Sleep No More. Aprilynne Pike

do that,” Smith says, holding up a hand. “People will start looking at us. Stay neutral.”

      “How do you know about my aunt? And the Sisters?”

      “I know a lot of things. And let’s just say your Sisters of Delphi wouldn’t mind at all if I ceased to exist because of it.”

      I sit silently, my nerves crackling.

      He doesn’t speak again, doesn’t rush to fill the silence, and I realize he’s not going to offer up information. I’ll have to ask. “How did you know about me?”

      “I learned the signs of an Oracle a very long time ago, Charlotte.”

      It’s disconcerting the way he keeps using my real name when we both know the one he gave me is fake. “How?”

      He loosens his scarf—like he’s settling in for a long chat. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. “When I was very young, I lived a few houses down from a girl who was an Oracle. We were best friends and when she started having foretellings, she did what any kid would do: she told her buddy, Smith.” The start of a smile lifts the corners of his mouth for about half a second, but the haunted look in his eyes cancels it out. “Her mom was an Oracle too, and took her in hand as soon as possible, teaching her the same things I imagine you were taught.” He waves his hand toward the table as though there were a pile of items on display. “Fight the visions, don’t ever tell anyone who isn’t an Oracle what you can do, never ever, ever change the future. And she was very dutiful. With one exception.”

      “You?” I say after a long pause.

      He nods. “I watched her suffer through the same kind of things you probably go through—spacing out in the middle of class, everyone thinking she was a weirdo, feeling like she could never have friends.”

      I swallow, empathy filling my chest as I compare that to my own solitary childhood. My solitary life: it’s not like that part ended along with scraped knees and cooties.

      “I did what I could,” he says, looking out at the food court again. “Shielded her when she had a spell. Took her to prom when no one else would. Supported her lies when she told people she was epileptic. But her senior year something happened. I suppose the Sisters got to her. Threatened her somehow. She staged a huge fight in the middle of school. I knew it was forced, of course—I knew her better than anyone else in the world—but afterward, she wouldn’t speak to me. Not even on the phone. When I left for college, I sent her letters and they were all returned unopened. For several years, I thought our friendship was just over.”

      “Did she come back?” I ask, knowing the end of this story isn’t “happily ever after” and wishing it was anyway. Not for Smith’s sake, necessarily, but for this other Oracle girl. But I know better. We don’t get happy endings.

      Smith swallows visibly and shakes his head. “No. But the accidents started.” He runs his fingers through his already tousled salt-and-pepper hair and looks decidedly uncomfortable. “I don’t have any proof, of course, but I think that when I kept trying to get in touch with her, the Sisters decided that if I wasn’t going to go away on my own, they’d make