“Sounds fun, but if I’m going to sing, I can’t go like this.”
“Didn’t think you would. You know I’m fine with all your forms, Aliko.”
“Two.”
“Huh?”
“Two of my forms,” I correct. “You haven’t seen my third.”
He looks at me seriously. “Maybe you should show me.”
“I…” I’m not sure how to respond to that. I’d love to show him. But I’m not sure it’s something he’s ready for. Or maybe I’m not ready for it. “Yeah, maybe.”
He holds my gaze, his expression not giving anything away. Finally he pulls away and brings his attention back to the TV.
Why do I feel like I said something wrong? Did he want me to take him outside and do it right now? If so, he should have said that, right? How am I supposed to read his mind? How am I supposed to know what he wants all the time? It’s confusing.
“Do you—”
His words cut off when I get up from the couch quickly, lift him, and throw him over my shoulder.
“Whoa! What’s going on? What the hell are you doing?” He sounds a little panicked.
I storm through the living room, dining room, and out the back door, careful not to bump him against the frame. I hardly fit through it myself.
“Aliko!” he shouts. “What are you doing?”
I walk about halfway to the beach, then plop him into the sand, holding him steady so he doesn’t fall over. His hair is a mess, and he runs his hands through it to tame it.
“What the hell are we doing?” he asks again, this time sounding annoyed.
I take a few steps back. Look at him. Then take ten more.
“You need to move,” I say.
“What? Move where? You put me here.”
“Just switch spots with me,” I say, walking back toward him. He huffs but does as I ask and moves toward the house while I go toward the beach.
There. This should be good.
“Aliko, you’re freaking me out. What the hell is g—”
His words die on his tongue when I take off the amulet and toss it into the sand.
The shift starts slowly, like it always does. My feet and arms start to shrink closer to my body until they’re no longer there, while my arms thicken and lengthen. My body grows rounder and blows up like a balloon.
My vision, like this, in the light isn’t great, but it’s good enough to look down at Leif, who looks like a very small child to me right now. His jaw is in the sand; his neck craned all the way back to look up at me. I’m as tall as the cabin. If someone drove by, they may see me.
If someone passed by on a boat, they would definitely see me.
But I’m risking it. For him.
He finally snaps out of it and moves closer, looking up at me for as long as he can before he looks as if he will fall backwards.
“Can you talk to me this way?” he asks.
I can’t shake my head—I don’t have a head to shake. So I bring a tentacle toward him, the tip as thick as his head and shake that “no.”
