“Not until you tell me something about yourself.”
No one wanted to hear what the nosoul had to say. All his stories had been so interesting, filled with people and events I couldn’t have dreamt of. I had nothing that would compare. “I can’t.”
“You can.” He studied me, like if he looked hard enough he’d find all the things I wasn’t telling him. But I didn’t have anything. “What makes you happy? What do you like?”
Why did he care? At least he didn’t expect me to tell him about a grand adventure. And if I told him something I liked, he’d turn the pages so I could read more. A fair trade.
“Music makes me happy.” More than happy. More than I could ever explain to him. “I found a player in the cottage library and figured out how to turn it on. There it was, Dossam’s Phoenix Symphony.” Easily, I could recall the way my stomach had dropped when the first notes played, and then I’d felt—swollen. Full. Like something inside me had finally awakened. “I love him, his music.”
No, that wasn’t right. A nosoul couldn’t love.
I lurched to my feet and stumbled across the room, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run. Li would find me. She’d know what I’d said. She’d hit me and yell about how a nosoul couldn’t love. I’d been stupid, careless with my words because the thought of music had relaxed me. I had to be careful. No more slips.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean love.”
Footsteps approached, making my heart thud against my ribs as I braced for the strike that never came.
“Ana.” Sam stood within arm’s reach but didn’t touch me. Probably afraid I’d break down if he did. “Do you really feel that way? That you aren’t allowed certain emotions?”
I couldn’t look at him.
“You’re not a nosoul. You’re allowed to feel however you feel.”
So he kept saying, and I wanted to believe him, but . . .
“I think we should talk about this.”
My throat hurt from holding back tears. “I don’t want to.” His good intentions just made it more confusing.
He touched the small of my back. I jumped, but he was so gentle. “Someone without a soul wouldn’t have risked her life to save mine, especially since—as you said—I’d just come back.”
I stepped away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“All right.” He hazarded a smile. “At least I learned something about you.”
Flinching, I tried not to count the number of things he’d just learned: I claimed to feel emotions I couldn’t, I jumped and ran even when no one was chasing me. . . .
“You like music.” He smiled warmly. “I have my SED here. It can play music. I’m happy to let you borrow it, if you ask.”
If I asked?
My confusion must have been evident, because he brushed a strand of hair from my eyes and said, “Say the words. Ask.”
My hands and heart ached. I wanted to run outside and hide, never have to worry about this again. When to ask. When not to ask. Whether Li would appear and punish me for thinking I was allowed any sort of happiness. There was just too much, and it felt like drowning, like burning. But running away wouldn’t help.
Sam had offered to take me to Heart, spent the last few days speaking his voice raw, and he would let me listen to music—if only I asked. Surely that wasn’t too much to give him, a few words.
I swallowed knots in my throat. “Sam, may I please listen to music?”
“Of course. I’ll find it for you.” Tension ran from his shoulders, like he’d actually been worried I wouldn’t ask. Like he cared.
Maybe he did.
Music pressed into my ears, filling me completely. A piano, a flute, and low strings I couldn’t identify.
I’d never heard the song before, and I wanted to explain to Sam how much I appreciated it—how much of a gift this was—but I couldn’t find the words. Instead, when he sat on the chair, I sat on the arm like he had the day he’d started reading to me.
With a mysterious smile, he pulled the SED from the harness at my waist and flicked on a screen. A dozen musicians sat in a half-moon, playing instruments I’d seen drawings of, but never the real thing. The stage projected their sound to a darkened audience, and to my earpieces.
Phoenix Symphony, my favorite. That must have been Dossam conducting from the piano. The books in the cottage library never had his—sometimes her—picture. Even this was difficult to see. The screen was small, and the image blurry. But I liked the way he caressed the piano keys and directed the other twenty members of the orchestra, as though physically drawing the music from them. Without him, there’d be only silence.
Mesmerizing.
“Li’s didn’t have video. I think Cris must have left it behind. Was it just old?”
Sam nodded. “Li probably had a newer one she didn’t let you see. Everyone uses Stef’s new design now.”