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Authors: Christine Johnson
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stared at her, pale as snow.
“That’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.” His voice was gravelly. “That was unbelievable, Keira. You’re unbelievable.”
She smiled. “Thanks.”
Holding her gaze, he stepped around the keyboard and satdown next to her on the bench. “No, I mean it. I’m not giving you some random compliment.” He swallowed hard. “Where I come from, music is everything. And no one can do anything remotely like what you just did. Growing up, I spent years trying to play. Years. Piano and violin and dulcimer—whatever I could get my hands on. And it never worked. I was terrible at everything.”
“It’s not for everyone,” Keira offered, slouching into herself as though she were protecting her talent. As though Walker might want it badly enough to twist it right out of her.
“I know. That’s the problem. But you . . . ” He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Do you know how you look when you play? It’s like you’re making the music from scratch. I could almost taste it.”
The compliment washed over Keira. “I guess we’re all good at different stuff. I mean, I suck at math and history. And I draw like a three-year-old.”
The intensity of Walker’s iron-hard expression cracked. A laugh slipped from his mouth like steam. “Really?” He eyed her. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
“Believe it,” Keira said. “Stick figures are about as good as I get.” She leaned against the edge of the keyboard. “So what about you? You must have a talent of some sort. What are you good at?”
Walker tipped his head to one side. The inviting set of his shoulders, the way his hands slid across the wooden curvesof her piano—it was a reply all its own, and it sent an ache through her. “Numbers. Sleight-of-hand. Making you blush.” He ticked them off on his fingers, his lips curving up when the hot flush in her cheeks proved him right.
In the hall, the front door flew open and Keira’s mom came rushing into the house and dropped her briefcase with a thud. “Keira! Thank goodness you’re okay. Let me look at you.”
Walker slid off the bench and stood with his hands in his pockets while her mother checked her hands and peered into her eyes. “Are you sore anywhere? Any bruises?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“She was complaining about her vision being weird,” Walker offered.
Keira shot him a dirty look, then turned back to her mother—and immediately panicked.
Her mom’s tired, dark-ringed eyes and bobbed hair were the picture of normal. It was the enormous black tree that had appeared behind her mother that freaked Keira out.
Chapter Ten
O H, SHIT . N OT AGAIN .
The tree trunk was covered in deep-ridged bark and the lowest branches were thick with wine-red leaves and the same strange, oblong fruit she’d seen on the kitchen counter. Obviously, that had not been some sort of gourmet banana. The tree seemed to be growing straight up through the ceiling. Keira couldn’t see the upper branches—the tree looked like it had been neatly sliced off by the second story of her house.
She was too shocked to speak, too shocked to move. Even her blood seemed to hesitate in her veins. Part of her was convinced that she was losing her mind. Normal people didn’t seefruit that wasn’t real. Doors in the middle of the street. Strange trees in the living room. But she felt so sane.
“Keira? You do look paler than usual. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”
“I’m fine ,” she insisted. “If I’d hit my head, I’d probably be throwing up or seeing things that weren’t there, right?” Saying it out loud was a sort of test. To see how crazy it sounded.
Her mom let out a thin laugh, but behind her, Keira heard Walker suck in a sharp breath. She shifted in her seat, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
He stood rigid, staring at her, his eyes round as a shark’s. He looked like he was seeing her for the first
“That’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.” His voice was gravelly. “That was unbelievable, Keira. You’re unbelievable.”
She smiled. “Thanks.”
Holding her gaze, he stepped around the keyboard and satdown next to her on the bench. “No, I mean it. I’m not giving you some random compliment.” He swallowed hard. “Where I come from, music is everything. And no one can do anything remotely like what you just did. Growing up, I spent years trying to play. Years. Piano and violin and dulcimer—whatever I could get my hands on. And it never worked. I was terrible at everything.”
“It’s not for everyone,” Keira offered, slouching into herself as though she were protecting her talent. As though Walker might want it badly enough to twist it right out of her.
“I know. That’s the problem. But you . . . ” He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Do you know how you look when you play? It’s like you’re making the music from scratch. I could almost taste it.”
The compliment washed over Keira. “I guess we’re all good at different stuff. I mean, I suck at math and history. And I draw like a three-year-old.”
The intensity of Walker’s iron-hard expression cracked. A laugh slipped from his mouth like steam. “Really?” He eyed her. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
“Believe it,” Keira said. “Stick figures are about as good as I get.” She leaned against the edge of the keyboard. “So what about you? You must have a talent of some sort. What are you good at?”
Walker tipped his head to one side. The inviting set of his shoulders, the way his hands slid across the wooden curvesof her piano—it was a reply all its own, and it sent an ache through her. “Numbers. Sleight-of-hand. Making you blush.” He ticked them off on his fingers, his lips curving up when the hot flush in her cheeks proved him right.
In the hall, the front door flew open and Keira’s mom came rushing into the house and dropped her briefcase with a thud. “Keira! Thank goodness you’re okay. Let me look at you.”
Walker slid off the bench and stood with his hands in his pockets while her mother checked her hands and peered into her eyes. “Are you sore anywhere? Any bruises?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“She was complaining about her vision being weird,” Walker offered.
Keira shot him a dirty look, then turned back to her mother—and immediately panicked.
Her mom’s tired, dark-ringed eyes and bobbed hair were the picture of normal. It was the enormous black tree that had appeared behind her mother that freaked Keira out.
Chapter Ten
O H, SHIT . N OT AGAIN .
The tree trunk was covered in deep-ridged bark and the lowest branches were thick with wine-red leaves and the same strange, oblong fruit she’d seen on the kitchen counter. Obviously, that had not been some sort of gourmet banana. The tree seemed to be growing straight up through the ceiling. Keira couldn’t see the upper branches—the tree looked like it had been neatly sliced off by the second story of her house.
She was too shocked to speak, too shocked to move. Even her blood seemed to hesitate in her veins. Part of her was convinced that she was losing her mind. Normal people didn’t seefruit that wasn’t real. Doors in the middle of the street. Strange trees in the living room. But she felt so sane.
“Keira? You do look paler than usual. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”
“I’m fine ,” she insisted. “If I’d hit my head, I’d probably be throwing up or seeing things that weren’t there, right?” Saying it out loud was a sort of test. To see how crazy it sounded.
Her mom let out a thin laugh, but behind her, Keira heard Walker suck in a sharp breath. She shifted in her seat, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
He stood rigid, staring at her, his eyes round as a shark’s. He looked like he was seeing her for the first
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