“You formed a company?”
“Keith formed a nonprofit. Better tax benefits.”
Rianne laughs, but it’s strained. When she holds her hand up to Keith’s laptop light, we can all see it—she’s definitely translucent. Not much, but enough to notice.
“We should practice more,” she says. “Make sure we can hold the connection steady. No matter what.”
“Agreed. The anchor must be unshakeable.”
We move to the children’s section, which has become our default practice space. The tiny furniture makes the height difference between us even more absurd.
She climbs onto a chair to even out our height difference, but the wobbling makes synchronization impossible. After the third near-tumble, I simply lift her off and set her on the ground.
“Hey!”
“You were going to fall.”
“I was managing!”
“You were listing twenty degrees to the left.”
“Maybe that’s my natural state!”
“Your natural state is chaos, but not usually angular.”
She stares at me. “Did you just make another joke?”
“I made an observation.”
“A funny observation. That’s a joke.”
“If you say so.”
“You’re smiling!”
“I am not.” But I am, slightly. Her indignation is oddly endearing.
“Your face is doing the thing!”
“What thing?”
“The almost-human thing!”
From the basement, the stone shouts: “JUST KISS ALREADY! THE STONE HAS BEEN READING THE ROMANCE SECTION FROM THE RETURNS CART! THE STONE KNOWS WHERE THIS IS GOING!”
“Stones don’t have opinions about kissing!” Rianne shouts back.
“THIS ONE DOES! THE STONE HAS OPINIONS ABOUT EVERYTHING! THE STONE IS CURRENTLY READING A VERY STEAMY EVE NEWTON CHAPTER!”
“We should ignore the stone,” I say.
“Agreed.”
But now we’re standing very close, and she’s still holding my shoulder from when I lifted her, and there’s something in the air between us that has nothing to do with magic.
“Stenrik?”
“Yes?”
