“I didn’t know people still did that anymore,” I said.

He looked up, not a bit startled by my sudden appearance. “Did what, Dusty?” As usual, his slow drawl made my name sound like something special.

I coughed once. “Read the newspaper.”

“Ah, yes. Well, I’m old-fashioned that way, I suppose. But at least the paper rarely gives me an attitude the way the computers around here do.”

I chuckled. “Good point.”

He lowered the paper and folded it neatly back into position. Then he stood up and waved me forward. “Come on in. No need to stand in the doorway. Just be careful of the minefield. It’s our next telepathy exercise. You’ll each take turns navigating it blindfolded.”

“Fun,” I said as I dropped my backpack on one of the desks in the front row. Then I faced him, trying to figure out how to begin.

Deverell smiled. “Do you have a question about the homework?”

I shook my head. BELL, the plinth said. BELL. What did it mean?

At my silence, Mr. Deverell came around the desk and perched on the side of it. “Is this about the block then?”

“How’d you know? Did you, um, see it?” I tapped my forehead.

He cleared his throat. “I’m not in the habit of forcing my way into my student’s minds.”

“Right.” I blushed. “Sorry.”

He smiled. “I only guessed because I couldn’t think of any other reason why you would sacrifice part of your lunch hour to talk to me.” He dropped his gaze and examined his hands, probably checking for newsprint smears. I’d never noticed before how oddly long and thin his fingers were. He looked up. “I take it you’re ready to accept my help?”

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Good. I’m completely swamped today but we could start tomorrow, if you’d like.” He glanced at the minefield. “We can do it in here, say around four-thirty?”

“Oh.” I bit my lip. “Okay, that works.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“No, it’s just … is there anything I can do to start working on it in the meantime? I need to get past this thing quick. It’s interfering with my dream-seeing.”

“Yes, I see.” Deverell picked up a pen from his desk and began to roll it in between his fingers. “Well, the best thing is to go through some of the meditation techniques we’ve been studying. That will help prepare you for the nousdesmos.”

“The what?”

“Nousdesmos,” he said, more slowly this time. “It’s a mind link. I will join my mind with yours and then help guide you to a resolution of the problem. A bit like our minefield exercise, actually, only completely within your head.”

“Huh. So it’s like a Vulcan mind meld.”

Deverell chortled. “That’s a fairly apt description, I suppose. But it won’t be invasive like it’s portrayed in that show. Before we begin, I will teach you how to prevent me from seeing anything you don’t want me to see.”

This was good news—there were plenty of memories I didn’t want him to see, particularly the most recent ones with Eli—but it did little to alleviate my main worry. “What if the thing I don’t want you to see is the subject of the block itself?”

He tapped the pen against his chin, considering the question. “The block is concerned with the stone pedestal I already saw, yes?”

“Yeah,” I said through gritted teeth, an irrational anger threatening to rise up inside me. “But it’s something on the pedestal I don’t want you to see. There’s something written on it.”

“Hmmm. So the reason you don’t want me to see has nothing to do with it being embarrassing or personal.”

“Not at all.”

“Then what is the reason?”

“That’s just it.” I waved both hands through the air. “I don’t have one, other than a gut feeling that nobody else but me is supposed to.”

Mr. Deverell’s eyebrows rose so high on his forehead, they disappeared beneath his blond bangs. “How strong a gut feeling?”

I grimaced. “Strong enough that when Eli saw part of it during a dream-session I broke the first rule of dream-walking and slapped him.” I paused then added, “We’re not supposed to touch the subject.”

Deverell didn’t respond, looking lost in thought.

I swallowed. “Is the block more serious than you thought?”

His gaze focused on me again. “No, this just makes it more complicated.” He stood up. “Now, I know you don’t want to, but I need you to tell me about the dream. Don’t go into details. Just give me the gist of it.”

“Okay,” I said, mustering my willpower. Then I plunged on, describing the tower and the ever-present wind and finally the plinth itself. “There are eight letters on it, all hidden. At least at the start, but I’ve uncovered the first four. B E—”

Deverell waved at me to stop, the pen in danger of flying free of his grip. “Don’t tell me.”

I frowned, even as relief flooded me. “Why not?”

“Because it’s a name. It must be.”

“Whose name?”

“Who or what,” Deverell said. He fell silent for a couple of seconds then nodded, as if in agreement to some private debate in his head. “Yes, you must not let me, or anyone else, know the letters.”