"That was then," Jiri said. "This is now. This time you didn't get away."
/ will. She twisted away from the sneaker and pushed to her feet, and she was her right size—an adult, not a little girl. Her own foot flashed out in a sideways kick, and she broke Derek's kneecap. Derek howled and fell to the ground.
"Listen to that pop," Jiri said, straightening to her full height, which was almost exactly Cynna's height now. "You really want this to end the way it did before?"
No. No, she didn't. "What are you doing here?"
"You can change it, you know."
Can't change the past.
"But this isn't the past. This is now, and you're dreaming. Dreams can change."
Dreaming. Yes, she was—but Jiri was really here. That was wrong. There was something terrible that could come of talking to Jiri in her dreams. She couldn't remember what, but she began to fight, willing herself to wake up. Wake up.
"God, you're stubborn," Jiri said, and grabbed her arm. Cynna tried to pull free, but it was one of those molasses moments, when all the will in the world didn't affect your dream body, and you couldn't move.
"Keep this for me." Jiri pressed something in her palm.
Cynna looked down. A dead leaf. Jiri had given her a dead, brown leaf. She clenched her fist around it, crunching it into scratchy specks, and yanked her arm free, and she was—
Opening her eyes on darkness.
Her head ached, and so did her side, and in the first, nauseous confusion, it wasn't clear which was real and which was a hangover from the dream. She shoved the covers back and swung her legs off the bed, then just sat, leaning her forehead into the cradle of her palms.
God. Hadn't had that one for a while.
At least she'd managed to wake before the final sequence… hurrying back to her apartment with her side hurting, wondering if something was broken inside. Finding the ambulance out front. Watching them carry her mama out on a stretcher.
Cynna stood. Her head wasn't happy, but her side didn't hurt. That had been memory, of course, and her head wasn't as bad as she'd expected. The Rhej had done quite a job on her, and if she was still uneasy at the idea of stolen or borrowed magic, she couldn't argue with the results. A couple ibuprofin ought to fix her up pretty well.
The light leaking through the imperfectly closed drapes was dingy gray. Either it was really early still, or the day had woken up in the same mood as her. Either way, she might as well stay up.
She padded over to the window and peeked out. Daylight, but not enough of it. Looked like it would be one of those grizzled days when Mother Nature was feeling the ache in her knees and was pissy about it.
Another discomfort made itself felt and she headed for the bathroom, unclothed but not feeling bare. Magic coated her skin like invisible fur, and the intricate patterns holding it there were a shield of sorts, too.
She didn't bother with a light, knowing her small space too well to need one. She emptied her bladder and washed her hands, then splashed water on her face. It didn't help. The dream clung like cobwebs, sticky strands of memory and emotion.
The more things change… No one got away with kicking her these days, but the adult Cynna still lashed out too quick, too hard, trying to stop a beating that had taken place twenty-five years ago. And she hadn't been able to save her mother. After a couple years of meetings she'd accepted that it hadn't been her job, but the anger still slunk back at times, growling.
Old news, all of it. She didn't know why she kept revisiting it.
As for Jiri… her unconscious wasn't exactly subtle. She was scared of her former teacher, but she was going to have to suck it up and go after Jiri anyway. No surprise if her dream jumbled those fears together with even older ones.
What time was it, anyway?
She was heading back to her bed and the clock beside it when her phone chirped. She veered, bending to dig into the tote she'd dropped at the foot of the bed. It was buried under the clothes she'd stripped off before falling into bed last night.
Caller ID told her who was calling. "Hi," she said. "Listen, if I'm late I'm sorry, but—"
"It's 8:42 on Saturday. I was afraid I'd wake you," Lily said.
"Oh. No, I'm up. Not exactly wide-awake yet, but I'm up." Three steps took her to the bedside table. She clicked on the lamp and stood blinking in the sudden light.
"How's your head? Are you up to driving? Grandmother has something she wants to tell us."
Cynna frowned. She was still groggy, but… "You called because you want me to meet your grandmother?"
"Sorry. I forgot that you haven't met her, so that sounds peculiar, but Grandmother is hard to explain. If she says she has something we need to hear, though, we'd better listen. I've briefed her on what's been happening, and—"
"You briefed your grandmother."
"Ruben won't object. Grandmother has worked with the Unit before, unofficially. She… ah, she stays below the radar. Can you be here in an hour or so?"
"Sure, I suppose." Cynna's jaw cracked in a huge yawn. Curiosity was beginning to rouse a few brain cells. "My head's a lot better, so I could drive, but I'm without a car. Cullen's got yours."
"He didn't stay there? Somehow I got the impression…" Lily let that trail off delicately.
"We're working our way up to that."
"I'll have him pick you up, then. Oh—Rule says not to worry about breakfast. He's doing something with eggs. We've so many to feed already that a couple more won't make a difference."
They told each goodbye and disconnected. Cynna put the phone down, wondering about this grandmother who was hard to explain but worked with the Unit unofficially. She reached up with her other hand to scrub her face. And froze, staring at her palm.
Her naked palm—or it should have been. But it wasn't. Scrolled across the fleshy mound at the base of her thumb was a new kilingo, a delicate tracery that looked like the veins of a dried leaf.
One she hadn't put there.
Jiri had.
TWENTY-FIVE
THE kitchen smelled of onion, parsley, paprika, and people— people Rule knew and loved, people who mattered. Lily was chopping the potatoes she'd peeled; Benedict leaned against the wall near the door, watching; and Toby sat at the round table, reading. Rain drizzled down outside as it had, off and on, all night.
Rule was happy.
"What did you say this was called again?" Lily asked.
"A frittata." Rule looked over his shoulder. At Lily's insistence, he'd begun teaching her basic kitchen skills. It wasn't that she'd developed an interest in cooking. She just got twitchy if he did all the work.
At the moment she was dicing potatoes… slowly. Meal preparation took longer with her help than without it, though he had hopes she'd pick up speed eventually. "Would you like a measuring tape?" he asked politely as he whisked the eggs.
"That's sarcasm," she observed without looking up. Another careful slice. "You said you wanted a half-inch dice."
"It's okay to be off a millimeter here and there."
Toby looked up from his book. "Is it almost ready?"
"No. You can get out the bread and slice it, however. We'll use the two round loaves in the pantry."
"But I'm—"
"Toby."
His son sighed heavily, turned the book facedown, and went to the pantry.
Lily's contribution to the influx of relatives were in the front room. Lily said that Li Qin would happily help out if asked, but she wouldn't offer. To offer would be rude, implying that her hosts weren't able to handle things without her. She hadn't had to explain that her grandmother was incapable of helping. Madam Yu could take over. She couldn't assist.
The two older women had gone to bed very early iast night, so they'd been up early. Li Qin had come down to the kitchen to prepare tea for the two of them and asked that Lily attend her grandmother. Rule hadn't been present for that conference, but he assumed Lily had told Madam Yu everything.