“Were you by any chance a professional dancer?” he asked.

She paused in the act of opening a cupboard door and gave him a surprised look. “No. Why do you ask?”

“Just something about the way you move,” he said. He drank some more of the wine. “Martial arts?”

“Tai chi. My parents use it as a form of moving meditation. I’ve been practicing it since I was a kid.”

He understood. “To help control your talent.”

She buttered the bread. “You?”

“A form of karate. Same reason.”

“Control.”

“Uh-huh.”

She studied him for a long moment. A whisper of energy—her energy—feathered his senses. It was the equivalent of feeling her fingertips on the back of his neck. It sent an exciting little thrill through him but it also made him realize how exhausted he was. Even if she was interested in having sex with him, he doubted that he could last more than five minutes in bed.

The last thing he should be thinking about at the moment was sex. Luckily Sierra appeared oblivious.

“Do you really believe that if you don’t wear those glasses you might go insane?” she asked.

She sounded doubtful.

“My talent is apparently decaying rapidly. When I take off my glasses for even a minute or two I start hallucinating. What the Halcyon doctors told me is that every time I remove the damned glasses I run the risk of getting trapped in a dreamworld filled with hallucinations.”

“Will you have to wear those glasses for the rest of your life?”

“The doctors aren’t sure but they think that once my night vision talent has deteriorated to nothing I may be able to get by without the glasses.” He paused. “They also told me it probably won’t be too much longer before I get to test that theory.”

“Because your talent is disappearing so quickly?”

“Right. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. I shouldn’t have to worry about the ghosts.”

“What ghosts?” Sierra asked.

“When I do take off my glasses these days I see fog and vague images that look like they walked out of a dreamscape. I think of them as dream ghosts.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

She glanced at a nearby mirror again. “Your aura still looks strong. Powerful.”

“I’m not dying,” he said, irritated. “I’m losing my vision talent.”

“Why are you afraid to sleep?”

“Two reasons,” he said. “Every time I try to sleep I walk right into the same dreamscape. I see an abyss—a real one, not Griffin’s mansion. I’m afraid that if I fall into it I won’t be able to wake up from the dream.”

“And the second reason?”

He reached up to touch the mirrored glasses. “I’m afraid these will somehow fall off. If they do, I’ll probably wake up totally psi-blind. Maybe worse.”

She nodded. “You’re afraid you’ll wake up trapped in a nightmare of hallucinations.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Tell you what,” Sierra said. “I’ll check on you every half hour tonight. If your aura shows any indications that you are in a nightmare I’ll wake you up immediately. Same goes for your glasses. If they come off for some reason I’ll put them back on.”