The Witching Hour (Lives of the Mayfair Witches 1)

"Why do you do it?"

"To be human. To be alive. But Aaron is too strong for me; Aaron organizes and commands the tissues of Aaron. Same with Michael. Same with almost all. Even the flowers."

"Ah, yes, the flowers. You mutated the roses."

"I did. For you, Rowan. To show you my love and my power."

"And to show me your ambition?"

"Yes ... "

"I don't want you ever to go into Aaron. I don't want you ever to hurt him or Michael."

"I will obey you, but I would like to kill Aaron."

"Why?"

"Because Aaron is finished, and Aaron has much knowledge and Aaron lies to you."

"How so, finished?"

"He has done what I saw that he would do and wanted for him to do. So I say finished. Now he may do what I can see and do not want him to do, which goes against my ambition. I would kill him, if it would not make you bitter and full of hate for me."

"You can feel my anger, can't you?"

"It hurts me deeply, Rowan."

"I would he in a rage of pain and anger if you hurt Aaron. But let's talk further about Aaron. I want you to spell this out for me. What did you want Aaron to do that he's done?"

"Give you his knowledge. His words written in a straight line of time."

"You're speaking of the Mayfair chronology."

"Yes. The history. You said spell it out so I didn't use the word 'chronology.' "

She laughed softly. "You don't have to spell it out that much," she said. "Go on."

"I wanted you to read this history from him. Petyr saw my Deborah burn, my beloved Deborah. Aaron saw my Deirdre weep in the garden, my beautiful Deirdre. Your responses and decisions are inestimably assisted by such history. But this task of Aaron has been completed."

"Yes, I see."

"Beware."

"Of thinking I understand?"

"Precisely. Keep asking. Words like 'responses' and 'inestimably' are vague. I would keep nothing from you, Rowan."

She heard him sighing again, but it was long, and soft, and became slowly a different sound. It was like the wind sighs. She continued to rest against the fireplace, basking in the heat of the fire, her eyes wide as she stared into the shadows. It seemed she had been here forever speaking to him, this disembodied yet softly resonant voice. The sound of the sigh had almost touched her all over like the wind.

She gave a little soft laugh of delight. She could see him in the room if she tried, see a rippling in the air, something swelling and filling the room.

"Yes ... " he said. "I love your laughter. I cannot laugh."

"I can help you learn to do it."

"I know."

"Am I the doorway?"

"You are."

"Am I the thirteenth witch?"

"You are."

"Then Michael was correct in his interpretation."

"Michael is seldom ever wrong. Michael sees clearly."

"Do you want to kill Michael?"

"No. I love Michael. I would walk and talk with Michael."

"Why, why Michael of all people?"

"I do not know."

"Oh, you must know."

"To love is to love. Why do you love Michael? Is the answer the truth? To love is to love. Michael is bright and beautiful. Michael laughs. Michael has much of the invisible spirit in him, infusing his limbs and his eyes and voice. Do you see?"

"I think I do. It's what we call vitality."

"Exactly," he said.

But had the word ever been said with such meaning?

He went on.

"I saw Michael from the beginning. Michael was a surprise. Michael sees me. Michael came to the fence. Also Michael has ambition and is strong. Michael loved me. Now Michael fears me. You came between me and Michael, and Michael fears that I will come between him and you."

"But you won't hurt him."

No answer.

"You won't hurt him."

"Tell me not to hurt him and I will not hurt him."

"But you said you didn't want to! Why do you make it go like this in a circle?"

"This is no circle. I told you I didn't want to kill Michael. Michael may be hurt. What am I to do? Lie? I do not lie. Aaron lies. I do not lie. I do not know how."

"That I don't believe. But maybe you believe it."

"You hurt me."

"Tell me how this will end."

"What?"

"My life with you, how will it end?"

Silence.

"You won't tell me."

"You are the doorway."

She sat very still. She could feel her mind working. The fire gave off its low crackling, and the flames danced against the bricks, and the motion seemed entirely too slow to be real. Again the air shimmered. She thought she saw the long crystal teardrops of the chandelier moving, turning, gathering tiny fragments of light.

"What does it mean to be the doorway?"

"You know what it means."

"No, I don't."

"You can mutate matter, Dr. Mayfair."

"I'm not sure that I can. I'm a surgeon. I work with precise instruments."

"Ah, but your mind is ever more precise."

She frowned; it was bringing back that strange dream, the dream of Leiden ...

"In your time you have stanched bleeding," he said, taking his time with his soft, slow words. "You have closed wounds. You have made matter obey you."

The chandelier gave off a low tinkling music in the silence. It caught the glint of the dancing flames.

"You have slowed the racing hearts of your patients; you have opened the clogged vessels of their brains."

"I wasn't always aware ... "

"You have done it. You fear your power but you possess it. Go out into the garden in the night. You could make the flowers open. You can make them grow longer as I did."

"Ah, but you did it with dead flowers only."

"No. I have done it with the living. With the iris you saw, though this exhausted me and hurt me."

"And then the iris died and fell from its stem."

"Yes. I did not mean to kill it."

"You took it to its limits, you know. That's why it died."

"Yes. I did not know its limits."

She turned to the side; she felt she was in a trance, yet how perfectly clear was his voice, how precise his pronunciation.

"You did not merely force the molecules in one direction or another," she said.

"No. I pierced the chemical structure of the cells, just as you can do it. You are the doorway. You see into the kernel of life itself."

"No, you overestimate my knowledge. No one can do it."

The atmosphere of the dream came back, everyone gathered at the windows of the University of Leiden. What was that mob in the street? They thought Jan van Abel was a heretic.

"You don't know what you're saying," she said.

"I know. I see far. You have given me the metaphors and the terms. Through your books, I too have absorbed the concepts. I see to the finish. I know. Rowan can mutate matter. Rowan can take the thousands upon thousands of tiny cells and reorganize them."

"And what is the finish? Will I do what you want?"

Again, he sighed.

Something rustling in the corners of the room. The draperies swayed violently. And the chandelier sang softly again, glass striking glass. Was there a layer of vapor rising to the ceiling, stretching out to the pale peach-colored walls? Or just the firelight dancing in the corner of her eye?

"The future is a fabric of interlacing possibilities," he said. "Some of which gradually become probabilities, and a few of which become inevitabilities, but there are surprises sewn into the warp and the woof, which can tear it apart."

"Thank God for that." she said. "So you can't see to the finish."

"I do and do not. Many humans are entirely predictable. You are not predictable. You are too strong. You can be the doorway if you choose."

"How?"

Silence.

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"Did you drown Michael in the sea?"

"No."

"Did anyone do it?"