The three men regarded me with a scrutiny that made me uncomfortable. If they’d been in the same room together, I was sure they’d have been exchanging sideways glances. “I have not heard of the named Neutralities being called guardians of anything, except, perhaps, their own secrets,” Claude finally said. “But in a metaphorical sense…”
“The Wardens look to the named Neutralities as…mascots, maybe? Or totems?” Amarion said. “You must have seen that, Helena. We—the custodians—we’re respected for our connection to our Neutralities, because the named Neutralities are special. Unique.”
“Is that why, at the Conference of Neutralities, we were high in the unofficial ranking everyone assured me didn’t exist?” I asked.
The others all laughed. “That is so,” Samudra said. “So, as Claude says, metaphorically the named Neutralities are guardians of what magery means to the Wardens. Guardians of their morale, perhaps.”
“I guess I have noticed that,” I said. “Is there any chance the oracle might have been speaking more literally? It’s really hard to understand it most of the time. It also talked about leaks, and there being one path, and sealing something. Any ideas?”
Amarion and Claude shook their heads. Samudra said, “None of that suggests anything to me yet. But we still know very little about the situation. More information may enlighten us.”
His words made me feel uneasy. I hadn’t told any of my fellow custodians what the oracle had said about its end because of Lucia’s warning, but with the destruction of the Fountain…suppose the oracle was next, and that was what it had foreseen? “There’s something else,” I said. “I haven’t told anyone but my husband and Lucia, but I think maybe you should know. About four months ago, the oracle told me it had seen its ending, and mine as well.”
Samudra’s eyes went wide. Amarion whistled in astonishment and said, “Helena, why didn’t you mention this before?”
“Because Lucia was convinced it would only create panic if people thought the oracle was going to die. But now that a named Neutrality has actually been destroyed, I think…I need help.” To my horror, my eyes grew wet, and I blinked away tears. I hadn’t realized I was so fragile. Maybe I needed that therapist, after all.
“Lucia was right then,” Samudra said, “and I do not blame you for keeping the secret. But you are right to tell us now. What, exactly, did the oracle say?”
I repeated the words that were seared into my memory. Such short sentences to spell my doom. “And it’s repeated itself several times a week since then,” I added. “Like I didn’t get it the first time.”
“Perhaps you did not,” Claude said. “It did not say ‘die.’ It said ‘end.’ There are many ways in which something might end. When one marries, for example, it is the end of their life as a single person. Perhaps the oracle means only that dramatic change is coming.”
Cool, wonderful relief flooded through me. “I never thought of that! That’s possible, right?”
“It is possible,” Samudra said. “But with the destruction of the Fountain, we should not ignore the possibility that the oracle spoke literally. I think we must prepare for the worst.”
And just like that, the relief was gone. “You’re right,” I said. “I wish I knew how to do that.”
“We will discuss with the stone magi, and give Ms. Pontarelli a chance to act,” Samudra said.
“You should ask Lucia what she learned from Ms. Suzuhara, too,” Amarion said. “We need to know how the Fountain was destroyed so we can keep it from happening to our charges. And—don’t worry, Helena. We’ve all seen the oracle’s predictions be thwarted.”
“I know. Thanks, Amarion.” I didn’t say that I’d never known the oracle to be wrong in what it told me directly. If it was a prediction of the future, it could be averted. I hoped.
“Let us plan to speak again at this time in three days,” Samudra said, “and text anything that cannot wait. Good night, Helena.”
“Good night,” I said, and disconnected. I stared at the blank screen for a few minutes before shutting my laptop and wearily trudging off to bed.
Xerxes followed me up the stairs until it became clear I was going to my bedroom, and then he trotted off in the direction of his cat bed in the spare room. His brother Cyrus, five pounds smaller than he and golden-furred, had early on colonized our bed as his territory, and while the brothers got along very well, Cyrus was an absolute tyrant when it came to his sleeping space. It amused me to watch them gradually make our house their home, how they had their own little quirks that translated into one or the other of them dominating certain parts of the house. I hoped their previous guardian, Jun, approved of our caretaking of her cats.
Malcolm was asleep with Cyrus puddled over his legs. The cat opened one eye and regarded me as I climbed into bed, but otherwise didn’t move. He liked me well enough, but Malcolm was definitely his person, which I thought was funny because Malcolm hadn’t been as enthusiastic as I was about adopting the boys. He’d pretended to be indifferent to them, but Cyrus had ignored Malcolm’s apparent standoffishness and behaved exactly as if the cats joining our family had been Malcolm’s idea. Malcolm’s (well-concealed) delight at being the object of a Persian cat’s affection had made me so happy.
I snuggled up next to Malcolm, who put his arm around me without opening his eyes. I loved cuddling with him; it made me feel secure and loved and successfully banished my demons for a few hours. Tiredness caught up to me, relaxing my body and making it impossible for me to keep my eyes open, but my mind wouldn’t let me sleep. Recently my sleeplessness was the result of fretting over the oracle’s cryptic warnings. Tonight, I couldn’t stop thinking about the oracle as mascot for all of magery. Did that extend to me, as Amarion had said? Should I behave more respectably? Not that I was disreputable now, but…these were questions with no answers, which meant they wouldn’t go away.
Finally, I made myself think about tackling Lucia in the morning, imagined what I would say, and let the planning carry me off to sleep. With luck, I wouldn’t dream.
4
“Lucia,” I said to her voice mail, “I’ve talked to the other custodians and we have some questions. And I have things to tell you. Call me back.” I disconnected and tucked my phone into my pocket, one not as deep as yesterday’s. Stupid girl pockets.
“Did you call Madeleine yet?” Judy asked. She forked up ravioli and ate with blissful gusto.
“It’s been a busy morning,” I said, feeling defensive. “And I might be putting it off because I don’t want to talk to her.”
“I know, but she’d understand better than we do about the possibility that the wards could be warped.”
I sighed and took a bite of my own ravioli. It was store-bought, not homemade, but one experiment along those lines had convinced me I would not add ravioli to my cooking repertoire. I compromised by buying the highest-quality fresh pasta I could find. “I know. I’ll call her after I eat. I don’t want to ruin my digestion.”