I don't black out unless it's a life or death situation, which I have just learned. It's taken less time as I've gotten more experienced, but the rule of thumb is this: the more drastic the healing process, the longer the recovery time. However, I had never saved anyone as close to death as the detective's partner.
Sadly, for Ryan anyway, I cannot be awake in both my real body and the projection at the same time, denying him his fantasy of being with two Jillians at the same time. What is it about men and twins?
Now that school has started, my mystic seer duties are down to two nights a week. Fortunately Fuzzball has helped me replace that lost income by helping him on a few of his moonlighting jobs that all cops seem to have. We're quite the buddy cop duo, projecting ourselves to solve mysteries, which pays pretty well. I'm working for him Friday night, on an assignment that should be a hoot. Politician's wife thinks he's cheating (yeah, there's a real stretch) and she wants to find out if the guy's hot female "consultant" is taking care of more than focus groups.
But right now I've got a new client to take care of, and hopefully I'll be done quick since the Giants are on Monday Night Football and I never miss a game. He's a young guy, probably my age, which is surprising. As you can imagine, most of our clients are older, and most are women. Most college age men aren't exactly worried about romance as they are about sex. (There should be a freshman class to teach them the difference.)
Anyway, this guy has that lost puppy dog look which tells me he's got it bad for some girl. He tells me his name is Stan as he shakes my hand, then sits down opposite me. He's very average looking, five on a scale of one to ten, maybe five-foot-six with a scruffy blonde beard and curly hair to match. He might qualify as a six if he bought a razor.
"So, you have some concerns about romance," I say.
He nods. "There's someone I'm very interested in. And to be perfectly honest, I think she's probably way out of my league."
"Why do you say that?"
"She's really pretty, and I know a lot of guys are interested in her."
"Well, that's true of most attractive women. Doesn't mean you don't have a shot. You might be her type."
"I doubt it. But I'd like to save myself the pain of getting shot down if possible."
"I hear ya. Did you bring a photo?"
"Sorry, don't have one." He describes her, and I can tell he's right about the out-of-his-league thing since she sounds like a supermodel.
"Okay, Stan, here's how this works. I want you to ask a question about romance, and only about romance. Then focus on the question and nothing else. Got it?"
"Sounds simple enough."
"So what's your question?"
"Is it possible for me to have a relationship with her?"
"Now close your eyes and focus."
I do the same and try my best to create a mental picture from the description he's given me, adding his image in the process. I open my eyes and the crystal ball is already fogged up. "Okay, Stan, you can open your eyes."
He looks at the ball and sees the fog. "Wow, that was fast. You see anything?"
"Not yet, but the picture is clearing. It won't take long." The fog dissipates and I see Stan walking along a hallway with a lot of doors. It looks like a bunch of offices. He heads for the door at the end of the hallway and is about to reach for the doorknob when he appears to hear something. He leans his head against the door and listens. The image dissolves to the inside of the office. I can see shadows on the floor, two people kissing. And then I see the two people creating the shadows.
Ms. Cruise.
And Jake.
"She could be a dream weaver."
Mom's words make me furrow my brow. "A what?"
"Dream weaver. It's legend really, as there's no evidence on record that one has ever existed. But it's an old tale about a woman who can manipulate others into thinking they're dreaming when they're actually awake." Mom puts down her coffee, gets up from the kitchen table and heads upstairs. She quickly returns with a very old leather bound book and slides it onto the table. The cover is plain, with no title visible on it or the spine.
"What's this?" I ask.
"Call it the big book of paranormal legends." She flips it open. I see her name, Zelda Spectre, written on the inside cover.
"How old is this thing?"
"I think it was put together around 1900. You're in it, by the way."
My eyes widen. "Excuse me?"
"Remember you were told there was a legend of a seer who could see beyond the physical world?"
