“That’s worse.”
I elbow him.
Wait.
“If I’m missing a piece, does that mean I weigh less?”
“No.”
“Could I float?”
“No.”
“Could I possibly sleep upright?”
“Again, no.”
“What a waste.”
He exhales slowly, but his grip tightens for just a second. He feels it too. A flimsy thinness and a fine thread being pulled by something we can’t see.
The lake shifts again.
The horses snort softly in their sleep.
I turn toward them. “Are you sure they’re not dead?” I whisper.
“Sleeping. Dead horses don’t make noise.”
“I remember when Great Auntie Jean farted. The entire town was up in arms.”
“Over a fart?”
“No, because she was dead when she farted. Apparently, it’s normal.”
There’s nothing normal about a dead farting aunt in my opinion, but after the witches tried lifting a non-existent curse, they got a healer in from the next town who explained it at a town meeting. From that moment on, all dead folks were buried straight away, and in the sad case of Billy, before he was actually dead dead. We know, because we found his hand sticking out of the packed dirt the morning after. Poor dude couldn’t make it out.
I squint at the horses. “They look suspiciously horizontal.”
“That’s because they’re resting.”
“And their eyes?—”
“Closed.”
I lean closer. “Mostly.”
“Daphne.”
“Fine.” I lean my head back against his chest. “Do you think if Theo has part of me, that he feels this too?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know what it is?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
