Timepiece (Hourglass 2)

“Not like that.” I paused, surprised. It was true. “More like a sister. A best friend.”

“That role is already taken, but you can audition for understudy. Michael cares, too, you know.” When I shook my head, she sighed. “You need a Lily intervention. Come with me.”

When she gestured to the other empty bedroom, I almost swallowed my tongue.

“Down, boy. I meant so we could talk at a normal volume. But only if you want to talk. If you don’t, I’ll flip you for the foldout.”

“I’m not flipping you for … ugh.” I sighed. “My mama raised a gentleman, remember?”

She took my hand. “I also believe you tacked ‘in most circumstances’ onto the end of that explanation.”

In the bedroom, a book lay open facedown on a side table. Its well-worn spine was cracked, and Lily’s tiny glasses rested on top. She sat down on the double bed, and since the only chair was serving as a luggage rack, I sat down on the floor. Her back was against the headboard, and her legs were crossed at the ankles. Tiny embroidered cupcakes seemed to dance on her pajama pants. They even had sprinkles.

Due to previous experience, I should’ve been comfortable in a bedroom with a girl, but Lily looked at me as if she expected me to say something instead of do something.

“I’m sorry.” I blew out a breath. “About earlier. That you had to hear all that. I acted like a jerk.”

“All three of you acted like jerks,” she confirmed in a dry voice. “But there’s an extenuating circumstance to take into consideration. That kind of trauma can bring buried things to the surface.”

“Is that your way of telling me I’m off the hook for my behavior?” Lily didn’t deserve my sarcasm, but I dished it out, anyway.

She shrugged. “I didn’t have you on a hook. But I do have a question. Do you really feel like everything that’s happened is your fault?”

“You always get right to the point,” I said, half annoyed, half in awe. “There’s no messing around.”

“Why waste time?” She leveled her eyes at me. “And don’t turn the conversation back to me. This is about you.”

I tried to calm my own emotions enough to feel hers. Curiosity. Real, true empathy. She was trying to see things through my eyes. Nobody outside my immediate family ever did that. “I know it’s not rational, but yes. I do feel like most of what’s happened is my fault.”

Lily nodded, and then she was quiet for a few seconds, processing. “That’s the reason you offered to take the pain away for Emerson. You felt responsible. Taking emotion is part of your ability, too?”

She already knew the answer. “Em told you.”

“Technically, you did. But she clued me in, only because of what I overheard and because I asked specifically.”

“It isn’t something I do that often,” I said tightly.

“Em said that the only emotions you take from people are the painful ones.” She looked at the book on her bedside table. Grimm’s fairy tales. “I’m guessing there are consequences when you do. Magic always has a price.”

“Taking emotions isn’t magic.”

“What is it, then?” She scooted forward to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Well”—I scrambled for the right explanation—“without permission, it’s a violation.”

“But you get permission. You take pain with the intent to help, to heal. That’s the best kind of magic there is.”

“Don’t make me out to be a saint, Lily. I’m not.”

“But,” she challenged, “you aren’t like Jack.”

The comment set my teeth on edge. “I never said I was like Jack.”

“But you think you are. It’s the next logical step, especially if you compare your abilities,” she said. “Memories and emotions are all tied up. The more strongly you feel about a situation influences how you remember it. There’ve been studies.”

“That you just happened to read?”

“No. I looked it up online.” Lily pointed toward the desk, where her computer was open. There was a picture on the screen, one she’d taken today when I hadn’t been paying attention. It showed the back of Em’s head, which Lily had been in the process of cropping out, and me, with a half smile on my face.