“Are you almost done in there?” Sayblee asked. “I’m sure the food is ready.”
Miranda decided to try out her bizarre new skill. I’ll be done when I’m done, she thought, aiming it hard at Sayblee. Leave me alone.
Fine, Sayblee thought back, surprising Miranda with how amusement in a thought was as loud as actual laughter. But you might not have any skin left if you stay in there much longer. And I don’t have the talent to cure damaged skin. Sariel would have to heal you, and I don’t think that’s what you want right now.
No, that’s wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want to get close to him for one second. Miranda sighed, rinsed off once more, and then turned off the water. She opened the shower door and grabbed the towel off the hook and stood in the shower as she dried herself. She felt like she was in summer camp or in jail, observed at everything.
“I’m a better keeper than Kallisto,” Sayblee said. “You’ve got to admit that.”
“I guess.” Miranda wrapped the towel around her body and stepped out of the shower. “But can I at least call my family? My sister? I know they’ll be worrying about me.”
Sayblee shook her head. “In this house, you’re protected by spells. But your energy out in the air, in the phone? Kallisto would find us all. She’s still in your mind, Miranda. Part of her energy is in you. For some reason, you two have a very strong connection.”
Miranda bit her lip and then looked at Sayblee. “But none of this makes sense. I don’t see why I can’t just go home. I can’t help you with Kallisto, and it’s clear Sariel doesn’t want to or can’t remember me. There’s not one damn reason for me to be here. I’m Moyenne.”
Sayblee handed her another towel. Miranda looked in the mirror as she patted her hair, pushing her curls back off her face. If she’d hoped to stun Sariel with her beauty and charm and amazing new talents, her appearance now wasn’t going to win her any points. Her skin was pale, her freckles prominent, and her eyes were still glassy, the skin under them darkened. She needed about ten hours of sleep and a bucket of Estee Lauder products to salvage any of her looks.
“You’ve had quite a day,” Sayblee said. Miranda looked away from the mirror and at Sayblee, who despite her fight with Kallisto earlier was composed, her skin pink and pale in the right places, her blonde hair neat and pulled back in a long thick ponytail.
“It isn’t every day that you find yourself able to travel through matter, for one thing,” Sayblee went on. “You say you never had any skills before? You’ve never done anything like this before?”
Miranda wrapped up her hair in the towel and picked up a bottle of body lotion on the sink top and began to rub it on her arms and legs. “I think I flew once. Sort of like Kallisto did in the basement. Hovering really. That’s it. And I was really little, so it could have been a dream. That’s how my mother explained it to me.”
“Your mother—your parents,” Sayblee asked. “They aren’t magic—a sorciere or sorcier?”
“Sorcerers? That’s what you call yourselves? Sounds so medieval.”
“Well, welcome to the thirteenth century, then. A sorciere is what you seem to be, too,” Sayblee said, averting her eyes as Miranda took off the towel and began putting on her clothes.
Miranda sat on the toilet and pulled on her tights. “Can’t I just be an easily trained Moyenne? Some kind of genetic misfit?”
Sayblee shrugged. “It’s happened. Maybe every hundred years or so, a Moyenne comes along who can do things. There are people in your history who rose to astounding power or performed legendary miracles, that kind of thing. But often, their magic was fleeting or temporary and enormous. Look at Isaac Newton.”
“The apple Newton?” Miranda stood up, tugging her tights up over her thighs, the nylon sticking on her damp skin.
“The apple led to his one magic moment, and then for the rest of his life, he tried to recapture it. Some of his experiments after that were, well, ludicrous. Once he stuck a needle into his eye and sort of rubbed it around to see what would happen. Then he stared at the sun until he was almost blind. It’s kind of sad. It doesn’t stick. Like with Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, Queen Elizabeth, Ben Franklin—”
“Ben Franklin!” Miranda stared at Sayblee, who shrugged.
“Maybe. Who knows? But think about his antics with electricity. Then there’s Charles Darwin.”
“What do you know about him?” Miranda picked up her skirt and slid it up over her legs and hips.
