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Why not armor?

“Like a cherubim,” she said. “Remember when I used to read A Wind in the Door to you, when you were little?

What was the name of that cloud-spirit with all the wings and eyes and flaming tongues?”

“Proginoskes.”

“Right!” She shook her head, rinsing a mug. “You cried at the end. But you still made me read it to you three times.”

“Four times.”

I peered into the living room. Patrick and Mia were deeply engrossed in a shampoo commercial.

Mad Men would be on soon, and I wasn’t allowed to talk for the duration of the episode. Mia’s rules.

“When’s Derrick coming home?” She’d finished with the dishes, and was gently drying her hands.

“I wanted to ask him a question about our satellite dish. Your father can’t do much except swear at it.”

“It’s date night, so he’ll be home late. I think he and Miles went to some lounge in Yaletown. One of those places that only serves clear beverages.”

“How odd. The lounge, I mean. Not the date.” She sat down at the kitchen table, slowly turning her wedding ring back and forth. She always did that when she had something to ask me. “How long have they been together now?”

“Miles and Derrick?” I actually had to think about it.

“A year and a month. Or a year and two months, maybe. It depends if you calculate it from the time they first hooked up, or the time they actually—”

She made a face. “I don’t really need to know the mechanics, dear. I was just curious how long they’d been dating.”

“I like him. And he’s good for Derrick.”

“As long as Derrick’s happy. That’s what’s important.”

I shrugged. “Happiness isn’t always the linchpin of a romance. You’ve got to have your bumps and scrapes as well.”

“It sounds like you’re describing an unpleasant hike.”

“You know what I mean.”

“A relationship shouldn’t be too painful, Tess. If it is, you’re probably doing something wrong.”

“What about you and Dad? You’ve had your rough patches.”

“Of course.” She got up and started to make tea. There was no sense in reminding her that I drank coffee. My mother would always make me tea, and I would always drink it. Because it was her tea, and nobody else could make it like her. “You don’t stay together for twenty-six years without running into a few briar patches.”

“Now it sounds like we’re talking about Peter Rabbit.”

She didn’t even bother turning around. Her hands rooted through my cupboards with startling efficiency, finding the loose-leaf tea, spooning it into two mugs, then setting the water to boil. “It makes sense. Relationships are like things that happen in the forest. There’s always danger involved, but good stuff, too. Don’t medieval stories always involve a forest of some kind?”

“And a dwarf with a cart, usually. I’m not sure why, though.”

She smiled as the water came to a boil. For some reason, whenever my mother cooked, the water simply boiled faster. Butter melted with greater alacrity. Meat browned as if it had always wanted to.

On the nights that I cooked, Derrick took the batteries out of the smoke alarm.

“When I was a little girl, I used to read stories about King Arthur,” she said. “All of his knights were always feasting and crying and playing tricks on each other. So polite and so violent. I thought magic must be like that. The tinted ermine of Morgan le Fay’s cloak; Guinevere’s arched eyebrow; the Fisher King with his wound that could never be healed. I thought it was all just a big adventure in the forest.”

She returned to the table, setting both mugs down. I inhaled the floral steam. There were wrinkles around my mother’s eyes, but she was beautiful. I wanted to know what she knew. I wanted her certainty, and the balletic ease with which she moved through a room.

But mostly, I wanted to know why she’d hid a part of herself from me for nearly twenty-four years.

To closet one’s magic was sometimes a necessity, but that was for the rest of the world. We were a dyad. Mother/daughter. Our relationship was supposed to be a circuit along which any number of energies could pass, including materia. She’d closed that circuit long ago. I needed to know why.

“It’s not always like the stories,” I said. “Mostly, magic just hurts you. And it’s not even taxable.”

She chuckled softly. “It can give you some beautiful moments, though. Listening to a stream argue with itself. Making fire out of a stone.” She looked distant. “I can remember lying underneath the stars and trying to hear all of the energy left over from the Big Bang. What’s that called again?”

“Microwave background radiation?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “It sounded like cicadas. Or sometimes like the crinkly cellophane that you put in Easter baskets.”

“You could hear it that clearly?”

