Free Touch by Michelle Sagara Page B

snaps back.
     Emma flinches with each exchange, although she stays out of it.
    Allison feels guilty. Nathan recognizes it; it’s twin to his own sense of guilt. She
     was there. She was
right there
. And she couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t stop the Necromancers. She couldn’t even
     protect
herself
. She was dead weight. Worse. She was terrified.
    She was afraid she’d die. That part’s simple. But the fear itself has branches. Death
     is frightening to the living. Hell, it’s no walk in the park for the dead either.
     But it’s not just that. Ally knows what her death would do to Emma.
    Because Ally’s seen what Nathan’s death did.
    Nathan’s seen it as well. He’s spent days watching Emma at school, like some kind
     of crazed stalker. She’s still Emma—but she’s quieter. She still talks to Amy and
     the Emery mafia, and they still talk to her—but it’s different. No one mentions Nathan’s
     name. They’re careful not to talk too much about boys or boyfriends when she’s in
     the group; they wait until she’s gone.
    As if she understands this—and she probably does—she drifts away. She doesn’t want
     to be a wet blanket. She doesn’t want to pretend that Nathan never existed. She doesn’t
     want to force her friends to acknowledge him the way she did, because they didn’t
     love him the way she did, and she’s fine with that.
    But Allison almost never talked about boys. She talked about books, and with the same
     happy, riveted intensity. She talked about Michael and his friends, about schoolwork,
     about stray thoughts brought on by too much Google and not enough time outside. None
     of that has changed.
    Nathan is afraid that tonight, it has. Allison feels guilty.
    And Emma feels guilty as well. Because Emma is a Necromancer, and if it weren’t for
     Chase and Eric, Allison would be dead. Being a best friend has suddenly become a death
     sentence. She didn’t
need
company, tonight. She had Nathan.
    But she wanted company. She wanted to tell Allison that Nathan had returned.
    Allison was not happy about his reappearance. Emma was surprised. Hurt. Allison recognized
     that. So did Nathan—but Nathan weighs Allison’s unhappiness differently. She’s worried.
     She’s worried
for
Emma.
    And she should be.
    * * *
    “You can drive us home after you change. And shower. Get the blood out of your hair
     and your hands.”
    They’re still arguing. Chase, in the overhead light above the door, is the color of
     chalk; his red hair makes him look even worse.
    “Fine. Eric can drive us home. My mother will never let me out of the house again
     if she sees you looking like that!”
    “And that’s bad how?”
    If Chase could see Nathan, Nathan would tell him to stop. He can’t. Allison always
     seems meek and retiring to people who don’t actually know her. She’s uncertain in
     social situations. She’s afraid she’s just said the wrong thing even when she hasn’t
     said anything.
    But once she’s made a decision, she doesn’t bend, and she is not bending now.
    Emma, arms wrapped around her upper body, is exchanging glances with Eric, who looks
     as much of a mess as Chase but without the red hair to top it off.
    Eventually, they enter the house, where eventually means Chase shouts, “Fine!” and
     opens the door and slams it shut behind him. Allison is practically shrieking with
     outrage; Nathan laughs. He can; she can’t see him.
    “I always liked her,” he tells Emma.
    Emma gives him a shadow of a smile. But she’s not with him right now; she’s in Allison’s
     orbit. When Allison yanks the door open and marches in—a sure sign that she’s angry—Emma
     apologizes and follows her.
    That leaves Eric on the porch.
    * * *
    Nathan doesn’t want to talk to Eric. He avoids Eric where at all possible. But given
     tonight, given Allison’s reaction both before and after the Necromancers, he knows
     it’s time to stop.
    Eric folds his arms across his chest; Nathan lets his