impatiently. “Aaron might be there already, Dr. Hank,” she says, a pleading whine in her voice. “He might be wondering where I am.”
“Just a second, Andrea.” Hank stays focused on me. “This isn’t a joke, Delaney. You wanted to know what I’m doing here. I’m going to show you. But I want you to be prepared.”
“Okay, okay.
Whatever
.”
Hank turns back to Andrea and takes out his pen again. This is the part I don’t get. What’s with the pen? “Midnight, Andrea,” Hank warns. “That’s how long it’ll last. Like always.”
“I’ll be back,” Andrea promises.
How long
what
lasts? What’s he talking about? Hank glances up and down the alley in an “is the coast clear?” kind of way, then points his pen at the car and there’s that weird spark again, but it’s more like a shimmer this time—and it’s coming from the pen. I look up but the sky is purple now, the sun definitely gone. When I shift my gaze to the streetlamp, to see if that’s what’s reflecting off the pen, a bright light flashes behind me and I blink.
Then I open my eyes.
Andrea now sits in a dark cherry-red convertible, shiny and new, right out of a car commercial. The tomato junk heap has vanished. Andrea grins, revs the motor and waves as Hank calls “Midnight!” Then she speeds down the alley to the street.
I feel woozy again, even though there’s no jasmine anywhere nearby. I desperately need to see the other car, Andrea’s real car, but it’s gone. Did I ever see it? Am I still hallucinating? Am I even awake?
A second later, Hank shakes my arm, and my eyes open. I’m in Hank’s car and we’re driving. It’s dark out. Streetlamps wash pools of yellow-gray light over us as we pass by them. It
was
a dream. Thank God.
“You fainted,” Hank says.
“I fell asleep. What time is it? How long were you in there? It had to be way longer than twenty minutes.”
“You weren’t asleep, Delaney. Everything you saw happened.”
“Right. I really saw Andrea call you her fairy godmother.”
“I prefer not to give it a label.”
This weird dread comes over me, but why? “Give
what
a label?” Nothing is making any sense.
“It’s an ability, an aptitude. Like athletic skill, or a talent for art. It’s inherited. It’s supposed to pass from mother to daughter, but the bloodline’s gotten diluted over the years and”—he gestures to himself—“this is what happened.”
“So you’re actually a fairy
godfather
?” I laugh, but it sounds creepy in my ears. It’s the laugh of a crazy person.
That’s
what this is. I’m not sleeping or hallucinating. I’m going insane.
“You’re disassociating, Delaney. Concentrate. Tell me what you saw. That’ll help you make it concrete.”
“I
dreamed
you turned Andrea into Cinderella. I
imagined
you turned her car into a carriage, a red one. No four white horses, though.” I laugh again. It’s definitely a cackle this time.
“It was a red Ferrari. And yes, that’s what I did.”
I remember the pen now, the glowing-shimmer pen. “With your magic wand.”
“That’s good, Delaney. You’re absorbing it now.” Is he crazy too? Why isn’t he giving me the real story? About how light refracts and a person’s focus can be redirected and the mind tricked, all with a little sleight of hand.
Aha!
That’s
it! “You
hypnotized
me!” But why? Is it some bizarre life-coach therapy to treat grief? It’s not working, because I don’t feel better. I might even feel worse.
Hank sighs. He shakes his head. “I guess I’m going to have to show you again and prove it.”
“What are we looking for?”
“Someone with a wish.” Hank searches the crowd as we walk. “A small one.”
We’re at a mall, but like everything else out here in the land of flawless beauty, it’s an alien dreamscape. It’s all outdoors, for one thing, with the shops set along a curving path. The stores are two stories high, but there’s nothing upstairs, just fake European
“Just a second, Andrea.” Hank stays focused on me. “This isn’t a joke, Delaney. You wanted to know what I’m doing here. I’m going to show you. But I want you to be prepared.”
“Okay, okay.
Whatever
.”
Hank turns back to Andrea and takes out his pen again. This is the part I don’t get. What’s with the pen? “Midnight, Andrea,” Hank warns. “That’s how long it’ll last. Like always.”
“I’ll be back,” Andrea promises.
How long
what
lasts? What’s he talking about? Hank glances up and down the alley in an “is the coast clear?” kind of way, then points his pen at the car and there’s that weird spark again, but it’s more like a shimmer this time—and it’s coming from the pen. I look up but the sky is purple now, the sun definitely gone. When I shift my gaze to the streetlamp, to see if that’s what’s reflecting off the pen, a bright light flashes behind me and I blink.
Then I open my eyes.
Andrea now sits in a dark cherry-red convertible, shiny and new, right out of a car commercial. The tomato junk heap has vanished. Andrea grins, revs the motor and waves as Hank calls “Midnight!” Then she speeds down the alley to the street.
I feel woozy again, even though there’s no jasmine anywhere nearby. I desperately need to see the other car, Andrea’s real car, but it’s gone. Did I ever see it? Am I still hallucinating? Am I even awake?
A second later, Hank shakes my arm, and my eyes open. I’m in Hank’s car and we’re driving. It’s dark out. Streetlamps wash pools of yellow-gray light over us as we pass by them. It
was
a dream. Thank God.
“You fainted,” Hank says.
“I fell asleep. What time is it? How long were you in there? It had to be way longer than twenty minutes.”
“You weren’t asleep, Delaney. Everything you saw happened.”
“Right. I really saw Andrea call you her fairy godmother.”
“I prefer not to give it a label.”
This weird dread comes over me, but why? “Give
what
a label?” Nothing is making any sense.
“It’s an ability, an aptitude. Like athletic skill, or a talent for art. It’s inherited. It’s supposed to pass from mother to daughter, but the bloodline’s gotten diluted over the years and”—he gestures to himself—“this is what happened.”
“So you’re actually a fairy
godfather
?” I laugh, but it sounds creepy in my ears. It’s the laugh of a crazy person.
That’s
what this is. I’m not sleeping or hallucinating. I’m going insane.
“You’re disassociating, Delaney. Concentrate. Tell me what you saw. That’ll help you make it concrete.”
“I
dreamed
you turned Andrea into Cinderella. I
imagined
you turned her car into a carriage, a red one. No four white horses, though.” I laugh again. It’s definitely a cackle this time.
“It was a red Ferrari. And yes, that’s what I did.”
I remember the pen now, the glowing-shimmer pen. “With your magic wand.”
“That’s good, Delaney. You’re absorbing it now.” Is he crazy too? Why isn’t he giving me the real story? About how light refracts and a person’s focus can be redirected and the mind tricked, all with a little sleight of hand.
Aha!
That’s
it! “You
hypnotized
me!” But why? Is it some bizarre life-coach therapy to treat grief? It’s not working, because I don’t feel better. I might even feel worse.
Hank sighs. He shakes his head. “I guess I’m going to have to show you again and prove it.”
“What are we looking for?”
“Someone with a wish.” Hank searches the crowd as we walk. “A small one.”
We’re at a mall, but like everything else out here in the land of flawless beauty, it’s an alien dreamscape. It’s all outdoors, for one thing, with the shops set along a curving path. The stores are two stories high, but there’s nothing upstairs, just fake European
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