When I flip the front-door sign toClosed, I’ve made my decision.
“Bo, can we talk?”
He blinks at me from behind the counter, eyes owlishly large. “Did I mess something up? I’m sorry. I’ll fix it.”
My heart squeezes at his immediate assumption that he’s in the wrong.
“No. You’re fine.”
And because I don’t want him overly anxious during what I suspect is going to be a tough conversation, I wave for him to follow me back through the house. As always, I hear his heavy footsteps and take a strange comfort in their clomping.
When we’re in the cool fall evening, the sun dipping behind the trees, I lean on the porch railing and face Bo, bracing my hands by my hips in hopes that my open posture will set him at ease.
“I get the feeling this is going to be a very one-sided conversation, but I’m hoping you might be able to lend some weight to a theory I have,” I start off.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I purse my lips, but don’t chide him. “What were you trying to take the night you were turned into a metal statue?”
Bo’s eyes go wide again, his mouth popping open, but no words emerge. After a breath, his jaw snaps shut, his neck flexes with a swallow, and he drops his eyes, along with his shoulders. The whole posture screams of shame.
“Bo, please look at me.”
He drags his gaze upward, and I swear I can see a silent apology.
“Do youwantto tell me what happened that night?”
“I …” He clears his throat. “I do.”
“But you can’t,” I guess.
He doesn’t respond. In a way, that is all I need. I nod, and I reach for the locket of spell powder around my neck. I pop it open and rub a small pinch over the palms of my hands.
Bo watches the process with hesitant fascination.
I extend my red-powdered hands to him. “If you let me touch you, I can get a clear read on your emotions. You won’t need tosay anything. Just feel how you feel as I ask my questions.” I keep space between us. “But I won’t force you. It’s your choice.”
“You can read emotions?”
I nod. “But I’ve trained to shield myself. So most of the time I’m not. I don’t like to invade people’s privacy.”
How will he react? I can easily see Bo turning his back on me. Quitting his job because he doesn’t want to be around someone with a power like mine.
The thought brings a pang of sadness to my chest.
Bo blinks once, then steps forward and sets his hands in mine, wrapping his webbed fingers around my palms.
The trust is an act of bravery, and I remind myself not to abuse it as Bo’s emotional grid flares to life in more vivid detail than I could ever hope to achieve on my own without potion powder and touch. The twisting rainbow of threads reach toward me, and I fight the urge to shield myself, instead choosing to focus on each of them. To feel what Bo feels so I don’t misinterpret anything by only relying on color.
Time to ask my questions and see what emotions respond.
I breathe slow and evenly, tempted to smile when I realize Bo’s inhales are matching the pace I set.
“Were you enchanted not to discuss that night?” I ask.
Surprise fills me, flashing lime green.
Relief. Lilac.