“Not every night. But if the sky was clear, and the stars were exceptionally bright, it could be quite loud. Sometimes I fell asleep listening to it.”

“That was before you met Dad?”

I tried not to invest too much intensity in the question. But she felt it anyway. She sipped her tea and gave me a look.

“What exactly do you want to know, Tess?”

I let the mug warm my hands. How could I explain that I wanted to crawl into her brain and see everything, like a movie being played in black and white?

But it simply wasn’t polite to eavesdrop on other people’s memories, no matter how compelling they were. Derrick had told me once that reading minds was almost never worth the trouble that it caused. At best, you got the vague impression of something that you wouldn’t have known otherwise, like watching a DVD somewhere in the middle. At worst, you learned something precise and terrible that you’d never be able to forget. That’s why the brain was designed to be a closed system.

“Why did you really leave the CORE?” I asked.

She turned her mug slowly, as if feeling the need to turn something more substantial than the wedding ring.

“I’ve told you that. I left because I wanted you to have a normal life. Or as close to normal as possible.”

“But I joined the CORE when I was twelve. So in the end, you weren’t protecting me from anything. You even worked with Meredith to get me placed as an OSI.”

My mother shook her head. “You’re wrong. Meredith and I had worked together in the past. When your name came across her desk as a potential, she contacted me. But I didn’t pull any strings to get you admitted to the OSI program. That was the last thing I ever wanted for you.”

“You’d rather I had a desk job, or a forensic analysis position? At least I have the skills to defend myself when bad things come knocking. And they always do.”

“I never wanted you to be defenseless. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” I stared at her. “Mom, I know that I lied to you. I don’t feel good about it. I looked you right in the face for thirteen years, and I lied to you, over and over. But you lied, too.”

“Of course. I did what was needed to protect you.”

“How was your silence protecting me? Do you know how many times I needed you—how many

times I wanted to come to you for advice, or just so that you could tell me everything was going to be okay? But I couldn’t. I thought I was the one protecting you.” I felt a bitter knot inside. “All that time, you knew exactly what I was going through, because you’d done it, too. But you didn’t say a word.”

She sighed. “Sometimes, keeping silent is the harder thing. I never did anything without thinking of you first. If I hurt you, it was for the greater good.”

“You sound like a superhero now.”

“There was a time when I felt like one. When you’re young and powerful, you think you can do anything. You don’t think about getting old.” Her eyes met mine. They were green and full of secrets. “I used to have mastery over water. I could talk a lake out of being frozen, or make it rain in the middle of summer. If I wanted, I could cook something just by touching it. I didn’t need a microwave. I could make the water molecules dance a waltz. It came in handy when I needed to warm your bottles.”

My eyes widened. “And can you still do those things?” She shrugged. “Some of them. But I’m sixty-two now. I can’t reach into the heart of the ocean anymore.”

“Right. But you can still do—” I peered into the living room again. Mia was staring at the TV

screen, and Patrick was already asleep. “I mean, you can still make things happen. The power doesn’t just go away. Does it?”

She smiled sadly. “If you’re trying to look into your future—don’t. Everyone’s path to retirement is different. I’ve lived a fuller life than most people like us, and I don’t regret the sacrifices I made.

But my days of high magic are over.”

“What sort of sacrifices?”

My mother stared into her mug. “Would you like some more tea? I know it’s going to keep me awake, but I can’t help it.”

“Mom, I don’t want tea. I want answers.”

She laughed. “You sound just like that girl on TV, the one who wears all the different wigs. She’s always being interrogated—”

“Mom.” I glared at her. “Please. It’s time. I need to know.”

She seemed to diminish slightly before me. I could see that she was tired. Her face hid all manner of joys and disappointments, and they weighed on her. I felt like I didn’t have the right to demand anything. But I could still play my ace. I had to.

I was an only child. When I asked for something, she gave it to me. Was I selfish? Yes. Was it un-fair? Probably. But her love was unconditional, and a part of me knew that she would always say yes, even when she said no.

“Please,” I said again.

She closed her eyes for a moment. Then she leaned forward. “When you were born, your father”—

her voice fell to a whisper—“your real father came looking for you. I think you already know that.

