Everything went still.
“Well,” said Jamie, cool as his mother had ever been. “I guess you answered that question.”
Annabel walked briskly back to her chair and picked up her briefcase, her hands fumbling a little to close the catch.
“I have had enough of this nonsense, James,” she said, straightening up. She still looked shaky on her heels, but her face was pale and resolved. She and Jamie suddenly looked very alike. “I won’t—we can discuss your punishment later. I don’t know—I need to get back to work. I never want to see you do anything like that again!”
“Like what, Mother?”
Annabel’s mouth quivered for a moment and then set. “I wonder if Elizabeth might still be up for golf,” she said. “I am sick of wasting my time here.”
“Annabel,” Mae said. “Please, Annabel—”
Annabel looked scared, as if she thought Mae might start breaking things with her mind as well. She ran out the door and across the landing, heading down the stairs and back to her uncomplicated life, where things like this did not happen.
Mae felt frozen until the sound of Annabel’s car engine broke her trance and made her run again, down the stairs, to make her go back to Jamie, to make her take it back.
The car was already going down the driveway, so Mae ran after it and thumped it. Annabel did not look behind her. As far as Mae could see, her mother did not even check the side mirror. The car just
She stopped running when the car hit the main road toward the city, and sat in the grass of the crescent with her head on her knees. Annabel had never gone before, not really, not like Roger. She had always kept her distance but never left.
Mae got to her feet and walked back up the hill to her house as soon as she realized that they had both left Jamie alone.
When she pushed open the front door, she heard Gerald’s voice coming from the direction of the kitchen.
She hesitated, then kept pushing the door open, but much more gently, and slipped inside.
Gerald wasn’t looking in the direction of the door. He was sitting on one of the stools at the counter, sandy head tilted toward Jamie. Jamie was leaning against the kitchen surfaces with his arms wrapped around himself.
“I know it hurts, Jamie,” Gerald said. “I’m sorry it hurts. But it won’t keep hurting. The pain goes away. I promise.”
Jamie gave a jagged little laugh.
“Jamie, look at me,” Gerald commanded softly, and Jamie pulled his fixed gaze from the floor and looked. “I promise you,” Gerald told him, serious.
Jamie’s face softened, still sad but a little comforted and more than a little adoring.
Mae moved, barely letting her feet touch the floor as she did so, gentle and quiet as a shadow. She slipped up the stairs and into her room, inching her bedroom door open lest even a creak let Gerald know he and Jamie were not alone.
Nothing seemed to teach Jamie not to leave the door of his heart always open, not to believe people when they acted as if they liked him. Mae went to her chest of drawers and pulled open the second drawer.
She drew out the knife she had killed one magician with from underneath a folded shirt.
She’d dreamed about this knife, hated the thought of it, never wanted to use it again. Now the hilt fit against her palm and everything was simple. She still hated the knife.
But she was perfectly prepared to use it.
Mae slipped the knife into her pocket and went to make her way down the stairs again, but she was stopped short by the sight of Gerald and Jamie, who had relocated to the hall. She hit the floor so she was hidden by the stair rail and watched, one hand in her pocket gripping the knife.
She could run down and help Jamie in time. Gerald wouldn’t be expecting her to have a weapon.
Jamie did not seem in need of defense at the moment, though. Gerald’s hand was cupped under his elbow, guiding but not forcing, and when Jamie stepped away, Gerald let him do it.
“I don’t want to go back to the house.”
“I think some of the other magicians could really help you,” said Gerald. “Ben’s brother and he tried to keep in touch for a while. I want to be able to help, Jamie, but I don’t have the experience.”
“You never wanted to see them again?”
“The magicians came and got me when I was eleven years old,” Gerald said. “And God, Jamie, I was so glad to go.”
Jamie looked up at him, eyes luminous with sympathy, and Gerald gave him a little pained smile.
“But a lot of the other magicians were like you. They had families who were well-meaning, or started out well-meaning, who tried not to be afraid, or pretended everything was all right. It didn’t last. They’ll always be scared of you. They’ll always end up hating you, because you have more power than they do. Everything’s about power in the end.”
“I don’t think so,” Jamie said, but not angrily. He was looking up at Gerald as if he wanted to help him, to convince him, and of course Gerald would be able to see that and use it.
