Luce didn’t answer. She was still concentrating on her portrait of Dorian, trying to get the slope of his forehead exactly right. The hair was going to be tricky. She divided her voice into more notes than she had ever managed before, all weaving together, and thick sinuous strands of water began to spin from the floating head. The red light of the aurora curved like rose petals in its core. Her voice was soft yet still piercing; it felt like they were listening to the night’s own secret thoughts cast in music.

Dorian had started crying silently from the power of that music, and Luce softly lowered the water-sculpture, letting it flow back into the sea. She was amazed herself by how much the sculpture had looked like him and by how graceful it was. Her earlier attempts had been crude by comparison.

“God, Luce! I wish there was some way we could have kept that! I mean, I think I’m a good artist and everything, but that was so beautiful!”

“Thanks,” Luce said shyly. “I don’t know if I could do that again, though.”

“Maybe we could, I don’t know, like freeze one of those heads while you were singing? I guess it would be hard for you to keep it up that long, though. Or at least I could take a photo next time . . .”

“You can take a picture if you want,” Luce said, but for some reason she didn’t like the idea. “But I don’t see why you should, actually. Dorian, it’s just something for you to remember.” They were quiet for a while, and Dorian wiped his tears with his sleeve.

“I’m going to have to start leaving early on Wednesdays,” Dorian said abruptly. He sounded slightly embarrassed, but Luce couldn’t tell why. “We finally met that girl Zoe? The drummer? And we’re going to try to have band practice regularly twice a week. Wednesday nights and Saturday mornings.”

Luce felt a quick rush of jealousy and just as quickly repressed it. Of course Dorian would meet human girls sometimes; it didn’t mean he was going to fall in love with them. “What’s she like?” Luce asked with deliberate lightness. “Is she a good drummer?”

“She’s not a bad drummer, anyway. Pink hair and like three nose rings. Maybe kind of a poser punk, and a little bratty sometimes? But she’s funny. She might be smart, too. It’s kind of hard to say.”

“Is she pretty?” Luce couldn’t completely keep the edge out of her voice this time.