The boy lifted an eyebrow. He tapped the eye etched on the door, and it blinked at the soft knock. “You think I can step past your all-seeing eye?”
“I don’t think you’re evil,” the solange-eyed one said.
The boy proved him right by stepping past the eye and over the threshold.
The solange-eyed one took up nearly all the space in the entry. He was large, and the violent energy rumbling in him echoed like thunder. The boy had always been slight—not short, but not tall. Next to any Smith, he was a reed that might be snapped in a hurricane. But the boy had always known how to bend, and so he bent now.
Shadows danced in his forest eyes, and the memory of wind rustled the green-leaf color of them. His power was an eclipse, and he pulled the darkness around him.
The two men stared at each other.
The air warped under the pressure.
The stone was quiet. The gray was quiet. The sword-edged scent was quiet.
“You look like her,” the solange-eyed one finally said.
The boy’s fingers curled, the pointer and third finger barely connecting with his thumb. “Like who?”
The solange-eyed one smiled. “I don’t think anyone who didn’t love her would notice. But I’ve seen a thousand different faces, and I’ve recognized her in each one. It’s . . . I think it’s your spirit. You’re tied together, and I recognize you because I recognize her. I didn’t see it during the games. But I see it now.” He closed his hazel eye and stared at the boy through his solange gaze.
The boy stood very still, studying the solange-eyed one too.
Finally, the solange-eyed one opened his hazel eye and said with quiet sincerity, “I’m sorry about your father.”
The boy nodded. Neither his face nor his voice conveyed any depth of feeling. “Thank you. I’m sorry about yours too.”
The solange-eyed one let out a long breath. Then, coming to a decision, he held out his callused hand.
The boy stared at it. “What’s this?”
“A handshake.”
The boy laughed and then took the solange-eyed one’s hand.
“Would you like to have lunch?” the solange-eyed one asked. “I was just about to make something. We could eat. Talk. I’ve found you can learn all you need to know about a person by how they eat and what they like to eat. For instance, what’s your favorite food?”
The boy smiled. “Pizza.”
“Huh. That’s Darin’s favorite too.”
The boy’s smile faded. “What’s yours?”
“Steak. Raw.”
“You mean rare?”
The solange-eyed one grinned. “No.”
The boy laughed. “Funny. I can see why she likes you.”
There was a teasing light in the solange-eyed one’s eyes. “Thanks.” He smiled. “Come on. I’ll make you lunch. We’ll chat.”
The boy pushed his chair back from the kitchen table. Outside, the storm clouds had turned the city a dirty, newsprint gray-black, but inside, the kitchen was brightly lit and filled with the scent of melted butter dolloped on roasted potatoes, tender steak, and oven-baked apples filled with raisins, walnuts, brown sugar, and cinnamon.
“How did you know?” the boy asked, fidgeting with the napkin in his lap.
“The wind told me.”
