“What makes fun wrong?” he asked. And when she didn’t have an answer for him, Milos said, “What we do is right. It is natural—or else why would we be able to do it? If we are skinjackers, we are meant to skinjack.”

“We provide a link between Everlost and the living world—perhaps the most important one,” Allie insisted. “Maybe we were meant to use it for something important.”

“Maybe we were meant to simply enjoy it.”

She wanted to argue, but between his easy logic, and his easier smile, she found her argument had no teeth. She looked down to see that, while Milos had continued to shift his feet to keep from sinking, Allie had not, and had sunken into the sidewalk to her ankles. She pulled her feet out, feeling embarrassed that he had caught her ankle-deep.

“In life did you ever do something just for fun?” asked Milos.

“Yes …”

“So why not be as you were in life? And if it hurts no one, why is it wrong to enjoy skinjacking? This is what we are.”

“No, it’s what we do!”

“No, Allie, it is what we are.” Milos gently put his hand on her shoulder. “It is what you are.”

“So was it fun?” Mikey asked.

Allie shrugged, trying, for his sake, to hide how much she had enjoyed the soul-surfing lesson. “It was tiring. I prefer being me, rather than the crowd. What did you do?”

“I took a walk.”

“Through town?” She wondered if he had been downtown, and had seen her with Milos. If she were a fleshie she would have flushed at the thought, then she got mad at herself. She had nothing to feel guilty for.

“I went into the woods,” he told her. “There’s an oak grove where half the trees have crossed over. And in the middle of it I found a house that crossed over too. It would be a nice place to live. That is … if you wanted to.”

“We can’t ‘live,’ “she reminded him.

“No, but we could enjoy our existence here. I’m tired of being a finder. I’m tired of moving around. I’m tired of everything.”

Allie considered this, noting the slight lavender tinge to his afterglow. Perhaps there was a different meaning for it. “Then maybe you’re ready,” she said.

“Ready for what?”

“To move on.”

What Allie meant as a simple observation hit Mikey like a fist on flesh. He took a step back, reeling from the blow, but tried not to show how deeply it hurt him.

“Maybe I am,” he said.

She turned from him. “If you’re ready, Mikey, then I won’t stop you.”

No, of course you won’t, he wanted to say. Because then I wouldn’t be an anchor around your neck anymore. But instead he said, “Tell me to stay, and I will …“

But Allie shook her head. “That would be selfish of me.”

* * *