Page 182 of Ex Somnis

“Which means he has to release the promises first,” Paul says slowly, as if he has finally understood the plan.

At least one of us does.

Ridge, with his arms crossed, mutters, “Dumbest, most ridiculous plan I’ve ever heard,” which, frankly, I can’t disagree with.

“And it has to be two nights from now,” Jasper adds. “Because that’s the blue moon.”

Nevan frowns. “The blue moon?”

“Second full moon in the same calendar month,” Jasper explains. “It’s rare. Maybe once every two to three years. The veil’s thinner on a blue moon, between here and 4D, probably between 4D and 5D too. I don’t know. I have no experience with that. But it’s easier to manifest on a blue moon, and I bet it’s easier for a group to get in together and actually hold formation instead of everyone’s dreamscape ripping apart at the seams the second somebody panics.”

“So it’s a math thing,” Paul says, still on the previous subject.

I have not understood a single thing so far.

“It’s a math thing wearing a moon costume,” Jasper says with a grin, delighted with himself. “But yes.”

I pull out my phone to find the picture I took of Tessa when I was doing her nails a couple of weeks back. I have to scroll to find it, which is its own small miracle.

A few months ago, my camera roll was a graveyard. Screenshots of recipes I never made. A few photos of my mom I can’t look at but can’t bring myself to delete. Otherwise nothing, because you don’t document a life you’re only trying to survive in.

Now I have to thumb past an avalanche. Mr. Muffin in a little paper crown Jasper made him. Forty near-identical shots of one lemon tart I was unreasonably proud of. Ridge mid-scowl, because he refuses to be photographed, and I refuse to stop trying. Nevan asleep on the couch with his mouth open, kept for blackmail and for no reason at all. Paul’s hands around a coffee cup, because apparently I’m a woman who photographs a man’s hands now.

And under all of that, I find the one of Tessa.

I have prettier ones from when we were younger, but Jasper said it was important that it’s a recent one, which is honestly bullshit because Dream-Tessa is way more vibrant than the one in the picture.

I set my phone on the coffee table where everyone can see it anyway.

Seraphine slowly leans over it, both hands wrapped around her tea, but her eyes stay locked on the picture for a long while.

“If you want to give your best performance, you all need to actually look at her,” Ridge says, arms still crossed. “Not glance. Look. The shape of her face. The space between her eyebrows. You can’t borrow a face you haven’t memorized. Your subconscious will fill in the gaps with guesswork.”

“I’ll send it to each of you so you can look at it some more later,” I say, and Ridge nods in approval.

“This is genuinely insane.” Nevan is sitting right next to me, staring at the photo, too, his jaw tight. “We’re going to stand in front of whatever he is, and just cosplay as Tessa and hope he picks wrong?”

“Rule two.” I grab his neck and pull him down to me so I can kiss his cheek.

His jaw works, but then, begrudgingly, he murmurs, “Fine. Rule two.”

“When you all go to sleep, Mom and I will put some crystals on your chakra points to make sure your dreams are as deep and stable as can be for this.” Jasper hands out crystals to everyone. “But make sure to put these under your pillow for the next two nights.”

“Crystals,” Ridge says, holding one of Jasper’s moonstones up to the light. “I don’t believe in these.”

Jasper shrugs without even looking up. “They work even if you don’t believe in them. They’re mostly an anchor. If you’ve already got something that anchors you in waking life, you can use that instead.”

Ridge fishes out what looks like a white pebble from his pants. “Would this work?”

Jasper takes it, turns it over once. “Absolutely. If it’s significant to you, it’ll anchor you. Doesn’t have to sparkle. It has to matter.”

Ridge actually nods at that. “Yeah, that it does.”

Jasper chuckles. “And you make fun of my crystals.”

“Don’t mind him,” I say. “Ridge is a different kind of untethered.”

“You mean unhinged,” Paul deadpans without looking up from the notepad he’s been making notes on, like a man preparing for a board exam.