You don’t have to be scared of me. I would never hurt you in any way.
I brought this bear for Elena. It’s not my bear. It’s hers.
Elena is going to be fine, honestly. But I’m sure the bear will make her feel even better. What’s his name?
She’s a her-bear!
Of course. I’m sorry. What is her name, please?
Missus Kissus. Margaret watched him closely for any sign of levity.
Stefan didn’t even smile with his eyes. He didn’t want to. A memory struck him ruthlessly: Elena cuddled up under his chin, telling him how she gave her precious keepsake to a squalling eighteen-month-old, and how little Margaret—never Margie, never Meg—had stopped crying at once and had never started again.
I think that’s a wonderful name, he told the child. A precious gift from an even more precious sister. Now, Margaret . . . He hesitated.
I want to see Elena.
I know you do. But first—is it all right if I just do something so that you won’t ever accidentally tell anyone about me?
No.
Stefan sat back on his heels, startled.
I don’t want a computer virus in my head, Margaret told him flatly. I don’t want to be sick.
Oh . . . neither would I. But this isn’t like being sick. It’s to make you forget.
Forget what?
Forget me. And . . . I’m sorry, Margaret, but I have to do it, even if you don’t want me to. Otherwise Elena may be the one to get sick . . . so sick that she has to go away.
Margaret seemed to be thinking. He gave her a long-drawn-out minute.
All right, she said when fifty-seven seconds had gone by. If it’s for Elena.
It’s for Elena, Stefan told her softly. All for Elena. Goodbye, Margaret. I wish I could have watched you grow up.
He expected her to be bewildered. Goodbye, Stefan, she whispered and two tears fell on Missus Kissus’ worn fur. She watched him with wet eyes—with Elena’s lapis lazuli eyes—as he slipped the neuro-virus into her mind. As it took effect, her feathery eyelashes swept down to lie on her cheeks. The last thing he heard her whispering was: “Elena, I’ll take care of you now.”
I just pray you won’t have to, Stefan thought. He slowly got up, feeling old and creaky, only to see motion in a room full of statues.
“Mrs. Flowers.”
She was sipping from a cup. “Hello, Stefan. Can I convince you to have a nice cup of raspberry tea with me?”
“I’m afraid not, Mrs. Flowers. It takes a lot of Power to keep everyone still like this, so I haven’t got much time to talk.”
“That’s a pity,” Mrs. Flowers said. “I don’t suppose this scrawny old neck has much to offer you, either.”
Stefan blinked. “You want me to bite you?”
“Theophilia does. She’s still inside me. Old humans never really feel old to themselves, you know; they just feel like youngsters trapped in aging bodies. But I’m old enough that Theo is a step removed.”
“I’m sorry,” Stefan said. “I could never bite you, or Theo, either. I will never bite another human again for any reason.”
“Boldly spoken. Come and have one sip of Black Magic.”
Stefan opened his mouth, but then wove his way through the motionless figures and slid into a plastic chair opposite Mrs. Flowers. She had a stainless steel hipflask set beside the steaming cup of tea on the coffee table before her. She nodded at the flask and smiled sadly at him.