Wild Men of Alaska Collection - By Helmer, Tiffinie Page 0,64

go to sleep. Promise me.” Tern waited until Gemma promised. “Okay, you wire yourself with caffeine. I’ll talk to Gage.”

“Gage? Tern, no.” Gemma rose out of her chair as Tern stood and hurriedly slid her coat back on. “I don’t want anyone else knowing about this.”

“We’re going to need his help. He works for the Geophysical Institute, remember. He’s an Aurora genius. We need to know what we’re up against if this ‘thing’ is using the Northern Lights as a stream into our world.”

“This sounds like Star Trek,” Gemma muttered rushing to catch up with Tern as she exited the office onto the book floor.

“Until I get back with you, it wouldn’t hurt to find out what Siri knows. She might have some other ways of protecting you.”

“I can’t talk to my mother about this.” She’d wished now she hadn’t talked to Tern.

Tern stopped and faced her. “Your soul is at risk. Talk to her. And no sleep.” She held up her finger when Gemma went to interrupt. “No naps either.”

“You’ve got to be kidding?”

“The Aurora is out there even during the day. We humans can only see them at night.” Tern took Gemma by the arm and steered her toward the café. A few tables were taken by regulars who liked to hear Siri’s readings. Siri was currently deep in the middle of another reading for Mrs. Halverson who never missed a week.

“Amie, large coffee with a double shot of espresso for Gemma,” Tern ordered. “I want you to make sure she drinks enough of those to make her twitchy.”

Amie, paler than when Gemma had left her, pointed at Mrs. Halverson. “Did you see Mrs. Halverson’s cockroach?”

Gemma followed Amie’s shaky finger. There on Mrs. Halverson’s pink lapel jacket was pinned a huge emerald cockroach.

Siri stood, holding the moon card in her hand for Gemma to see. “Dreamweaver,” she whispered.

CHAPTER FOUR

Gemma’s eyelids closed and then blinked open. It was two in the morning. The television was playing a marathon of Star Trek: The Next Generation at top volume. She’d turned the heat down, and the inside temperature of her house was currently sixty-five degrees. She was freezing and tired, and almost to the point where she didn’t care anymore if her Dreamweaver visited.

At least he’d keep her warm.

She had to be careful that the temperature in the house didn’t drop enough that her water pipes were in danger. That was taking this astral stuff too far.

Who was she kidding? It had already gone too far. She’d let a bunch of people scare her with nonsense. This was ridiculous. Dreamweavers didn’t exist. There was no real proof. But then if spirits were sexually enslaving souls, would there be proof?

Probably just a lot of sexually satisfied women who didn’t give a flip if they were enslaved.

That’s it. She had to work tomorrow. Enough was enough.

She readied for bed, washing her face, brushing her teeth, and donning a UAF sweatshirt, knee socks, and drawstring sweats that she double knotted around her waist.

There, let’s see if an astral spirit can untie knots.

After adjusting the thermostat to a more comfortable level, she headed to bed.

Before slipping under the covers, she glanced out the window and caught her breath.

The snow glistened with neon greens, electric blues, and hints of violet reflected from an unearthly sky as wave after wave danced across the firmament.

Maybe she should make another pot of coffee.

No. This was crazy. The Northern Lights did look otherworldly. Magical even, chilling with their dramatic display. She’d seen it all before. Though the last few weeks had been the most impressive of her twenty-five years. Still, enough. Sleep called. She was probably too exhausted to engage in anything anyway, even if her dream lover did visit.

And if he did, it was about time she learned the guy’s name.

Finally.

Lucky watched as Gemma adjusted the covers under her chin. He’d been here all night, actually been able to follow her throughout most of her day with the powerful solar flares from the sun storm.

The need to get close to her, smell that combination of sweet-spiciness laced with hints of dark coffee, was making him crazy. He’d seen her guzzle back cup after cup and was hungry to see how she’d taste.

“Come on, Gemma. Go to sleep.” The sooner she entered the REM cycle, the sooner he could take a sample and find out.

Suddenly she sat up in bed and looked around. Her wide and searching eyes were the color of an arctic night with sparks of emeralds and