“Was that your mistake or his?” I asked. I waited about one second, as Amy paused, trying to find the words, and butted into her thoughts with, “Don’t lie.”

“My mistake. I don’t see it as a ‘coloring outside the lines’ thing. It was a question of how much I pursue the art and how much I pursue the science, and I fell too far on the side of art.”

“You were working with Bonesaw for a bit. Dad said she was big on the ‘art’. When she showed up at the house, she talked a lot.”

“Don’t. Don’t compare me to her.”

“I guess you got some practice in art before making Dot’s dress. It really is pretty.”

“Yes!” Dot said.

“Stop!” Amy raised her voice.

My heart pounded at the volume of the word, at the situation. Every instinct was kicking in, to the extent I could have lashed out if I wasn’t already huddled up into a tight space.

I didn’t take my eyes off of Amy as I asked, “Dot, what were the interesting results from her power?”

“This is being confrontational again, Vicky.”

“The ear one,” Dot said.

Amy visibly winced.

“Fixing an ear, a wiggly hole going through head. Canal. She colored outside the lines, little ripply-rigid flesh around the ear and more holes twisting through. There was blood bubbling out.”

“Getting into that art, huh?” I asked.

“You were being civil before,” Amy said.

Dot went on, “It was beautiful. Wasn’t until I said something that she stopped, half the head was holes reaching through, ripples and ridges around.”

“I zoned out. I hadn’t slept, I was tired,” Amy said.

“She called the Snark for help. Asked him to fix the ears. He wouldn’t. But he sat with and talked her through. He sat with for the next few too.”

“Marquis?” I asked.

“Chris,” Amy answered.

“Oh, Snark, of course.”

“That was fun. That was a good day,” Dot said.

“Were there others?” I asked Dot.

“Stop,” Amy raised her voice getting to her feet. I flinched involuntarily at the movement, my head turning partially away. She spoke again, quieter, “Just stop. Please.”

Where I’d shrunk back a bit, Dot scampered to the corner of the bed and leaped for Amy’s hand, grabbing onto the sleeve before scampering up to Amy’s shoulder.

“Our fifteen minutes are probably nearly up,” I said.

“What?” Amy asked, momentarily flabbergasted, on top of her general upset. “You were counting?”

“I did say I’d be underhanded,” I told her. “There’s no way I’m going to spend more time in your company than I’m obligated to.”

“What the fuck, Vicky?” she asked, stepping closer.

She stopped when I pulled back.

She turned away, and I could relax a fraction, no longer drawn so far into the corner that I was forced to hold my breath.