Page 91 of Stealing Infinity (Stolen Beauty)

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In my dream, a beautiful boy stands before me. His mouth is moving, but I can’t hear the words.

Still, none of that matters. Everything will be okay. And I know this, because Elodie has promised as much.

“Tell me what you see?” she whispers.

I tell her a story about boys in slinky dresses and time melting down walls.

“Tell me more about the boy,” she urges. “The one standing before you.”

I turn my attention away from Elodie and back to him. “He wears a mask, but I can tell that he’s beautiful. And he’s offering me a drink. A green drink.”

“Do you accept it?”

I frown, trying to decide.

“No,” I tell her. “But it doesn’t matter. It was never about the drink.”

“How can you be sure?” she asks.

“Because I’ve dreamed this dream before. It’s about the song—the one the torch singer sings—the same one we sang in your car. It’s some sort of lullaby for the mind. Also, the clocks. It has something to do with hands that spin backward.”

“And now?” she asks. “Knowing everything you now know, do you leave the club and find your way home?”

I fall silent.

“Natasha?”

From somewhere far away, I’m aware of Elodie softly shaking my shoulder.

“Do you stay, or do you leave? Answer me, please.”

All around me, people are laughing, dancing, while waiters wander about with drink trays expertly balanced on their palms, the boys in slinky black dresses, the girls in tuxedos.

The beautiful boy offers me a glass of cut crystal, its contents a pale shimmering green.

“It’s called the Green Fairy.” He clinks his rim against mine. “To new beginnings,” he says, his voice rising over the noise.

I watch him drain his glass. Elodie pushes me to decide.

“Natasha, what are you doing? What are you seeing?”

“Is she okay?” another voice asks. The accent is Spanish, though it belongs to a voice from the future. It has no place here.

“I’m riding the wind!” I’m back in Elodie’s car. The top is down, my face pressed to the sky.

But now the beautiful boy is back. He leans toward me, lips just inches from mine.

“Natasha, where are you? What is happening?” She wants to know, but I’m too busy watching. This is the part I missed the last time I dreamed it.

The boy moves closer. He calls medarling, lifts me into his arms, and carries me through a crowded dance floor. He walks right through a swaying couple, and I watch in awe as they pixelate and fade from view. Next thing I know, we’re in a dim room where I watch Elodie toss my backpack to the ground.

“Told you,” she says, watching as he lowers me onto a couch. My body limp, my mind caught in a dream I’ve never dreamed.

She tips on her toes, tries to kiss the boy, but he pushes her away.

“Where are you?” Elodie prompts.