Touch by Michelle Sagara Page B

to think that my presence here
     is a plot against Emma.”
    “If you found out that it was, could you leave?”
    “Yes. But I’m not you. I don’t think there’s anywhere I can go that the Queen can’t
     find me.” He lays out his fear. “If I left, if she knew, she’d send me back. If I
     couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stay, she might even come here in person.”
    “She won’t leave her city.”
    “Why? She left it to find me.”
    “No, Nathan, she didn’t. Her city is the only place she’s built where she feels safe.”
    “You probably understand the Queen better than anyone. Why am I here, Eric? What does
     she want from me?”
    Eric says nothing.
    There’s a question Nathan wants to ask, but he doesn’t, because if Eric answers, Nathan
     will know—and if the Queen thinks to ask, Nathan will tell her what Eric said. Maybe
     not immediately.
    He contents himself with thinking it as they walk back to Eric’s house.
    Could you kill her, Eric? Could you kill the Queen of the Dead? Could you kill someone
     who loves you so much?
    * * *
    Eric drives Emma and Allison home. Nathan hitches an uncomfortable ride in the front
     seat. He still doesn’t have the hang of sitting. He passes through chairs and seats.
     A lifetime’s gravity habit is apparently hard to kick.
    Nathan missed the beginning of the conversation, but he’s not concerned. He can read
     a lot in their physical closeness. Allison has obviously shared information that’s
     upset her—but the sharing, the spreading of that pain across two sets of shoulders,
     diminishes it. It’s something he’s often envied about girls: Talking actually makes
     a difference to them.
    “Chase didn’t mean it,” Emma says.
    “He meant some of it. The part he did mean is still—”
    “Making you angry.”
    Allison nods. Anger isn’t her natural state; most people find it hard to believe she
     has a temper. “I hate it when he talks about killing you—about killing anyone—so casually.”
    “Amy does it all the time.”
    “Amy’s never killed anyone.” Allison gives Emma the Look. “Chase has.”
    “Good point.” Emma concedes with grace whenever she’s in a losing position. “But I
     think he’s genuinely worried—about you.”
    “He’s worried about my safety.”
    “Same thing.”
    “It’s
not
, Emma. He doesn’t care about anything
but
that. Do you know how I’d feel if I just walked out on you, now? Let’s pretend you’re
     not you. Or you’re not involved. You’re some other, random Best Friend I’ve known
     since we were five years old.”
    “Okay.”
    “He’s not asking me to walk out on my Best Friend; he’s asking me to walk out on my
     own life. He’s asking me to be so afraid for my own safety that I’m willing to just
     leave you behind. And I could,” she adds. “But it would change what friendship means—to
     me—forever. I could never, ever throw my whole heart into it, because if things were
     too dark or too scary, I’d know, in advance, that I’d be ducking, hiding, and running
     for cover.
    “It’s not about you, not really. It’s about
me
. It’s about being able to look myself in the mirror. I’m not five years old anymore.
     I need to do this—for me. Can you live with that?”
    “I’m not exactly a disinterested observer,” Emma finally manages to say. Nathan knows
     the tone; she’s close to tears. Emma doesn’t cry in public. Even the good tears, and
     these would be good.
    He understands what Emma sees in Allison. He understands that Allison mostly doesn’t.
     He knows that Allison wasn’t happy to see him, and given Eric’s reaction, he’s terrified
     that she’s right.
    Nathan knows Emma. He knows that Emma’s not nearly as certain as Allison; he knows
     that Allison’s belief in Emma is way stronger than Emma’s belief in herself. But he
     could turn it around: Emma’s belief in Allison is stronger than Allison’s belief in
     herself. They shore each other up when the