Page 79 of See You in Your Dreams

God, melodramatic much?

I know having a conversation with my aunt’s not as bad as all that. But confiding in Dylan about my mom had been rough enough, and that was when he already knew about the dreamwalking. There’s no way for me to talk to Aunt Claudette about Mom’s death honestly without telling her as well.

What if she doesn’t believe me? Or worse—what if shedoesand treats me like a freak the way the Ellingtons did? I’ve still got another half-year of senior year left to go, not to mention Dylan here. The last thing I want is to give her an excuse to send me away.

You made Dylan a promise.

With a heavy sigh, I rally my courage and head downstairs, Onyx following me as far as her oversized cat tree in the living room. Aunt Claudette’s bustling about the kitchen, preparing a pot of her favorite chamomile tea. She glances up when I enter.

“Ash,” she says, seeming surprised to see me. “I wasn’t sure if you boys were still here or if I’d missed you.” She peers past me. “Is Dylan with you?”

I shake my head. “He went home a while ago.”

“Shame. He seems like a nice boy.” Her discerning gaze sharpens. “You’d tell me if he was in any real trouble, right? That black eye of his has me worried.”

“He’s fine,” I say quickly. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Good.” She takes out the jar of honey and drizzles some into her cup. “You let me know if that ever changes. Would you like any tea?”

“No. Thanks,” I add belatedly as she nods.

I stand there awkwardly, unsure how to get the ball rolling. Things aren’t as strained between us as they were when I first arrived in Banton, but we’re still not exactly master conversationalists, and our last family discussion ended with me about to storm off before Dylan’s fortuitous arrival.

“Need anything from the store?” she asks, opening and closing cupboards as she takes stock. “I was going to pick up a few things before my house call later this afternoon. Assuming the shelves aren’t all picked clean the day after Thanksgiving.”

“I can visit people in their dreams.”

The confession bursts out of me. My eyes widening, I clamp a hand over my mouth, but it’s too late to take it back.

Aunt Claudette’s movements slow. Carefully, she lowers her arm from the cupboard and shuts it, turning to face me. I can’t read her expression, though at least she’s not screaming or calling me insane…yet.

Maybe it just needs time to sink in.

“You can visit people in their dreams…” she repeats slowly, as though testing out the words for herself.

I nod, gulping. “It’s…it’s something I’ve been able to do since I was a kid.” Haltingly, I explain the basics of dreamwalking to her. As I speak, she pours herself a steaming cup of tea and takes a seat, listening attentively.

Only when I’ve finished and begun shifting awkwardly from foot to foot does she finally speak. “You know, Hannah used to talk about how her son was special. I always sort of assumed she meant it in the way all mothers think their children are special. I guess I was wrong.”

She chuckles, shaking her head in a bemused sort of way before taking another sip of tea.

I stare at her, incredulous. “You…you believe me?”

“Of course.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” When I continue staring at her, she sighs and nods to the table. I reluctantly take a seat across from her. “At the very least, I believe thatyoubelieve it. And I believe that there are plenty of things in this big ol’ world we can’t explain. So, if my nephew tells me has this gift”—I wince at her use of the word—“then I choose to believe him until proven otherwise.”

Her lips quirk. “Though, I must admit that I’d love to experience thisdreamwalkingmyself some time, if you’re comfortable sharing it with me.”

My eyes trail to the hall leading to the living room. From here, I can barely make out Onyx on her cat tree, along with a few of the shelves full of objects from my aunt’s trade.

A sudden thought occurs to me, one I hadn’t seriously entertained before. “What about your work as a psychic? Is that…are you…?”

She looks confused for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Am I actually psychic? God no, at least not that I’m aware of. If there’s any real magic in me, it’s well hidden. No, what matters in my work isn’t whether I can actually commune with the dead or see the future. It’s how I make other peoplefeel—the entertainment I offer them or how I help them process their grief. Did you know I got my master’s in psychology?”

I shake my head.