Bis’s face was screwed up, and he nodded, the tufts on his ears waving. I didn’t like the idea that the line I had claimed as my primary source had been created by Newt, either, but it was what it was. Trent looked a little ill, and I wondered whose half-a-mile-long line was running through his office, back room, and gardens.

Fingers holding Bis’s, I resettled myself on the gravel path. It was obvious that this tight of contact with the line was hurting him. The discord was too loud, too painful.

Bis’s grip on my hands tightened. “Now, Rachel.”

I plunged my thoughts back in the line, ghosting through the purple haze, finding it easier now that I’d done it before, searching, discarding, sifting until I found the half step of red, tiny and lost among the rest. “Got it!” I whispered, heart pounding as I gathered it to me, struggling to pull it free of the rest. It was stuck like Velcro.

“Bubble it,” Bis said. “Bring it out with you. With us.”

With a curious flip-flop of thought, I bubbled the color/sound. My eyes snapped open as the connection broke and I suddenly found myself holding the memory of a mess of half-step red vibration in my mind. Trent was sitting before us, just outside the bubble with the line behind him. His eyes were wide, and I wondered how much he was getting through the rings.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Jenks said, rising up on a dusting of blue. “That sounds like line jumping to me. Isn’t this what you did to make your broken line to begin with?”

Bis was smiling, looking exhausted as his wings drooped. “She’s just going to move the imbalance, not herself.” He looked at me, his craggy brow furrowed in warning. “Right?”

My hair was tickling my face, but I didn’t dare let go of Bis’s hand to brush it aside. “Right,” I said. “And besides, Jenks. I’ve got it already.”

Trent’s face was alight, and I nodded at his unspoken question. Yep, I had it. It was doing flip-flops in my soul, and I didn’t want to think about what might happen if I accidentally let go of the bubble and the imbalance became a part of me, but I had it. It sort of hurt.

“Your line sounds better already,” Bis said, his hand still in mine. “Do you remember what Newt’s line sounds like without the imbalance?”

I bobbed my head, afraid to move. “Tune my aura to it?”

“No!” Bis shouted, startling me as his wings half opened. And then softer, almost sheepishly, he said, “Not your aura, just the bubble around the imbalance.”

I fidgeted, embarrassed that Trent had seen the near miss. “Should I think about Newt?”

Bis’s red eyes widened. “I don’t think so.”