But she was his other half and the main reason he was undertaking this dangerous mission. He would find her and let Mama know where she was. The twin connection told him she was alive. No question.
Something registered on his astral-plane eardrums just then. It sounded mechanical in nature, which immediately struck him as unusual. Nobody had access to gasoline or electricity anymore. Yes, their drone-flying candy provider in the warehouse had power, but this noise came from the woods, and it wasn’t the insectile sound of a drone. He closed his eyes and concentrated...willing himself to find the source. There was no way of knowing how much time passed; he’d long ago given up trying to measure minutes or hours during these adventures. So when he opened his eyes to find himself soaring above a man-made structure, he didn’t know how long he’d been flying. He didn’t know where he was, either, which was scary. But he would not panic.
He concentrated on hovering, instead of forward motion. Beneath his fluttering pajamas lay a cabin, nestled in a small clearing. In the glow of a full moon and a sky full of stars, he identified a narrow dirt road winding away from the structure. The roof of a tiny building, a shed perhaps, lay a football field’s distance from the main house. The cabin appeared neither primitive nor old, likely built with modern tools before the plague. A motorcycle was parked nearby, its rider’s helmet perched on the seat. The mechanical noise emanated from a metal box the size of a small sofa, positioned next to the house.
A generator?
The Shift confirmed.
Okay, then. Now he was getting somewhere, but he would need more detail. He closed his eyes and concentrated on altitude. Some time later (seconds? hours?), he floated just above the cabin’s roof. Definitely a recently built house. The shingles and log walls were in perfect condition. In contrast, the houses in the village had been patched and repaired so many times they looked like children had made them out of cardboard and wooden blocks. An igloo-shaped structure huddled near the foundation. He’d seen those before in Knoxville, usually with a dog inside or nearby.
The cabin was beautiful. Inviting, even. So appealing that he found himself wanting to see what it looked like on the inside.
A delectable scent drifted beneath his imagined nose.
What was it? Something that smelled like Christmas? Yes. Christmas. The next moment he had it.
Gingerbread.
The Shift confirmed.
Oh, I see now, he said to himself and also to the Shift. You’re letting me know this is the Witchy Lady’s house.
Bingo. His imagined smile stretched from ear-to-ear.
He didn’t dare hover any lower. The Witchy Lady could come out at any moment and catch him. He closed his eyes again and concentrated on his twin connection. Was Willa in that house?
There it was. A ping inside his brain. The only person who generated that particular ping was Willa.
Okay. She’s inside, and she’s alive. Success! Was there anything else he could accomplish here at the moment? No. The pressing issue now was to determine the location of the cabin so Mama and the Scouts could find it.
His astral-plane stomach flip-flopped as he studied the terrain. He truly had no idea where he was.
Don’t panic, Harlan.
It wasn’t the voice of his own brain. It wasn’t the voice of the Shift, either. Icicles blossomed in his dream belly.
It’s Mister Fergus.
The icicles melted instantly.
Are you with Willa?
Yes. We’re both safe. For now. But you must use critical thinking along with your artistic talent to help us. This thing that we’re doing, this telepathy, is called scythen. You’re a natural at it. You must make a mental note of the stars’ positions above you and details of the forest below you. That way, perhaps someone in the village can triangulate the location. Paint a picture in your mind of everything you’re seeing, then remember that picture and draw it on paper immediately upon awakening. Can you do that?
I think so.
Excellent. Do the first part now.
Harlan rolled onto his dream back, noted the placement of the twinkling stars against the black velvet sky, and burned the celestial map into his brain. Then he righted himself, performed an astral-plane pirouette, and absorbed every detail of the surrounding forest. He’d had plenty of practice doing this. It was an artist’s technique.
I think I’ve got it.
Very good. Now you need to leave quickly. Lizzy may be awake. She could spot you if she comes outside. I forgot to mention that possibility when we talked about your astral-plane dreaming before.
That’s okay. The Shift already warned me.
The Shift? Tell me about that later. Now skedaddle.
Mister Fergus, I’m not sure how to get home.
Never fear, boy. There’s a simple technique I learned from others who have mastered astral projection. You’ve seen the Wizard of Oz, yes?
Of course. What kid hasn’t?
Right. So you’re Dorothy, repeating over and over: There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. Now imagine yourself back home in your warm bed, safe and sound. Don’t let any other thoughts interfere with that visualization. Do it now. You’ll be home before you know it. I have to sign off now,
