“I saw you,” he says gently. “Before anyone started yelling or screaming. You were scared.”
I shake my head. “No, I wasn’t.”
“It’s okay,” he reassures me. Because he knows I’m lying.
And yet I persist. “No, that was something else.”
He backs up a step or two, keeps his voice soft and controlled. “How did you know? Did you hear him, or did you see him?”
“I was up here. How could I have seen him?”
“Not that kind of seeing.”
“What other kind of seeing is there?”
“A premonition. Or a vision.”
“A vision?” I scan his face for signs that he’s joking.
There are none.
“Yes, a vision.”
My only defense is to treat him like he’s three. “You do know real people don’t have visions, right? That only happens in books and movies.” I pat him patronizingly on the shoulder.
He captures my hand. “Real peopledohave visions.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
“Then how did you know something bad was happening?” He seems desperate for me to answer his question and I don’t understand why.
I yank my hand out of his grip and step back. “I’m gonna go find my boyfriend.”
His features soften. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to scare you.”
“Well, you are.”
He takes my hand again and urges me back to him. “I’m just trying to understand what happened to you.”
His eyes are captivating. Other-worldly. And such a dark brown that I can barely distinguish his irises from his pupils. He smells good too, like a forest on an autumn morning.
As though I’m under some sort of spell, I stand outside myself and listen as I whisper, “I didn’t see him, Ifelthim.”
Leo goes still. “Felt him?” He’s not laughing at me, nor is he rolling his eyes.
“Yes.”
His hand tightens around mine as he gazes at me in wonder. On a breath he murmurs, “You’re clairsentient.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t move. I don’t want to. There are people laughing and shouting all around us, a band playing downstairs, beer spilled under our feet. But it’s as if there’s a bubble around Leo and me. Like we’re in our own dimension.
Someone brushes past me and the bubble pops. The kitchen comes back into focus and downstairs, the guitarist wails out a solo.
I back away. “I need to find Zander.”
At Leo’s nod, I whip around and dash for the basement stairs.
CHAPTER THREE