“He had his great trip on the HMS Beagle, and then went home and had ten children. He never even coined the term ‘evolution.’”
Miranda buttoned her skirt and stared at Sayblee. “How do you know all this stuff?”
Lifting her hands, Sayblee smiled. “When I’m not making fire, I read.”
Miranda smiled back, thinking that Sayblee would have been great to have on camping trips.
“I hate camping. Too many bugs. I spend all my time making spells to keep them away,” Sayblee said. “My brother…” And then she stopped, looking down and adjusting her robe. “Anyway, other than your hovering, nothing else?”
Miranda put on her sweater, adjusting the sleeves, her fingers still jittery. “Well, I haven’t done anything great. I won a poetry contest recently, but that’s about it.”
Pulling open some drawers until she found a comb, Miranda began to slowly pull it through her hair, her drying curls making progress slow.
“So what do you think it all means?” she asked Sayblee. “My parents aren’t magic—”
My parents, she thought to herself, her head suddenly feeling filled with air. Who are they?
Miranda looked at Sayblee through the mirror and let the comb fall into the sink.
“My parents,” she said softly, blinking into the fluorescent light over the mirror. “They—”
“What about them?” Sayblee asked.
“I don’t know,” Miranda said after a pause. “Just before I decided to go find Sariel, I found out I was adopted. My sister told me two days ago.”
Sayblee stared back at her through the mirror and then leaned forward and picked up the comb, bringing it up to Miranda’s hair and slowly pulling through the tangles.
Miranda closed her eyes, realizing that Sayblee had left her mind, and she was thankful, letting herself feel another wave of sadness. All this time she’d thought June and Steve were her parents, but now she had no idea who her parents were. Maybe she never would. Even if she were to discover who they were, they obviously weren’t around to provide her with information about her background. And the questions she wanted to ask them now weren’t the typical ones from adopted-out children. Upon finding their parents, most wanted to know about histories of cancer or diabetes or mental illness. How was she supposed to approach these two people who had given her away and say, “Oh, and for the record, are you a sorcerer? Any past history of flight? Success with charms and spells? Telepathy? Just thought I’d ask.”
Yet all of what had happened tonight was some kind of legacy from them, these invisible people. And the only way she would be able to find out anything about them and herself would be to stay here. She couldn’t just run back home to San Francisco, go back to her computer, and forget about traveling through matter, reading minds, and matching wills with Kallisto.
Sayblee continued to comb her hair, and Miranda breathed out, willing her tears to stay under her lids. Of course she felt terrible about whatever evil plan Kallisto and Quain were about to enact, but she didn’t really understand any of it. And Nala didn’t seem ready to reveal all to her. This wasn’t her fight, even if she would hate for anything to happen to the group, the world, Moyenne, Croyant, or otherwise.
Miranda wasn’t sure why they thought they needed her help, but if she stayed, she would be able to find out about her parents. Maybe when this Kallisto thing was over and if any of them survived, she would be able to ask questions, go to whatever Croyant library or records room there was and discover who her real parents were.
Maybe there was a person with all this information stuck in his head and all you had to do was whirl around in his thoughts to come up with what you needed. Made about as much sense as everything she’d seen today. Miranda didn’t know, but she knew she couldn’t go back home without the truth.
But no matter what, she was done with Sariel, even if he found his memories. Despite the time they’d had together, he’d decided she wasn’t worth being with. And then, he’d either forgotten her or let someone else take her away from his mind, just like that. What mattered was that she, obviously, didn’t matter to him at all.
“You love him, don’t you?” Sayblee asked quietly.
Miranda thought to speak, but couldn’t, her throat too thick with sadness. But because she could, she sent Sayblee a thought. Yes. At least, I thought I did.
When Miranda and Sayblee came downstairs, Mazi had managed to pull together a meal, chicken in a bubbling tomato and olive sauce, crusty bread, and a salad. Miranda breathed in the savory air, vaguely wondering if there was magic to help with cooking, knowing that of all skills, that was one she could really use. If she couldn’t find her parents, at least she could come home with this skill.
