Andrew's notebook

Andrew's got a table near the Observation Window, a Coke, a plate of fried paradoxes, and an X-Factor trade paperback in a plain brown cover.

(You never know when an actual member of X-Factor might walk in, here.)

It's shaping up to be a pretty okay evening.

In the dream he's sitting on the ground, in deep fragrant grass, leaning back against the hood of a car. There's another presence there, a shoulder a few inches from his, close and reassuring; there's a cold bottle of beer by his hand, resting in a slight depression in the earth.

And the night sky overhead is jeweled thickly with stars, more than he's ever seen before.

Jonathan's vision was pretty well unmistakable. Gabriel's in danger, and doesn't know it -- or at least doesn't know the specifics.

That would be enough on its own, even if Andrew didn't more or less owe him his life.



Gabriel's nowhere to be seen at Milliways, and no one seems to have run into him in the past couple of days. Well, and that's normal enough; there's no reason he'd be here all the time, and plenty of reason to make himself scarce, all things considered. Maybe he's just back home.

Please just let this not be too late.

Andrew writes out a note at the bar giving Jonathan's vision in as much detail as he can, folds it carefully in quarters, and writes "The Trickster (G.)" on the outside.