He shook his head and raised his eyebrows at Amélie. “What it is to be young.”
“As long as she is not forever young.” The spirit glided forward toward Lucy.
Harold felt the breath catch in his throat. What did he actually know about this spirit? It had appeared at his daughter's call but that didn't mean it was safe. It could be looking for a body to possess for all he knew, though he doubted it would find any success if that was the case. His house was carefully warded against ill intent in much the same way a church was, without the sanctity of religion, but intent was a tricky thing to measure. She could arrive with nothing but good in whatever passed for her heart but be incited to malintent at a whisper. He need not have worried in this instance, for she cup his daughters head in her hands and smiled. The contents of the bowl formed an upward stream back to the box.
Lucy smiled back at her, scowled at Harold and turned her back.