“So, you and Valerian,” she says with a mischievous grin. “Unless that dream was more along the lines of wishful thinking?”
I flush. “It’s in the early stages. Let’s not jinx it by talking about it, okay?”
“Sure thing. For what it’s worth, his dream of you leaves me little doubt about his feelings.” She winks.
My blush intensifies, and I do my best to change the subject. “You’ve cleared Valerian, right?”
“And you,” she says.
I jerk my chin at Maxwell. “What about him?”
Her expression turns more somber. “He’s keeping the beast at bay. I will look out for him.”
I’m glad she’s spared me from having to suggest the same thing.
With his best Cheshire Cat impersonation to date, Pom appears on my shoulder.
“Hello, Bailey’s Grandmother,” he says, his fur morphing from light orange to teal. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Pom.”
Her eyes grow cartoonishly wide. “That’s not a dream construct, is it?”
“I’m not,” he says.
“He’s my best friend,” I say, and explain about my symbiotic relationship with the looft.
“Well, now I’ve seen everything,” she says, shaking her head in amazement. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Pom.”
He turns a deep purple. “The pleasure is mine.”
“Now, if you don’t mind, I want to catch up with my grandchild.”
“Of course, Grandmother,” Pom says.
“Call me Mama B,” she replies with a grin. “Everyone else does.”
“Later, Mama B,” Pom chirps and disappears—but his paws are still digging into my shoulder, so I know he’s just turned invisible.
“He’s a charmer,” she says.
“That he is.”
She makes the room around us change to a forest meadow, gracefully sinks onto the grass, and pats a place next to her.
Since we’re in a dream and therefore without germs, I sit.
“Tell me a little bit about yourself,” she says. “Where do you and Lia live?”
I tell her about Gomorrah, my job, and my recent misadventures, but I don’t go too much into Mom’s troubles before the coma.
“What about you?” I ask when I’m done. “Tell me what your life has been like.”
“In a word, busy,” she says with a sigh. “My typical day consists of running around Soma like a madwoman. I don’t spend nearly as much time with my great-grandchild as—”
“Wait.” I stare at her openmouthed. “My sister is—”
“Married and has a daughter.” She makes two people appear in front of me, an attractive, strong-featured man who looks familiar and a girl about eight years old.
I peer at the man, picturing him without his dark, neatly groomed beard. “That’s Kojo, isn’t it?” I say, remembering the name of another one of our childhood friends.
“It is, and the name of that precious one is Chloe,” she says with great-grandmotherly pride. She grins at me. “You’re an aunt.”
I look Dream Chloe over. With that mischievous smile and the halo of curls that make her look like a dark-headed dandelion, she might just be cuter than Pom. “Where is she? Out there, in the real world, I mean? And where’s Asha?”
I’m dying to meet my twin.
My grandmother sighs. “I think we’d better wake up so I fill you in along with everyone else.”
Huh, okay. I wonder what the mystery’s all about. “Before we go, do you want me to call you Mama B or Grandmother or—”
She beams at me. “When you and Asha were small, you called me Bebe.”
“Bebe it is,” I say and jolt myself awake.
Feeling groggy, I get up from the bench, and my father and Valerian do the same.
Bebe walks over to a nearby machine and presses a couple of buttons. The machine dispenses three silver cubes, and she sets them on the table near her tray. “Might as well eat while we talk.”
“Eat?” I examine the cubes for any sign of edibleness.
She unfolds one cube until it becomes a tray like hers, with clear tubes of some gray substance inside. She squirts the paste-like stuff into her mouth and swallows. “These will serve every nutritional need.”
“And they’re sterile,” Valerian says reassuringly. Under his breath, he adds, “Perhaps too much so.”
I take a seat and squirt a tube into my mouth, half expecting the minty flavor of toothpaste.
Nope. There’s no taste. I’ve never eaten something this neutral before. There’s no flavor whatsoever, and even the texture of the substance is bland.
Oh, well. I don’t care as long as it’s really sterile. The last thing I want is to come all this way just to die of salmonella poisoning before I even meet my twin.
Bebe looks at Valerian. “Can you be a dear and use your powers to make me think I’m eating something more palatable?”
He nods, and the next time she squirts the goo into her mouth, she looks a lot happier.
“I didn’t realize your kind could create the illusion of taste,” I say.
“Of course,” Valerian replies. “If we couldn’t, you’d be able to use the sense of taste to know you’re being fooled.”