“I meant painful for my father,” she said up into his eyes. “He’s an old man. He’s not as strong as he looks, as he thinks he is. He’s not as independent. He lives …” In my good opinion, she was about to say. But she stopped when the thought came to her that she now lived in Storm’s, that she had allowed herself to live in Storm’s. And she was scared of what was going to happen, what he was going to make her do. “Stirring things up,” was what she said when she went on. “Making trouble over all this old business. What’s the point?”

He had his fingers deep in her hair now, combing them through, holding her arm with his other hand.

“The point is for you to have a life,” he said.

“I have a life.”

“Have a big life. Have a real life, Sophie. With, like, musical numbers and chariot races. Even just inside, even just a Fred and Ginger dancing around in your head. It’s important. Trust me on this, kid. I know about this.” He seemed about to say something else, something more. His eyes had grown deep and hot—and mournful; they were so sad. “ ’Cause it’s short,” he said after a moment. “It really is. We don’t stay long. You gotta do it big-time.”

She lifted her chin curtly. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

His lips pulled back, his teeth bared, as he seemed to look about the room for the words he wanted. His glance rested finally on the table.

“Look …”he said. He let her go, picked up the salt shaker. Unscrewed the metal top. He licked the tip of his index finger and dipped it in, brought it out with a circle of white crystals clinging to the tip. He set the shaker down and returned to her. “Here,” he said. He moved his finger towards her lips.

Sophia blinked, recoiled. “What …?”

“Shh,” he said. He took her elbow. “Here.”

He brought his finger closer. Closer until it touched her lips. He moved it gently through, gently into her mouth until her lips encircled it, until the salt was on her tongue. Instinctively, Sophia sucked on his finger, unable to break the hold of his gaze. Frightened by the sudden intensity of it.

Then his finger drew away. She licked her lips, the flavor still spreading over her palate. Storm’s face stayed close to hers. His eyes stayed on her eyes.

“What,” she said helplessly. “It’s salt.”

“It’s salt!” he told her softly, urgently. “Salt! See? It’s like … Close Encounters, you know? When the mother ship comes down out of the sky and it’s the size of, like, a city? Like Die Hard, when the whole building just goes bang, just explodes and the fountain’s all going. It’s salt.”