It is often the case that time softens memory. People become perfect with distance and the passage of time. It has certainly been true of my memories of my brother; every rough edge has been rounded with the glow of nostalgia and the haze of grief. With Finn, it is the opposite. In my memory he is a monster, but sitting in front of me is just a boy. A boy with a scar on the back of his hand I never noticed before, and the blush of a sunburn across his gently freckled cheeks.

“How I am is no business of yours,” I reply. It comes out sounding petulant.

“Did you get my letter?” He leans slightly across the table, fingers reaching for me.

Some terrible part of me wants to touch him just to see what it would feel like.

“I did.”

His eyes search my face. “Did you read it?”

“That’s not why I’m here, Finn.” It’s been so long since I’ve said his name aloud. It sticks in my throat like stale candy floss.

He cocks his head. “Then why are you here, Frances?”

“I’m here to ask if it’s happening to you, too.”

His hazel eyes narrow in confusion.

The tent is stifling, but my wet skirt has me feeling waterlogged and shaky.

“Is what happening?” I’ve captured his full attention now. No longer is his mouth set in a teasing smile. The question has torn through his facade. It’s all the confirmation I need. Finn’s and my magic is so wound together. When we opened the veil to speak to my brother, we tied our fates together.

“The magic, is yours behaving strangely too? Does it not come when called? Does it stop and start? Does it hurt?”

His eyes widen just the tiniest bit, and in them, I see the smallest flash of fear.

It’s happening to him, too; I know for certain now. The confirmation should feel like victory, but it makes me sick. This is confirmation that my fears were correct, that what my father said about the veil is correct. It’s connected to Finn and me, to our very souls, and now we have to figure out a way to fix it.

“I think we’ve done something terrible, Finn.” Outside, the wind blows, and the canvas walls rustle around us. Shadows from the weeping willow branches dance across Finn’s frightened face.

“Something terrible?” he whispers.