The Warm Hands of Ghosts

by Katherine Arden

But there was nothing detached about his music. It reached a clawed hand right inside Freddie’s forgotten heart, alive with things he was too wounded to feel anymore. Regret, tenderness. It was beautiful, and it hurt so much.

“Don’t science me, Iven. Magic’s just science we don’t understand.

“Then come and find me. After it’s all over. And tell me what I owe you.” “Nothing,” he said, and he was close enough for her to feel the brush of his hair, against her ear and throat. The vibration of his voice. “I already told you.” “Come and find me anyway,” said Laura.