Touch by Michelle Sagara Page A

mother came to the door to see them off, and she had a very open, very obvious
     expression of parental worry etched into the corners of her eyes and mouth. Allison
     kept a cheerful smile more or less fixed to her face as she turned to wave, but to
     her friends it looked hideously forced; she only relaxed it once they’d turned the
     corner, which Emma did as quickly as possible.
    “You can stop smiling now. If your face freezes like that, it’s going to be scary.”
    Allison’s grimace was far more natural. “I told her as much of nothing as I could
     get away with. But apparently
I
look worried. Or not cheerful enough. And she noticed the bruising.”
    Emma wilted as Allison’s jaw snapped shut. Michael, however, said, “What bruising?”
     in exactly the wrong tone of voice.
    Emma and Allison exchanged a look that Michael couldn’t have missed had he been sleeping.
     And while Allison was a better liar than Michael, it was only by chance; anyone over
     the age of three who was still breathing was, after all.
    It was—it had always—been tempting to treat Michael like a child; it was also both
     unfair and a mistake. But it was Allison who made the executive decision as they walked
     the rest of the way to school.
    “Emma and I took Petal for a walk last night,” she told him quietly. “And we met two
     Necromancers just outside the cemetery.”
    Michael’s eyes widened. After a moment, they narrowed. “They hurt you?”
    “They tried.”
    “Bruises don’t—”
    “Yes, they hurt me—but not badly. I’m just bruised, and it’s not a big bruise, either.”
     The executive decision had clearly faltered.
    Emma picked up the slack. “They tried to kill her.”
    It was Michael’s turn to miss a step, but when he righted himself, he’d stopped walking.
    “Talk while we walk, Michael; you’ll be late if you don’t.”
    For once, the panicky prospect of being late didn’t move him, much. “What happened?”
    “Eric and Chase showed up.”
    He took a deep breath and began to walk again. “They killed the Necromancers?”
    “They did.” Emma watched him out of the corner of an eye; Michael didn’t like violence,
     much. To be fair, neither did Emma or Allison.
    This particular violence, however, didn’t shatter his equilibrium; he nodded as if
     he hadn’t heard. “Emma will need to learn how to defend herself,” he finally said.
    The girls exchanged a glance; this one had higher eyebrows.
    “But I guess she’ll have to be careful not to—not to be like them.”
    “Emma could never—” Allison began, hotly.
    “But, Allison, they couldn’t have started out that way either, could they?”
    “Why not?”
    Michael looked confused. “When they were born—”
    Allison lifted a hand. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “You’re probably right. They
     probably weren’t like that to start, but it doesn’t matter; they’re like that
now
, and Emma’s
not
.”
    “Of course she’s not.” His look of confusion deepened.
    Poor Michael. Emma caught his arm. “Ally and Chase had a very loud fight about me
     last night. Pretty much about this.”
    “Oh.” He turned to Allison. “I’m sorry.”
    Michael wasn’t Chase; Allison couldn’t be enraged at him if she spent all day trying.
     “It’s fine. We’re going to Eric’s after school today, though.” She paused. “Do you
     want to come with us?”
    It wasn’t clear that Michael had even heard the question until they reached the entrance
     of Emery. They were used to this. “I think I would like to go with you,” he told them,
     “if Eric doesn’t mind.”
    “I’m sure Eric won’t mind,” Emma replied.
    * * *
    “Are you
crazy
?”
    The lunchtime cafeteria was, as usual, loud enough to deafen—but not apparently loud
     enough to completely blanket Eric’s voice. People—a handful of whom knew Emma fairly
     well—swiveled in the lunch line to stare. Emma pretended he was shouting into someone
     else’s ear and kept