She turned to Sayblee, confused though, wondering why there was time to create a culinary delight and then eat it when Quain and his minions were about to take over the world.
Hearing her thoughts, Sayblee smiled wearily. “He knows we’re close by and that put off his plans for a bit. And your presence has put them off a bit, too. So we have some time, and no one works well on an empty stomach.”
Miranda and Sayblee walked into the dining room. The rest of the group murmured their appreciation of the meal on the table, and Miranda tried to feel enthused, but her head felt full of stars, lights flickering at the corners of her eyes. It was the worst jet lag she’d ever had.
“Sit,” Nala said to her, indicating a seat on the long bench. “You must be hungry.”
Miranda nodded, keeping her eyes down. She didn’t want to look again at Sariel or his brothers, who were still sitting on the couch together, a row of beautiful dark-haired men. Men who had no idea who she was; specifically, one man who had let her go.
Sayblee grabbed her elbow and gently led her over to the far bench, and Miranda busied herself with her napkin and cutlery as she felt the rest of the group settle themselves on the benches.
“To the cook,” Lutalo said, in an attempt to lift spirits, and everyone raised a glass to Mazi and then began eating. Miranda was surprised at how hungry she was, but then, as she chewed, she realized that it had been hours if not a full day since she’d eaten. She hadn’t had anything since grabbing a scone at the coffee shop, and she hadn’t been able to finish that, her stomach roiling from Viv’s news.
Swallowing, she tried not to think of her sister crying in her bed, leaking milk and tears. Miranda bent low over her plate and ate quickly, hoping she could go up to a soft bed somewhere and pass out before making a fool of herself, weeping wildly in front of this amnesiatic bunch. From the corner of her eye, she knew that Sariel, Rufus, and Felix were staring at her. From the outer edges of her mind, she knew that someone was tracing the waves of her thoughts. They probably all were. This was a group of the most talented Croyant put together to capture Quain, so all of them were most likely able to read her thoughts, pass plates of chicken with their minds, light the candles on the table with a tiny exhale. Maybe the cook hadn’t even cooked, whipping up the meal with a wave of his slender hands.
But as she looked up at them between bites, Miranda realized that if she didn’t know better, she would assume this was any typical dinner party. Nala talked intensely with the cook, Mazi, about the difference in piquancy of California bay leaf and Greek. Baris, his orange hair the exact color of an autumn pumpkin, was telling Felix about a pub in Surrey run by triplets. Deciding to keep her eyes down, Miranda listened to the rest of the group chat amiably, and from under her lids, watched them pass each other bread and salt, nothing magic about it at all.
After a few minutes of eating, Nala hit her glass with a fork. “I’m sorry to interrupt this lovely meal, but I have to tell you of our plans.”
Miranda wiped her mouth and looked up, hoping Nala would excuse her, saying something like, “Since you aren’t involved, Miranda, why don’t you go to bed.”
Miranda expected that she would be allowed to stay behind in this house while they went off to fight Quain and Kallisto. Because she was so new to magic and unclear about the fight for the plaques, she assumed she’d be dismissed, sent upstairs, sent to her room as she often was as a child when she broke plates or pulled Viv’s hair. As she left the room, the group would tamp down their thoughts, keeping her out, determined to prevent the spreading of crucial information.
But Nala didn’t even look at Miranda. Instead, she put down her fork and began.
“I’ve had an emergency message from Phaedrus and with his information and what Lutalo and Baris were able to obtain today and what Miranda saw,” she paused, nodding at Lutalo, Baris, and then Miranda appreciatively, “we are certain of Quain’s location. As you might imagine, it’s not far from the third plaque.“
“But what of the forces protecting the plaque?” Rufus said. “Have they managed to strengthen those? Adalbert said that the magic was tight. We can’t do everything from our end.”
“Yes,” Nala said. “But look at what Kallisto was able to do today. We all used our skills and gifts, and she deflected everything. It will take what we can muster, what Phaedrus and his fortified forces can provide, and Miranda.”
