could only see her as alive, as human, as tender and fragile as all of those in this room, even himself, the one who could kill the others with his bare hands if he wanted to. And Rowan, who could kill any human with her mind. But not this creature.
“I want teachers,” she said, “not the confines of a school, but tutors, with Mother and with Mary Jane, I want to be educated, to learn everything in the world, I want the solitude and protection in which to do this, with assurances that I will not be cast out, that I am one of you, that someday …” Here she stopped as if a switch had been thrown. “Someday I shall be the heiress as my mother has planned for me, and after me, another from her line who is human perhaps … if you … if the male … if the scent …”
“Play it off, Morrigan,” said Mary Jane.
“Just keep talking,” said the little mother.
“I want those things which a special child would ask, of searing intelligence and insatiable hungers, but one which is reasonable and lovable, yes, surely, one whom it is possible to love and educate and thereby control.”
“This is what you want?” Michael asked. “You want parents.”
“Yes, the old ones to tell their tales to me, the way it was once for us.”
“Yes,” said Rowan firmly. “And then you will accept our protection, which means our authority and our guidance, that you’re our newborn girl.”
“Yes.”
“And that we will care for you.”
“Yes!” She rose slightly in the chair, and then stopped, clutching both sides of the big desk, her arms like long, slender bones that should have supported wings. “Yes. I am a Mayfair. Say this with me. I am one of you. And one day, one day perhaps, by a human man, I’ll conceive, and others like me will be born, from witches’ blood as I was born, that I have this right to exist, to be happy, to know, to flourish…. God, you still have that scent. I can’t bear the scent. You have to tell me the truth.”
“And what if we do?” asked Rowan. “And what if we say that you must stay here, that you are far too young and innocent to meet this male, that we will set the time for a meeting …”
“What if we promise,” said Michael, “that we will tell him? And that you can know where he is, but only if you promise …”
“I swear,” she cried. “I’ll swear anything.”
“Is it that strong?” Mona whispered.
“Mother, they’re frightening me.”
“You have them in the palm of your hand,” said the diminutive Mona nestled in the leather chair, cheeks wasted, skin pale. “They cannot harm anything that explains itself so well. You’re as human as they are, don’t you see? They see. Play it off. Continue.”
“Give me my place,” she said, her eyes growing wide and seeming to catch fire as they had when she’d cried. “Let me be what I am. Let me couple if I will. Let me be one of you.”
“You can’t go to him. You can’t couple,” said Rowan. “Not yet, not until your mind is capable of making that decision.”
“You make me mad!” she cried, drawing back.
“Morrigan, knock it off,” said Mona.
“You just simmer down,” said Mary Jane, climbing to her feet and moving cautiously behind the desk until she could put her hands on Morrigan’s shoulders.
“Tell them about the memories,” said Mona. “How we taped them all. And the things you want to see.”
She was trying to pick up the thread again, to prevent a flood of tears or screams, he didn’t know which.
“To go to Donnelaith,” Morrigan said in a shaky voice, “to find the plain.”
“You remember those things?”
“Yes, and all of us together in the circle. I remember. I remember. I reach out for their hands. Help me!” Her voice rose again. But she had clapped her hand over her mouth, and when she cried now it was muffled.
Michael stood up and came round, gently nudging Mary Jane out of the way.
“You have my love,” he said in her ear. “You hear me? You have it. You have my love and the authority that goes along with it.”
“Oh, thank God.” She leant her head against him, just the way Rowan did it now and then, and she cried.
He stroked her soft hair, softer, silkier than Mona’s. He thought of the brief union on the sofa, on the library floor, and this, this frail