“What? You got something stupid that you regret? I know this guy who got a toilet tattooed on his arm on a dare during a drinking game. It can’t be worse than that, can it?”

“Actually, it can,” I say.

“Worse than a toilet?”

He’s not going to give up. So I unzip the top of my wetsuit and pull it down to expose my shoulder.

He looks confused, trying to work out why I have a tattoo of a small purple flower encased in a letter V. His face transforms as he gets it. “Oh my god, did she force you to get that?”

My mouth is too dry to speak.

“You were thirteen years old, and Violette forced you to get a tattoo with her emblem?”

There is so much pity in his voice that I can’t look him in the eye. I pull the suit back up and zip it.

“You can have it removed,” he says.

“I’ve tried. Three times. It comes back each time I go dormant. You know, when our bodies are supposed to be healing themselves. Bran says that because it was done after my human self died, it’s here to stay.”

Now I’m the one staring at the tower. I don’t want to see Siaka’s expression. He knows my shameful secret. The secret that stayed with me long after my acts were forgiven and my numa aura disappeared. The one I will carry through all my afterlifes.

A minute passes. Or maybe fifteen. I don’t feel time. All I can feel is pain.

Siaka shifts his board over, and his hand closes over mine. The electricity in his touch goes straight to my heart and reaches that gaping wound. And for some reason—whether Flame-finger magic or just plain human compassion—the pain fades a little. I close my eyes, and we sit holding hands until the sun rises.

Chapter Nineteen

After our two non-dates, I can’t justify more time off. We leave the timing for our next meeting open and dive back into our work. Liv has finished her database updates, and we spend the next day playing catch-up with the entries. It seems we’re done with angst, and our communication stays lighthearted, aided by a running conversation on C2C’s instant messenger that has nothing to do with bardia or Flame-fingers.

Siaka: Butt still frozen from sitting in ice-cold Seine this morning.

Me: There was 5mm of neoprene between said butt and river. That’s almost the thickest wetsuit possible!

Him: I’ve got a Malian butt. It’s used to warm weather.

Me: I promise to take your butt’s ideal temperature into consideration for my next date plan.

Him: Date?

Me: Friendly excursion.

Him: Will platonic hand-holding be involved in said excursion?

Me: I sure as hell hope so.

Him: *Halo smiley face.*