And yet, he wanted me to stay here. With him. He wanted it so badly that it put tears shimmering in his eyes. He hid them by turning his back on me.

I was breaking his heart, and mine, and there was nothing I could do that would heal that wound. It was better to let it bleed out the poison ... if that was possible.

I wasn’t sure that it wouldn’t kill us both.

I got up and left the room, found Marion, and said, “I’m leaving tomorrow. What do you need of me tonight?”

She frowned, then looked from me to Luis, still seated in the conference room, head down. “Oh,” she said, and there was a world of sad comprehension in her voice. “Oh. He’s not going with you.”

“No.”

“I’m so sorry. That must be difficult.”

So was I, deeply and achingly, but there could be no going back now. “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I want to help while I can.” And I wanted to keep busy, and away from the aching black hole of pain that formed inside me when I was in Luis’s presence.

“All right, there’s plenty to do around here,” she said. “Come with me.”

Marion Bearheart was brilliant, and untiring in ways that defied my understanding; she should have been exhausted, but even in Oversight I couldn’t see any trace of it throughout the next few hours. I certainly tired quickly, because the delicacy of what Marion was doing in her sessions with these children was extremely difficult, and a profligate use of Earth powers; all that I was doing was amplifying and concentrating the power that she wielded, much as a nurse assists a surgeon wielding the finest laser scalpel, and of course I helped keep the children calmed and under deep sedation. I made it only halfway through the first session with Sanjay before I realized that I would need to draw power from Luis ... or from someone else. Preferably from someone else. I wasn’t sure that his power wouldn’t turn toxic between the two of us, as angry as he was with me now. He’d promised not to cut me off, but that didn’t mean our relationship was the same as it had been—not in any way.

I didn’t need to ask for help, after all. Marion looked up from what she was doing, met my eyes, and held out her hand without hesitation. I gripped her fingers, and a glorious flood of power spilled over me, warm and insubstantial as sunlight, sinking into every hungry cell of my body and filling the reservoirs completely in only a few seconds. Marion was a natural, almost frictionless conduit for the power of the Mother, and that was an amazing thing to experience. It was close to Djinn strength, and I acknowledged that with a hesitant dip of my head in honor of the fact. Marion smiled and went back to work. I put both hands on Sanjay’s warm, sweating head, not so much to restrain him as to give him the comfort of simple human contact, and felt a tension inside of him ease. Children craved touch, even more than older humans did.

The fact that people were so hesitant to get near Sanjay was a sad additional burden of his condition. They were right to fear him, but that didn’t mean it made his loneliness any easier to bear.

Two hours later, Marion sighed, lifted her hands from the boy’s still form, and shook her head. “I can’t do more for now,” she said. “It should ease the frequency and severity of his attacks, but I can’t prevent them; over time, with enough interventions, we should be able to reduce them to almost nothing, but the bigger issue is controlling his power and keeping him from accessing it. It’s not going to be easy. I’ve put some blocks in place, but until the nerve pathways heal a little I don’t dare block it completely. He’s going to be a danger for some time to come. The worst thing he can do is to try to use his power consciously; that would undo everything we’ve accomplished.”

She stretched out her arms and rolled her shoulders to release tension, and Ben, who was still on duty, came into the room to take the boy back to his quarters. He could have simply rolled the bed along with its sleeping burden, but instead he picked the boy up and carried him in his arms. I was glad; the boy needed contact, needed it badly. Even sleeping, he would feel that someone loved him enough to risk that simple human touch.

“Right. That’s enough, I think. I don’t want you working on Isabel,” Marion said, as she checked the schedule on the wall. “She’s in here next. Are you still planning to leave us after sunrise?”

“Yes.”

“Better sleep fast, then. You’ve only got about two hours, and you need it whether you know it or not.”

“I could help with—”

“No, you couldn’t,” Marion said, and rolled her chair around to face me. “Soldiers learn to sleep when they can; who knows when you’ll get your next downtime. The thing is, you’re going out there alone, and we both know what a risk that is for you. You’re a great asset to the Wardens out there, but you’re vulnerable. I wish Luis was going with you. Do you want me to talk to him?”

I shook my head. “He won’t leave Ibby, no matter what you say. Even if you did manage to convince him, it would poison the two of us for him to leave now.” If I haven’t irreparably poisoned us already.

“I see,” Marion said. “You’re probably right. I like Rocha, but he’s got issues to work through.”

“Don’t we all?”

She smiled and didn’t answer.

“Should I say good-bye to him?” I asked it as a straightforward question, because in all honesty I was at sea with this, with all the tidal sweep of emotion in this moment. I hadn’t seen Luis since we’d fought and caused each other such pain, but I hadn’t ceased thinking of him, and aching within for the anguish we’d caused each other. “Would that be ... kind?”

“Not to you,” Marion said. “But it might be the right thing to do, yes.”

“And Isabel?”

“She’s asleep,” Marion said. “I wouldn’t wake her up, but you can look in on her.”

And if she woke, what then? What excuse would I give to avoid seeing the betrayal and disappointment on the child’s face? Would I lie to her to save myself the discomfort?

The hard fact was that when I left, she, like Luis, would see me as a traitor—as the villain she had secretly believed I was. And that was my personal burden, because I could not stay here. I could not allow my personal feelings to get in the way of my duty.

Did that make me cold? Perhaps, from a human perspective. I couldn’t think of it in such terms anymore, not if I hoped to prevent the ghastly atrocities I saw here at this school.

“Cassiel?” Marion raised her eyebrows.

“I think I’ll rest first,” I said.

I left, but tired as I was, I was unwilling to take the opportunity to sleep. I found myself wandering the school, watching the children sleeping, or at play, or studying. They looked normal, much of the time, the way Isabel did when watching her movies or playing her games. It was the flashes of ungovernable temper that were dangerous—or unstoppable fear. Those were the things that Pearl had woken in these children—or perhaps they were normal enough, except when paired with the fearfully strong gifts she’d woken as well. I saw Mike, as always serving as Gillian’s protective shadow; I watched Elijah with his beautiful, brilliant smile charming his tutors, until the clouds once again crept over him and anxiety made him difficult to manage. I was standing in the corner, observing but not taking part, when Shasa entered the room, spotted me, and drifted in my direction. I thought she might be inclined to needle me, but she only leaned against the wall beside me, crossed her arms, and finally said, “You’re probably wondering where their parents are.”

I hadn’t been, surprisingly, but now that it occurred to me I did wonder. Luis was so protective of Isabel—was that not the normal human condition, to be concerned for one’s own?

I lifted a single shoulder in response. Shasa jerked her chin at Elijah. “Orphans,” she said. “All orphans. Every one of them. Parents killed in the Djinn rebellion, or in accidents, or in storms, fires, earthquakes ... the usual fate of Wardens, sure. But every one of the children Pearl really focused on was an orphan, including your Ibby. Ever wonder why?”