Luce tried not to mention singing around him, though she’d slipped up once or twice. She was back to practicing a lot, and sometimes she was simply too excited about the discoveries she was making not to say something. Still, she was always afraid when she did, always glancing nervously to see how he reacted. It might remind him of the Dear Melissa, or of his idea that her song had affected his brain somehow.

“You said hearing me sing messed you up,” Luce objected. “It seems like a horrible idea to try that again!”

“It did mess me up. It’s getting easier now that I’m seeing you and everything, but I still hear you singing the whole time I’m asleep. Even when it’s not like I’m dreaming. I mean, it’s all dark, but I still keep hearing that song.”

“So, I mean, I don’t want to risk hurting you, Dorian. Or of course I would.”

“I need you to.” Luce didn’t understand. “It’s like your song went into me and shoved a lot of stuff around, and I still . . . I’m never scared when I’m with you, Luce, but the rest of the time I can suddenly start feeling like I’m drowning, out of nowhere, just sitting in a chair or whatever, and my head starts filling up with your voice. It’s really crazy.”

“Then why? Why would you want me to?”

“Because maybe . . .” He seemed to be searching for the right words. “I’ve been thinking about it all the time, and I feel like hearing you—but hearing you sing something else—maybe that would be the one thing that could help?” His voice kept getting higher as he spoke until by the end it had a thin, desperate ringing. He stroked her, looking wildly into her doubtful eyes. “Just show me that thing you can do. Move the water for me. One wave?”

“You promise you’ll tell me right away? If it hurts you? Dorian, humans really aren’t strong enough to deal with it. I’ve seen them go totally insane . . .”

“Try it. Even a few seconds. Please.”

Luce sighed. Then, watching him carefully, she let out a slow, spinning note. Dorian squeezed her hand, hard, and even though he’d said he wanted to watch her raise the water his eyelids closed tight.

Her song stroked into his mind, throbbed around his thoughts. She could feel it happening, and she completely forgot any idea of sculpting a wave for him. Her voice spiraled in a long strand, three separate notes that wove over and through one another, and the music waltzed through the mind of the boy she loved. It lifted his memories, breathed in the crevices of daydreams he could barely even admit he had . . . Dorian let out a sound halfway between a gasp and a moan, and Luce abruptly broke off.