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.