"No. Not really." He paused. "I know someone awful is interested in you."

"That should scare me." She nodded, still calm, still not frightened. He was, though.

"You taste afraid, jealous, and" — she closed her eyes for a moment, savoring some strange thread of emotion that she could almost roll on her tongue—"sad."

She opened her eyes. "Why do I know that, Niall?" Confusion filled him then; she tasted that too. If his emotions were true, he didn't know any more than she did about her new ability.

“You can—“

"Taste your feelings." She watched him, felt him try to be still, like his emotions were being sorted into boxes she couldn't open. Glimmers of tastes—chicory and honey, salt and cinnamon, mint and thyme—drifted by like shadows.

"That's an odd choice of words." He waited, not quite a question, but close enough.

So she told him more of the things she'd been feeling. "There are bursts and absences. There are so many things I feel and see that I can't explain. It should frighten me. It should've made me talk to someone. But I haven't been able to … until now."

"Do you know when it started?" He was worried. Her tongue was heavy under a lingering lemony flavor, and she knew that worry was the feeling that went with that flavor.

"I'm not sure, not really. …" She tried to focus. There was a tumble of words—the restaurant, the tattoo, the Rath, the museum, when, why—but when she tried to speak, all the words were gone.

"Irial," Niall said.

His briny anger and cinnamon jealousy surged back until her throat burned with it. She gasped, nearly choking. But as she thought of Irial, everything felt better. She felt calm again. The tastes faded from her tongue.

Niall hurried her back across the street and into the old building. "We'll still spend the day together. He won't come here. Tonight we'll talk to Aislinn and Keenan. After that you'll be safe. Can we do that?"

His worry stretched inside her, filling her up, and then it slithered away as if it had found a tunnel to escape her. In its place she felt calmness. Her body felt as languid as when she was in Rabbit's chair. Talking about this isn't necessary. She shrugged. "We didn't have a plan yet anyhow, right? Hang out, work, see Rabbit, then more hanging out? Sure."

"Just a few hours, then, and it'll all be fine." He took her hand and started up a spiraling stone staircase.

"No elevators?" She looked around. The outside had been rather nondescript, worn down like most things in Huntsdale, but the inside of the building was beautiful. As at the Rath, obsidian, marble, and wood seemed to replace what would usually be metal.

"No steel allowed in here," he said distractedly.

She followed him until he stopped at a door that was too beautiful to be exposed to casual passersby. Stones—not cut jewels, but raw stones—were embedded in the wood to create a mosaic. She reached out, hand hovering in the air in front of the door. "It's gorgeous."

Niall opened the mosaic door. The inside was no less lovely. Tall, leafy plants dominated the room. Innumerable birds swooped through the air, nested in nooks in tall columns that supported vine-covered ceilings.

"Be welcome in our home, Leslie," he said.

The words felt strangely formal, setting off warnings that this was not the right place for her, that running would be wise. But Leslie could still feel Niall's emotions—he was happy, honored—and in the middle of it all was a thin cord of genuine love for her. So she stepped farther into the room, breathing the summer-sweet scent of flowers that bloomed somewhere in the loft.

"Make yourself at home while I bathe." Niall motioned to an overstuffed chair. "Then I'll make us breakfast. We'll stay here. We'll figure it out."

She thought about answering, but he seemed to be talking to himself more than to her. She settled in the cozy chair, watching the birds dance through the air over their heads. With Niall or with Irial, that's where I should be. She wasn't sure why, but it was clear to her then. Every day her feelings had become further skewed from normal, and other people's emotions had been growing identifiable. She heard the excuses she'd been using to explain the changes away—and knew they were lies and self-deceits. She could see it all with a peculiar clarity. Something, the same source as the changes, was preventing her from thinking too much about the reasons why she was changing; it was somehow forbidden. But why worry? Whatever was changing made her feel good, better than she had in a very long time. So she closed her eyes and enjoyed the languor that had filled her during her conversation with Niall.

Chapter 22

They'd spent the day together playing video games, talking, and just being near each other. By the time Leslie had to go to work, she'd begun completely tuning out his worries and murmured warnings. She simply didn't feel those things. He was worried—she could taste that—but she felt good.

Niall left her at the door of Verlaine's with another reminder not to go anywhere with Irial or any strangers.

"Sure." She kissed his cheek. "See you later tonight?"

"I don't think you should be walking alone. I'll meet you and walk you to Rabbit's, and then I can walk you to the Crow's Nest after."

"No. I can call Ani or Tish or Rabbit to come meet me, or I'll take a cab." She gave him a reassuring smile before she went inside.