Miranda started, looked at Nala for a confused second, and then stared down at her plate, her stomach teeming with nerves and too-quickly-eaten food. She felt Sayblee put a hand on her knee. Breathing in deeply, Miranda looked back up at Nala.
“What do you mean, me?” she asked, keeping her eyes away from Sariel. “I can’t help you. I can’t even control the magic I have.”
Nala seemed to grow in size, her yellow robe buffeting her. “Miranda, in all the time Kallisto has been with Quain, no one—and I mean no one.” Nala’s mind flicked briefly to Sariel and then clamped down, keeping Miranda from seeing more. “No one has gotten into her mind beyond a few minor images. And there have been many attempts. What happened with you today was beyond amazing.”
Nala glanced at Sariel and then resumed. “Somehow, you were able to get into her thoughts and determine Quain’s location. You saw her plan. If we can get you back into her proximity, you have the potential to stall her, to keep her from aiding Quain. He is not a young man. Kallisto energizes him. He needs her power, and maybe you can keep her talents otherwise occupied.”
Her mouth open, Miranda looked at Nala. How could Nala even begin to imagine that Miranda could do one thing to stop Kallisto? Hadn’t that woman tied her up to a chair, placed a wall around her memories that no one could get through even now, and tried to kill her? So what that she’d seen some fortress and the three plaques together? What this group needed was the sorcier equivalent of a neutron bomb to do anything to Kallisto.
“Yes. You’re right,” Nala said. “It will be difficult. But you can create a diversion. Without training, without knowing your abilities, you got in, Miranda. And we need you.”
“But I don’t know what I’m doing. The only thing I meant to do was find Sariel,” she said, feeling her face flush. “And I couldn’t even do that right. I don’t know how I found myself in Kallisto’s thoughts without her knowing, but it was an accident. Even if you have the best plan in the world, how can you be sure that I can follow through?”
The group stared at her. Miranda swallowed, took strength from the constant warming pressure from Sayblee’s hand, and looked up at Sariel.
“I know you think I’m lying about you and me, but all I wanted to do was find you. Kallisto was right about one thing. She told me I was pathetic. And she was right because look what happened. Now that you don’t, can’t, or won’t remember me, I probably should le
ave. This isn’t my fight. I don’t belong here.” Miranda felt her lips quiver, but she kept looking at Sariel. She wanted to find out about her parents, but as she watched his face, his gold eyes steady and calm, she knew she needed to leave more than anything else.
Mazi shook his head, his wild gray hair sparkling in the light. “If you didn’t belong, you wouldn’t be here. It doesn’t matter the intent, it’s the action that is true.”
Rufus rolled his eyes, and then slammed a hand down on the table. “It will bloody well be your fight if we fail. But then, it won’t be a fight at all. Quain will destroy us all in an instant, and we won’t even be able to mourn the destruction he inflicts. You won’t have time to watch your cozy life disappear, lass.”
Sariel hadn’t taken his eyes from hers, but he didn’t say a word.
Felix looked at Sariel and then said, “You were brave enough to come find my brother here, even though you didn’t know how to. You should be brave enough to join us.”
“But what is the plan? What’s going to happen?” Miranda asked. “I’ll need a lot of time to prepare, and you don’t have a lot of time. It’s ridiculous.”
“We have enough time to work you through the steps, and tonight, we are going to discuss everything. Lay it all out,” Lutalo said, Nala nodding at his words.
“And,” Nala said, “through Phaedrus I had a quick message from Adalbert. I’ve already spoken to Sariel about it. In an attempt to protect you, Miranda, as well as Sariel, he took away all Sariel’s memories of you. Same with Felix and Rufus and even Brennus Broussard. When this is over, he intends to restore them to everyone. He apologizes, but however mistaken the act, it was only to protect the mission.”
“But why do I still remember? Why was I the only one left with them?”
“Because,” Sariel said, “you were using magic when I tried to take them. You were stronger than I was. You hung on.”
When You Believe Page 21