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  I walked through a long, white, peaceful corridor that curved to the left. Bare feet on a cool marble floor. Everything glowed white like moonlight.

  Ahead was a white arch, and when I crossed through, it all faded to black. Then there was a silver star, almost too bright to look at it, and as I reached a hand to touch it, I woke up.

  I recorded the dream, snicked off the lamp, and curled around Cora’s back, gently drifting as my mind saw that archway and the silver light beyond it.

  I woke to kisses on the side of my neck and smiled, filled with that wonderful feeling of waking up to Cora’s lips on my skin. But before things got interesting, she stopped, jerking to the side.

  My eyes flew open, blinking rapidly.

  “Sam!” she choked. “Something’s wrong!”

  “What!?” I yelped, trying to get my hazy mind to function, searching for the culprit.

  Cora jumped off the bed, covering her nudity with a blanket, and pulled open the window curtain. I heard it then, screeching sounds, shrill and demanding.

  Like kids on a playground. Grabbing a teeshirt, I joined Cora at the window, but we couldn’t see anything. I listened closer.

  “Cora, I think it’s kids laughing. Uh, can we . . .”

  She turned to me, snickering, “Disappointed, babe?”

  I chuckled, “I was just about to. . . .”

  She grabbed my hips, pulling me to her, “What, Sam? Can’t get enough of this?”

  I lowered my lips to hers and mumbled, “What’s enough?”

  Then we were back on the bed, devouring one another, legs and tongues intertwined, moving in the rhythm of lovers who knew how to start the morning right, and when we broke, it was more than pleasure.

  It was starbursts, silver light, and glowing orbs.

  Cora’s breath stuttered against me, her forehead pressed to mine. “Sam, oh god, Sam. Do you see this?”

  “Fuck, Cora! Oh god, love. Stars and holy fucking hells, this is too good.”

  “Mmmm, she groaned,” still moving, and I slowly came back to myself, vision clearing, blinking my eyes.

  “What. The. Actual. Fuck?” I demanded from no one at the same time Cora asked, “What’s in the air here? Psilocybin?”

  Then we both giggled, high as kites on chemistry more potent than anything I’d ever known.

  “Oh dear god,” Cora groaned. “This is like that damned Known Cosmos book. The ‘mystical force of erotica,’ isn’t it?”

  I laughed outright, “We’ve tapped into a Cosmic sex power! We’ve got it, love!”

  She grinned against my chin, “And we’ve barely gotten started reading. What’s gonna happen to us by the time we’re done?”

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  We snickered and finally got up to shower and dress for the day. In the kitchen of the Centre we found coffee and muffins for breakfast with an abundance of artfully arranged fruit.

  Melons fashioned into little baskets filled with balled or sliced fruit, oranges cut in half with their pulp removed then packed with berries. Tiny roses cut from a pale lilac melon that was the sweetest thing I’d ever tasted.

  It was marvelously refreshing in the dry desert air.

  We ate our fill then headed to the Ayela Arcana Sanctuary, hand in hand. It was already mid-morning, and the desert sun was hot in the vivid blue sky, but there was plenty of shade under the fruit trees. A light breeze wafted the scent of blossoms my way, and I inhaled deeply the freshness of Shurwinn.

  We quickly discovered what all the shrill laughter was about. Pitch was picking dark purple berries, and nearby Filly held a docile little creature in his lap.

  “Look, Sam!” Filly cried. “Georgia! My mirka!”

  “Oh my god! That. Is. Adorable.” Cora said as we kneeled in the grass petting Georgia. The furry animal looked like a meerkat with overly large ears and copper-colored fur. Precious.

  “Mirka? Like in Ryst’s story?” I asked Pitch.

  “Just like it,” Bitsy said, emerging from the trees with a basket of fruit. “Filly is a seelie, like me. And Pitch, when he wants to be.”

