Page 37 of Alan

“Alan?” I knew him. Didn’t I? Or, I should have. I couldn’t remember anything concrete—hair, eyes, face, height—but the name brought back shadows of a memory I couldn’t quite uncover.

“Yes. Alan. I wondered if I could speak with you.”

“Why are you here? Whoever you are?” Damn it, I should know him! He seemed to know me. “How do you know me?”

“Emelie, Keira sent me. She couldn’t come on her own, but she wished for me to find you and speak with you.”

“What’s wrong with Keira?”

There was something wrong with her. I remembered that much. Just not what, exactly. I went to the door, one hand on the lock and the other on the knob.

“Keira is well. She was merely unable to join me. Emelie, please. Let me in. You will understand soon.”

He knew who Keira was. He sounded kind. And hell, it was just a dream! I could wake up whenever I wanted to. With that in mind, I flipped the lock and opened the door.

There was nothing but blank emptiness behind him. Just… nothing. Like he was standing in a void.

And I did know him.

It all came rushing back.

“No. No, how are you here? How is this possible? I’m dreaming about you?” I backed away until the couch cushions hit just behind my knees, tripping me up, sending me falling back on my butt.

And that brought back even more memories. Of backing away from him until there was nothing under my feet but air.

“Where are we?” I asked.

He stood there, sort of smiling. Yes, he was the same Alan as the one I met in Scotland. Tall, hunky, handsome. With that cute little brogue of his.

And a freaking dragon. The reminder started me sweating all over again.

“It’s going to sound strange. Difficult to comprehend.”

“If one more person tells me I’m going to have a hard time understanding something, so help me.”

He surprised me by chuckling, then sat at my desk with the chair turned in my direction. “We’re inside your mind. You took a nasty tumble. Do you remember?”

I nodded.

“And you’ve been asleep since then.”

“How long?”

“Not very. A handful of hours, I suppose.”

“I see. No. I don’t see. I don’t see at all. How can you be in my head?” Then, before he could even open his mouth, “Callie. She did this.”

“Good guess.”

“Because she’s a witch. And so is Keira.” I closed my eyes. “Right. I get it.”

“When you fell unconscious—and I do hope you don’t consider this an invasion of privacy, by the way,” he was quick to mumble, “Callie checked so we might be certain you hadn’t suffered grave injury after hitting your head.”

“I guess an MRI machine is a little much for a witch to concoct out of thin air,” I muttered.

“We could not allow you to suffer without doing anything to help you.”

“I get it.”

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