And . . . for the woman.
She narrowed her eyes and then looked around. The shelves had opened again, showing another path forward.
The boy frowned and pulled the glass shard from the woman’s fingers, twisting his hand so it shattered into a million fragments.
“Hey!”
He conjured a handkerchief and gently wiped the blood free from her fingers. The woman watched, her hands shaking, her heartbeat slowing from a frantic thud to a heady throb.
“All right?” he asked.
The woman nodded, staring at the line of the boy’s jaw and the golden stubble there. She frowned at the early beard growth and the blue bruises under his eyes. His lips turned up into his smaller, secret smile. He knew she was studying him.
But instead of saying anything, he burst the used handkerchief into flame and then blew it away on a cloud of ash.
Then he conjured a new mirror for her—a small round compact inlaid with mother-of-pearl. She glanced at him from below her eyelashes and then took it. The wind rode on the careful place where their fingers met and felt the shiver run through both of them.
The woman pulled away and cleared her throat.
Looking away, the boy conjured himself a more spartan mirror.
“Shall we?” He gestured to the aisle.
She nodded, and they started forward together. They walked slowly, sweeping the aisle with their gazes and the reach of their mirrors.
The shelves shifted, and as they moved, the woman’s breathing relaxed. The boy, though, his pulse was still that lub dub lub dub the woman inspired.
“Why did you come?” she finally whispered, glancing at the boy out of the corner of her eyes.
His heartbeat stuttered and then kicked forward. He shook his head. “I heard you calling.”
“I didn’t?—”
The woman cut herself off when the boy glanced at her head-on.
“Fine. I did. But I don’t know how you heard me. All I said was ‘Jacob’—”
“You called for help.” He nodded to the necklace.
She looked down and then back to him. “And so you came?”
The shelves opened again, and pausing at an intersection, the boy moved to the right. “Yes. I came.”
He shouldn’t have.
He truly shouldn’t have.
“But if you help me with the lyre, then I won’t have done you a favor. It won’t be anything you couldn’t have done without me . . .”
She trailed off at the boy’s smile. “You want another, don’t you?”
“Maybe . . .”
The woman gasped. “And would that favor involve . . .?”
The boy laughed. It was rich and loud, and it echoed through the attic. The wind startled, and a cloud of dust flew up around them.
“Why do you always think I want?—?”
