Page 50 of Stardusted

Frustrated, I leaned back and gripped the steering wheel. I’d think better at home. After a hot shower and ten pounds of pizza. Maybe even a glass—or three—of wine.

I started to reach for the ignition, then froze, a new kind of fear slinking its way down my spine.

No, surely I’d seen wrong.

I sat back. Slowly, I twisted my right hand until my palm faced up, and my insides pitched, stealing my breath.

Dull daylight glanced off faint, pearlescent white shapes on my skin, swirls in a vaguely geometric pattern. So faint, they were nearly invisible unless I tilted my hand just right.

There were markings on my palm.

Numb, morbidly fascinated, I traced them with the fingers of my left hand.

Nothing. No raised edges. No pain. No heat.

But they were there. Dots and slashes and elegant loops, just barely visible at the right angle. Embedded. Like scars. Or…symbols.

Glyphs like those I’d seen on the tablet? No. These were different.

I’d never seen anything like them.

Maybe I could just…I used the hem of my tank top to scrub at them, my heart in my throat. It didn’t work. The marks didn’t smear or fade. They didn’t even smudge. There wasnothingto scrub off.

They weren’tonmy skin. They wereinit. My scalp prickled.

This was the hand I’d touched the artifact with.

It had to be a burn. That was the most logical explanation. Something to do with the heat, the light, the electricity. Maybe the weird charge that’d zapped the entire lab.

I’d just read about ball lightning burns, and some of those had looked like strange, intricate designs.Lichtenberg figures.

Yes. That made sense. Sort of.

The fact that it looked like alien artwork could be a coincidence. Pareidolia. My brain searching for patterns in chaos.

That was all it was. Had to be.

Except…it didn’t hurt. It didn’tfeellike a burn. Or a scar. Or anything at all.

My fingers trembled. I dropped my hand into my lap and slumped against the seat.

Yeah, I was definitely going to need that wine.

My movements were as mechanical as the robot that’d nearly killed me when I started the engine and drove home on autopilot. Just me and one more gigantic piece of a weirdnesspuzzleto deal with.

I was going to need that whole bottle of wine.

Chapter 14

FINE. THE ALIENS ARE REAL.

Icalled Sandy first and used the explosion as an excuse to skip my shift. She gave a token protest, but I didn’t care. In my six months at Oasis, I’d only called in once. And I fully believed I was entitled to a day off after a traumatic, brain-melting alien encounter.

Next, I called my mom, mostly to get ahead of the local news. She was predictably panicked, and it took a solid fifteen minutes of reassurance and promises to see her at Dustin’s this weekend before I could hang up.

Then I sat in silence.

Aliens.