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But by then we had learned how to mingle, how to disappear into society.
Really? I ask.
Um . . . did we forget how to do that now? Because we're not so great at
mingling and disappearing. My father makes another rumbling sound, but this
time it sounds more like laughter. My mother shrugs.
Oh, that. Times are different now. Anyway, back then some of us chose to use
our Talents to heal and others chose to use our Talents to farm. Peaceful
choices. Except for the Knights. Over time they began what they had started
doing back in the old countries. Always they had to explore the deeper and
darker realms of their Talents, pushing them past their limits until their Talents
turned. Warped My mother's voice falls away on the last word and she presses
her hands to her eyes again for an instant.
Some of their . . . explorations involved other humans. They found ways to
extend their natural life span by draining away the life force in humans.
How? I whispered, but my mother shakes her head.
We've never known. They used spells, the origins of which we never could
understand. Spells that involved their victims' blood. All at once Rowena's
black umbrella blooms in my mind and I see again the long red scratch on her
hand. And Alistair dabbing away her blood with his handkerchief. My father
clears his throat and says,
At first they were content with using Talentless people. But then once they had
mastered that, they began to move on to Talented people. Now instead of
extending only their life span, they extend their powers as well He begins
pacing again, pauses.
You studied parasites in school? A brief lesson on whales and their various
barnacle guests comes swimming back to me.
Um . . . yeah?
Well, my father says, leaping back into lecture mode,
think of a parasite and how it leeches everything away from its host. Sometimes
without the host knowing.
Or knowing after it's too late, my mother interjects.
Rowena, I whisper.
Her wrist, I blurt out.
He's . . . taking her blood?
Yes. Being part of the Knight family, this man would know the spell. He may not
have been able to use it all these years, but he would have been ready and
waiting for just the right time, when enough of the power of the Domani had
escaped. My mother turns the pages of the book again with shaking hands,
as if hoping the answers will suddenly appear.
He's in her blood now, like a fever. Or like an addiction. One that's very, very
hard to break.
Can't you just. . . kill him? My father regards me gravely.
We've thought of that. I would take another person's life gladly in this case.
My mother puts her hand on his arm.
Even though life is sacred, as you know, she says.
But there's another aspect to this spell. There's a mirror effect. Whatever you do
to the spell caster reflects back onto the enspelled, my mother whispers as if
quoting a text by heart.
Three times over.
What if I . . . Traveled, then? I whisper.
Back to the time when . . . when . . .
No, my mother says sharply. She comes around the desk and seizes my upper
arms.
You cannot Travel again. Do you understand?
No, I say, trying to shift out of her grasp, but her fingers dig into me too deeply.
There have been horrible consequences already from your Traveling--don't you
see? my mother hisses.
But why can't I just go back and fix it? My mother gives me a little shake.
Enough to make my back teeth rattle.
Ow, Mom--
You cannot just 'fix it' as you so blithely call it, because Time, as we have been
telling you, is extremely delicate. Once you pull one thread, you warp
something else in the pattern.
Okay, but--
Promise me you will not do this. Promise My mother's eyes are narrowed points
of light boring into my skull.
Okay, okay. Finally, she releases me and takes a step back and the blood
starts returning to my arms.
Tell her, my father says softly behind her, and the color seems to drain out of
her face.
Tell her why.
Rowena can . . . can read the future, too.
Of course she can, I mutter. And really I'm not surprised. Rowena is the most
powerful one in our family, next to my grandmother. I've always known this,
accepted this. Until today. But abruptly I tune back in to my mother, who is
adding,
And she's . . . she's read some of it. Before I caught her. Before I stopped her.
I feel myself grow very still.
And she told you what she read? I whisper.
She read . . . she read where you Traveled and you didn't come back. You
couldn't, for some reason. I press my lips flat as if that can contain the
trembling. It doesn't work.
Please, Tamsin, my mother says, and then her voice cracks.
I don't need to lose you and your sister both.
SEVENTEEN
I FIND GABRIEL in the downstairs parlor, playing cards with my cousins Jerom and
Silda and Aunt Beatrice, of all people. I let myself in quietly and shrug at Gabriel
in response to his raised eyebrows. His hands flick cards around the small walnut
table, and they are either exchanged by the players or folded away in what
seems to be a discard pile. Occasionally, Gabriel allots a few more from the
deck that rests in the center of the table next to three beer bottles and a tiny
crystal glass of what looks like sherry. No doubt who that one belongs to. In one
swift movement Aunt Beatrice knocks back the contents, then bangs the glass
staccato style on the table until, rolling her eyes, Silda gets up to retrieve a
decanter from the sideboard.
Here, Aunt Beatrice, she says and dribbles a little more amber liquid into the
glass.
But that's it, now. No more. Somehow, I think she's said this before. Apparently,
Aunt Beatrice doesn't seem too fazed, either, because she salutes Silda with
Mud in your eye, cackles, and slaps her cards face-up on the table. Everyone
groans as Beatrice flings out her hands and scoops up a pair of earrings, a pair
of cuff links, and several crumpled bills.
No poker chips, Gabriel explains as I walk over to stand behind him. I pick up
what I hope is his beer and take a healthy slug.
Everything okay? I shrug.
Not really. But keep playing, I urge in a whisper as Jerom deals out the cards
this time, his fingers an impossible blur. Gabriel sinks back in his seat.
Want to play, Tam? Silda asks, already inching her chair over to make room. I
shake my head and remain standing.
No, thanks. Then with a grin I add,
But you should probably know that Jerom just made a couple of cards
disappear. My guess is that they're aces.
What? my cousin says, his hands frozen over the table in the act of dealing a
card to Aunt Beatrice.
That's such a lie, he insists, his blue eyes widening dramatically. Silda looks at
him, her mouth pursed in a small button shape.
Did you cheat again, Jerom?
I've never cheated, her brother persists, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling as if
seeking verification there.
Oh, yeah? Well, what's this? Gabriel says, reaching down around Jerom's foot
and pulling up a thin rectangle of a card. The queen of spades seems to wink at
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