You saw it in your dreams.”

I nodded. “You told him that as long as you lived, he’d never have me.”

“Did I say that?” She chuckled. “I was bold then.”

“But how did lying to me somehow protect me from my biological father?”

“I wasn’t trying to deceive you, Tess. I was trying to deceive him.”

“I don’t understand.”

She touched the handle of her empty mug. “I knew that you’d be born with the power to channel materia. That was unavoidable. But I didn’t realize how much power you were going to have. Not until you were a toddler, and it began to manifest.”

I stared at her. “When I was a toddler? But I didn’t start doing things until I was twelve. That was when Eve—”

“No. What happened with Eve was an unfortunate accident. It traumatized you. It was one of the events that caused your powers to break through. That, and your encounter with those bullies. The ones who were tormenting the smaller boy.”

“You knew about that?”

“Of course. Meredith was monitoring you by that point, and she saw it happen. That was when we knew that your powers weren’t going to lie dormant any longer.”

“Wait—” I swallowed. “Let me wrap my brain around this. If my powers started to manifest when I was two or three years old . . .” My eyes hardened. “Jesus. You were suppressing them?”

“Tess—”

“How could you—” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I mean—God, Mom—how could you do

that to me? It’s a psychic violation, for fuck’s sake!”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Wow. Really? I feel so much better. Now I finally have something to talk about during therapy.”

She exhaled. “We were trying to hide you, Tess. Once you started channeling materia, your father would be able to track you. I couldn’t let that happen. So Meredith and I put a block on your powers. We couldn’t negate them completely, of course. But we slowed them down a great deal.”

I rose. Suddenly I had to move. “You’re saying that I should have been doing things when I was practically a baby?”

“Your genetic heritage is complex. You had the potential for all sorts of incredible phenomena. But magic like that makes noise. If your father found you, before you were ready to defend yourself—”

She sighed. “It had to be done. We both did it for your sake, Tessa.”

“So—what? I’m some kind of prodigy?”

She smiled. “You’re more than that. You’re a miracle.”

“I can’t hear any more of this.” I walked out of the kitchen.

“Honey, wait—”

I grabbed my coat. “Make sure Patrick does his homework, please. And tell Derrick to defrost the chicken in the freezer for tomorrow night. I’ll try to be home in a few hours.”

“Where are you going?”

I buckled on my shoulder-holster and grabbed my athame. Its weight was cool and reassuring in my hand. The only thing that had never lied to me.

“To break into my boyfriend’s apartment.”

I wasn’t actually going to break into Lucian’s apartment. I still had a key, after all—I simply hadn’t been using it lately. The last time I’d been alone in his place was more than a year ago, after two vampires beat the tar out of me. We’d slept together without sleeping together that night, and I woke up the next morning alone in his bed. Aside from searching for coffee filters, I hadn’t taken the opportunity to investigate his place further. I was afraid that he might come home early and discover me in flagrante with an ALS device and a fuming hood.

Tonight, I’d neglected to bring any equipment with me. I drew the line at borrowing hardware from the lab to scour my boyfriend’s apartment. But I still had my athame, and I wasn’t above using it for some presumptive testing.

My cell rang. It was Derrick. I flipped it open.

“Hey.”

“Your mom just called me.”

“What did she say?”

“That you’re about to toss Lucian’s apartment.”

“Did she really say ‘toss’?”

“No. I heard it on one of the Law and Order s.”

“Which one?”

“The one without Chris Noth. Are you seriously breaking and entering?”

“I have keys. I’m unlocking and entering.”

“But you’re going to snoop.”

“Of course.”

“And what will that accomplish?”

“I’m not sure. Just a second—I have to cross Pacific and I don’t want to die.”

Derrick said something incomprehensible. It was raining, and I jogged across the street, trying to avoid the mine-field of puddles and potholes. Yaletown residents were walking their dogs, and most of them wore miniature raincoats. The funny thing was that they actually looked pretty sharp in human clothing. I saw an Irish Setter wearing a Windbreaker that made me a little jealous. It had pockets.