Hands

"I beckoned again and the music came. The note, the ripple, the chord. We spoke to each other as if bargaining, offering assurances neither of us was certain we could keep. I closed my eyes and leaned forward, allowing my fingers to skate along her temples. I inhaled and lifted my chin to raise the chord toward completeness.

It spiraled downward, crashing into disharmony and confusion. I fought to hold it, but my heart floundered, and in its furious babble was a warning; no magic is perfect. I froze, even though I knew I was trembling, but I would not let go even as the noise pounded inside my head.

It was as if holding onto a live electrical wire, jolt after jolt blasting into me. I fought, harder than I'd ever fought before, and the harder I fought, the louder it became. I raged against it, screaming at it voicelessly, matching clatter for clatter, determined not to stop until it was finished, myself or the music, or both."