  "Look at that fruit!” Cora sang out. “If you’re the one who made breakfast, thanks a million!"

  Bitsy grinned in reply, but I wasn’t done with the Filly’s-holding-a-wild-animal conversation.

  “Wait. Back up! Filly’s a seelie? You really mean it? Like telepathy?” I asked in wonder. “But with creatures?”

  “Sort of. Like a pet, but deeper, and I’ve only ever known people to bond one animal at a time. Telepathy with humans spreads broader. Make sense?” Bitsy explained.

  I peered at her, eyes flicking to Pitch, then back to his mother, trying to piece together what I knew. Pitch: a young man who rarely spoke, but whose grandfather claimed to be a telepath.

  “Slydar Joon, your father, said he was a telepath,” I directed at Bitsy.

  “Did he now?” Bitsy eyes narrowed.

  “And said he’d wandered into Pitch’s dreams and saw the Red Phoenix,” I told her, standing up.

  At that, Pitch’s face broke open into a grin.

  Curious.

  “Uhh hunh,” Bitsy said, slightly snarky. Like she knew the kind of antics her father got up to and wasn’t sure what to make of this conversation.

  Did Slydar really not tell his family we’d talked about dreams and who was in them? That seemed unlikely.

  My consternation must’ve shown on my face because Pitch’s face shifted from smiling to concerned.

  “Slydar didn’t tell us about animal communication or that telepathy with humans is broader. . . “ My thoughts meandered to Ryst’s book and how overwhelmed she was with the perceptions she picked up from other people.

  I looked at Pitch again. A young man who hadn’t spoken since I met him, but who communicated with animals. And didn't Slydar say Pitch spoke in poetry or something vague like that?

  Pitch had to be a telepath too. And Bitsy talked about telepathy like it was common knowledge.

  Was it?

  Here on this isolated desert sphere so far away from everything I’d ever known, was it normal for people to sense someone else's thoughts? What were these two picking up from me?

  I took a step back, suddenly uncertain. Cora’s eyes watched me.

  Hers weren’t the only ones.

  Neither Pitch nor Bitsy moved towards me. The garden seemed to hold its breath as my eyes shifted back and forth from mother to son.

  “You’re both telepaths, like Slydar,” I concluded.

  Bitsy nodded, “I’ve never known anything different, Sam. All of my family has been telepathic for generations, and I’d love to tell you about it, but once again, that’s part of the story you're reading. Wouldn’t you rather see it on the pages? So I’m not giving you a boring history lesson?”

  I focused on Pitch again, wondering what it would be like to be him—to never say anything out loud.

  Or, did he speak, in his own way? Wasn’t I, in essence, having a conversation with him right now?

  I had a sudden intense desire to know what the world looked like through his eyes.

  Dark brown eyes that looked at me with kindness. No pressure. No mental intrusion. He wasn’t trying to take thoughts that didn’t belong to him.

  Looking at Pitch, I felt kinship and understanding.

  Camaraderie.

  And something . . .

  other.

  His eyes were brown, but as I pondered them, I saw something more. Purple nebulae and unfathomable ocean depths. I wanted to reach out and put my left palm on his cheek and never take my gaze from those eyes.

  Pitch blinked.

  I dropped my hand.

  His eyes were brown, and I was standing in a garden in Shurwinn talking to Bitsy about my friend’s son who’d bonded a mirka called Georgia.

  I nodded once to Pitch who smiled softly.

  Then I turned to Bitsy, “So, this little critter, Georgia, she’s Filly’s friend? Like ‘man’s best friend?’”

  Bitsy smiled gently, confirming, “Filly and Georgia are fine out here with us, so go on inside. Rhoda’s been reading a while now, so If you wanna catch up to her, you’d better get started!”

  I waved bye to Filly, and Cora and I headed into the sanctuary, murmuring quietly to each other.

  Filly and Georgia. My best friend’s son was Talented.

  What else did Shurwinn have in store for us?