Part of me wishes he’d take my ignoring him as a hint and leave. Mostly I’m relieved when the section of the bed next to me sinks as he sits down.
I press random parts of the plastic in hopes of somehow finding the right series of spots to make the phone call my mother.
“Is that...” Al stops himself.
I really don’t want to say anything more to him.
But I also can’t stand not knowing what he was going to say.
“Is that what?”
“It’s like a mirror into another part of the world. People are moving around and they don’t seem to be at all aware of the fact you’re watching them.”
“You can see people?” I realize what he’s talking about as soon as I ask the question. “Damn. I’m in the videos. You know, for the first time ever, I wish this phone didn’t do so much. I actually miss my old phone. As ugly as it was. Bright pink of course. At least these ones only come in white and black.”
“You keep pressing their faces, making them stop and start again. I’m guessing that’s not your intention.”
I growl my annoyance and move my thumb down a little bit. “Well, since I can’t see anything, I don’t know how you can expect me to do any better.”
He considers his words carefully before saying, “I could help. Or at least, I could try.”
“Are you going to give me your eyes?”
He chuckles, the sound as warming as ever. “I don’t think that would actually be helpful. Pretty sure it would make neither of us able to see. And I can’t imagine eyeballs would be pleasant to touch.” Before I can fully say ‘ew!’ he continues. “However, I have heard of people being able to use magic to look through another person’s eyes. You could attempt something along those lines.”
“It sounds great, but I still don’t have any idea how to use my magic.” I jab at my cell again. “I can’t even get my phone to dial home.”
“Your magic is now associated with touch, right?” I have no idea how he figured it out faster than me. “So a connection with me might make things easier.”
Timidly, he touches his fingertips against my hand closest to him. Although I flinch, I don’t pull away which he takes as a sign to continue what he’s doing. With so little pressure it tickles, he slides his fingers across my palm and then lightly grips my wrist. Just as slowly, he lifts my hand and presses it against his temple, right at the hairline.
My thoughts go back to my conversation with Rose and how dangerous it can be for me to get too close to Al. Even so, I can’t convince myself to pull away.
“Do you feel anything?”
That seems like a loaded question, and one I’m definitely not ready to answer.
“Lou? Do you feel anything which might be magic?”
Of course that’s what he meant. What else could it have been?
“Warm and cold at the same time,” I describe to him. “I feel it coming from everything, including my own skin.”
“Concentrate on what’s coming from you.”
Easier to say than do. The more I try to focus on the magic inside myself, the more I’m distracted by the amount of it surrounding us. And the box. Almost pulsing now.
He must think my silence means I’ve done what he told me and he continues his instructions. “Now, concentrate on what you want to accomplish.”
He waits a few more seconds. “Have you got it?”
I sigh and pull my hand away, but his hand moves with mine, never letting go.
“I can’t do it. There’s way too much going on.”
“Such as?”
“There’s magic everywhere in this room. And all of it is stronger than what is inside me.”
He’s silent for a minute. “I doubt that.”
Never before have I so badly wanted to look a guy in the eye before. I desperately want to see what his expression is giving away, if anything.
He raises my hand to his temple again.
“Try again. This time pretend nothing beyond the two of us exists. The other magic doesn’t matter. All that matters is what’s inside you.”
At first I ignore the feeling of his rough-textured fingers against my much softer hand. But it brings me back to the wood and the plant and the box. I still can’t focus on myself. The hot and cold feeling I get when I touch my own skin doesn’t seem to exist when I’m in contact with something, or someone else.
Maybe that’s the trick. Don’t focus on me, focus on Al.
It’s too easy to let myself concentrate on each bump and indent of his skin and on each strand of hair tickling my hand. I have to remind myself of the purpose of the exercise several times before I can remember to focus on his eyes, and more importantly what he’s seeing.
For half a second, my hand seems to be on fire, and then in the blink of an eye it stops. And I’m staring at myself.