“Lighting’s important,” he said, looking at my hands impatiently.
“One light, centered,” I argued. “It’s a classic approach.” One that would be better suited to my current circumstance. I needed it dimmer, then I wouldn’t be able to see his lips so clearly. “Five is . . .”
“Ember. None of this is important. And my spell count is fifty.”
It was an effort to keep my mouth from gaping. A spell count of ten was fine, good. Twenty was a lot. Twenty-five was exceptional.Fifty?
Was Leland even awitch?Not that I knew what else he would be, but . . . no one . . .no onehad more power than him.
The magnitude of it — he was unbeatable. Except he’d used half his spells to confine me in an alley. A waste, considering what else he could’ve built with them. “No wonder my blood wants you,” I said under my breath.
“That has nothing to do with my spell count,” he said. “It’s because you’re my Counterpart.”
That time, my mouth did fall open. “What?” I’d suspected, but . . . he’d given me every reason to believe he had no idea.
He turned his hand over and held it out to me with his palm facing up. “I know, Ember. I know what you are to me. I’ve known it since the first time I saw you, and my blood hasn’t been calm since. The closer we are, the worse it gets. Sometimes it’s a rip current. Sometimes it’s a thing I can’t get out from under my skin. I know every time I lie to you, you can hear it. I know you’re my Counterpart. That’s why you wanted to tell me your gift.”
“You knew?” I sat back, feeling deceived. “The whole time? You knew I could hear you lying, and . . . you kept doing it? What kind of game is this?”
“Not one I enjoy playing,” he said firmly. “It doesn’t feel good — the shock I get — every time I feel you register I’m lying.” He jerked his chin at his hand like this was the last time he was going to tell me to take it. “Take my hand. You need a tether, and your blood wants me more than anything it’s going to find in the ether. If you hold on to me, your blood won’t pull you away.”
I reached for his hand, only because it couldn’t be worse than the prolonged eye contact he’d inflicted on me while he waited.
The touch when our hands came together was nothing I could have expected. I’d thought it would feel like nothing. I thought I might go straight through him the same way my hand had slipped through the dumpster. But I felt him, his broad hand, the firmness of it. My breathing picked up as I watched the faded outline of my arm darken and solidify a bit.
We stared at each other until he broke the silence. “Would youlike to sit somewhere that isn’t behind a dumpster?” he asked.
With him? No.
But I took in his clothing. A pair of light jeans that looked soft and vintage, an equally soft mushroom-colored T-shirt. They were nice, clean. Not dumpster clothing.
“Sure.” The edge in my voice couldn’t be helped.
He’d apparently touched this dumpster before because it Vanished in an instant, and where it once stood was now a three-seat sofa with a long chaise, its ivory color and soft corduroy texture in perfect contrast to the dark, rectangular room we were in.
Leland sat first, holding his arm outstretched to maintain contact with my illusory hand as I stood hesitating at the edge of the chaise. He shifted closer to the armrest to make room for me to sit next to him.
Nope.
I broke from his grip and watched my form get lighter again.
“Now what’s the matter?” he asked.
My eyes darted around to the wall-mounted torches, my feet planted firmly on the cobblestone. “Is this even okay? We took over an alley. What if someone needs to use it?”
“Creators do it all the time,” he responded. Calm and composed. “Would you like to tell me what other concerns you have?”
“You.”
“Does it help to know I can’t feel you? This doesn’t mean anything.”
“For you, maybe,” I blurted. “I mean. I can feel you. You feel real to me. Solid. Even though I’m” — big breath out — “whatever I am.”
He nodded, not saying anything, his hazel eyes patiently waiting for me to sit with him on the couch. But could I? I was spectral, like air. I didn’t even know how I was talking to him.
“How do you even know I can? My hand went through the dumpster. Won’t I just pass through it?”
“You were like this when you sat on the cobblestones,” he reminded me. “Try it?”
