‘What are you?’ He whispered.
Her steady gaze made him ashamed of his question. But he had to know.
‘What do you think I am?’
He shook his head. ‘How should I know? Is there some – logical – explanation for what you can do?’
‘What do you mean by logical?’ She walked round the table, trailing her fingers along the magazines and books strewn there. Did the pages flutter, the models on the covers stretch and sway as though they longed to be free?
He didn’t want to believe that everything he knew was wrong. It must be an illusion. That was it. He was hallucinating. ‘Did you slip me something at the party last night?’
‘Is that what you think of me?’ The hurt in her voice spiked his heart. ‘I think I’d better go, don’t you?’
He wanted to say no, but his treacherous throat closed up.
She scooped her coat from a chair. ‘Do you want this to go somewhere? Are you willing to take a risk?’
This? Was there a ‘this’? Yes, there was, and he knew it. He just needed to get his head round it. He forced his stupid voice to say something.
‘Why won’t you tell me what happened last night?’
Her hand was on the door knob, and she paused. Her back was to him when she spoke. ‘Are you ready to hear the answer? Or do you want to keep believing you imagined it?’
The thought of not seeing her again was making his chest ache. She was looking at him now, one eyebrow raised. He tried to put everything he felt into his gaze, since his brain and his mouth still weren’t connecting too well. Maybe it worked, because she let go of the door. Her next words thrilled and terrified him all at once.
‘Do you believe in magic?’