Not any dream in particular--well maybe that freaky-ass thing I just got front row seats for--but dreams in general. Sure, I dream. About things guys are supposed to dream about. You know? Chicks. And my car. And beer. And chicks with beer in my car. And stuff. But I don't have those dreams. You know, the ESP vision-thing brain-melting doozies Sam gets.
Yeah, those dreams? Totally Sam's thing. Wouldn't wanna intrude on his turf.
So while I'm not thinking about any dream in particular, some dude telling me I felt it (and believe me, ladies, I never felt it), and my damn necklace getting all glowy on me? Yeah. Not freaking me out at all.
And then there's the added complication of my kid brother doing his Psychic Sammy thing and hearing the same damn words in his dream.
No, totally not freaked out about that at all.
Sam wants me to call our hunter contacts and see if they've heard about anything big going down. I see two problems with this. Firstly, it's the middle of the night. And, secondly, most of our hunter contacts think Sam's the Antichrist and I'm Haris' favorite bitchboy. Oh, and did I mention it's the middle of the freakin' night?
I'm so going back to bed. I'm not gonna be Sammy's stool pigeon, not this time.
Dammit, who am I kidding? Where's my goddamn phone...