Jillian Spectre and the Dream Weaver. Nic TatanoЧитать онлайн книгу.
I'm deep in thought as I wait for the crosswalk light to change to the little green man. And I have to admit I'm frustrated. My first weeks of college were supposed to be fun, meeting people who actually have ambition as opposed to the human doorstops who made up half of our student body. Of course, this being a very expensive school (thank goodness we all have full scholarships), there are a few girls working on a MRS degree with a trust fund brat, of which there are many. Overall, the whole college experience has been extremely disappointing, and when you throw in the fact I'm still doing my superheroine thing while dealing with a possible dream weaver who might be trying to access my father, I'm ready for spring break in September.
And after another Saturday with Sebastien there are more questions than answers. The geek squad at The Summit has tried everything in the book but can't get a read on the Cruise Missile. However, they're convinced she does have some sort of mind control powers. She may not be the legendary dream weaver, but she's a snake oil salesgirl who is selling stuff that is hazardous to your health and could necessitate a penicillin shot for one lucky male freshman. Meanwhile, what she's done to Jake has me worried and Roxanne upset. He's noticeably changed. Nothing major, but he's not the same and it's playing havoc with their relationship. Sebastien has a theory that those under my father's domain know the four of us took him down and are working on some plan to split us apart. To me that makes perfect sense. After all, we were pretty unbeatable when we combined our powers. Divide and conquer is an old but effective strategy.
The crosswalk light changes and I'm still trying to sort all this out, so I'm not paying attention as I step off the curb right into a hole and twist my ankle. Pain shoots up my leg as I crouch down—
"Look out!"
I look up and see a taxi barreling straight for me, obviously ignoring the red light. My heart rate skyrockets but an arm wraps around my waist and lifts me out of harm's way in the nick of time. The cab flies through the intersection, colliding with a city bus.
"You okay?" asks the voice attached to the arm still holding me in midair.
"Yeah. God, thank you." My heart is still pounding as I'm returned to the ground, which causes a shooting pain in my ankle. "Owww!" The arm steadies me and I lean on it, then turn around to find out the identity of my white knight.
"Oh, it's you," says Trip. "Jillian, right?"
"Yeah. Trip, I don't know what to say. You saved my life."
"Eh, you probably would've rolled out of the way."
"Doubtful."
"You need to pay attention when you cross the street in New York, young lady. A red light doesn't necessarily mean traffic stops."
"Yes, Sir, I'll be a good little girl and look both ways in the future."
He looks down at my leg. "Did you twist your ankle?"
"Yeah, I stepped in that pothole and must have sprained it. Hurts like hell." I try to put some weight on it again but the pain makes me wince.
He wraps one arm around my back to steady me. "I think we need to get you to the school infirmary."
"You're probably right. At least get some ice on it." I stick my hand straight out into the street.
"What are you doing?"
"Hailing a cab. I can't walk on this."
"Don't be ridiculous." Trip reaches down, wraps his other arm under my legs and easily lifts me, cradling my body as he starts walking in the direction of the campus.
"What are you doing?"
"It's only two blocks, and I'm cheaper than a taxi."
"You think you can carry me that far?"
"I dunno, you weigh a ton."
"Hey!" I playfully slap his arm.
He shoots me a grin, one of those sly smiles that makes your heart (and other parts of your body) do somersaults. What the hell, I guess I can be a damsel in distress and get rescued by a handsome block of granite. I relax and wrap my arms around his neck to hold on, feeling his rock-hard muscles under his shirt. He effortlessly carries me down the street. We get to the crosswalk and have to wait for the light. He looks at me and smiles again.
And I'm the one breathing heavy.
I hate to say this, being Ryan's girl and all, but I'm feeling some serious electricity.
This "I'm not dead" thing has some dangerous aspects to it.
My ankle is completely healed after two full days off my feet. Being able to send my alter ego to class was a real asset, so I didn't miss a thing while getting well. However, at one point my projection fell asleep in Economics class and for a moment I ended up back at home. Good thing I'm now a back row girl.
So I'm enjoying the school's welcome-to-the-outside-world dance on this Friday night with Ryan, Roxanne and Jake. Most of the students are freshmen wanting to take advantage of this educationally approved meat market. But there are plenty of upperclassmen as well, ready to swoop in on what Roxanne refers to as "starry-eyed freshmen" girls. College is, as Mom said, a sexual candy store, and everyone has a pocketful of change.
Apparently the school's idea of decorating for a dance is to dim the lights, as the large, rectangular meeting room looks like…wait for it…a large, rectangular meeting room with dim lights. The guys are currently being checked out by one of the school chaperones, the aforementioned Ms. Cruise, who has been licking her lips and giving seductive looks to anything in pants. She's in another cougar outfit, short skirt and tight top, and I note the other teachers are keeping their distance though the males of the species can't stop staring. I've seen Jake looking in her direction a few times, though he hasn't mentioned her and has been paying attention to Roxanne. (We still haven't told him we suspect someone's playing games with his mind, though that may change shortly.) Rox understands there's something going on in the thought control department and is being a real team player by not reading him the riot act.
"Ladies room?" I ask her.
She takes a quick look at Ms. Cruise, who is looking at our table like a cat eyes a canary. "Think I'd better keep an eye on things. Let's tag team. You go first."
I nod. "Sure. Be right back."
I get up and head toward the hall leading to the restroom, then notice there's a giant octopus playing keyboard for the band. I stop dead in my tracks and look around, then see George Washington on the dance floor, doing the jitterbug with Hillary Clinton.
I'm dreaming.
This one's incredibly lucid, so I wonder if Carrielle is hanging out here somewhere. Maybe he has some news about the dream weaver.
"Jillian."
I hear a voice coming from outside the hall. It's not Carrielle, and I don't recognize it, but I decide to follow it, passing a ten-foot blue lobster carrying a tray of champagne glasses who says hello. I move out of the room and into a dimly lit hallway.
"Jillian."
"Who's there?"
No answer.
I keep heading down the hallway. The music fades behind me, until I can't hear it any longer and my heel clicks on the linoleum provide the only sound. I see a silhouette of a man leaning against the wall. He stands up straight and suddenly a soft ethereal light emanates from his body, making him look like an angel.
It's Trip Logan.
"Hey, it's my lifesaver," I say, stopping in front of him. "What are you doing here?"
"It's your dream. You tell me."
"I'm not sure. I didn't even know I was dreaming until a minute ago."
"Maybe you've been thinking about me since I saved your life."