He grabbed her. She felt solid and rigid, like a statue. Cold. "Morgan? What did you do? Morgan!"
"I'm here," she whispered, and blinked. Some life came back into those eyes, but not nearly enough to settle his fears. "Here." She suddenly sagged, and he had to catch her. "Now you see." She took a deep breath.
His own throat felt tight, his stomach roiling. "For Heron's sake, Morgan-what-what is this?" He already knew, but he needed her to explain it in a way that made sense to him.
"Practice. I started small," she said. "Flies. Spiders. A sparrow. A mouse. Rats. The rabbit . . ." She swallowed and blinked, and tears welled in her eyes. "The rabbit was the largest I've done so far. Oh, Jess. I felt how afraid it was . . . but he didn't feel pain. None of them do; I make sure of that. But anything near me, in that circle . . . even the grass . . . I took the life from it. Just as easily as dousing a candle. I used it to make myself stronger."
He held her closer, though he had no real comfort for her. What she'd just said dried up his mouth and locked any capacity to speak. He just held her as she shivered and wept, in a circle of dead things.
Finally, he asked, "How long have you been at this?"
"Since we boarded the ship," she said. "Doctor Askuwheteau told me it was a corruption of my ability, that once I healed, once I rested, it would go away. But it didn't. I killed a fly that had gotten in the cabin on the ship-I saw the spark of it, and . . . I turned it off. It was gone before it fell out of the air. Then a rat I found creeping in the corner. After that, I was afraid-I was afraid to touch anyone. Afraid I couldn't control it, but the more time I spent out looking at the water, seeing the life out there, taking bits of it . . . the more I knew I could control it. And that was actually more frightening. This isn't a corruption. It's a talent, and we'll need it. Dr. Askuwheteau's a good man. I don't think he would ever understand what I'm saying."
What she was saying, Jess thought, was that she was not as good. And maybe she was right. Maybe a lifetime of fear, of hiding, of knowing her future held slavery . . . maybe being wholly good was something that had never been in her, any more than it was in him.
It was a hard truth that right now, they didn't need to be purely good. They needed to be capable of anything.
Her hands fisted in his shirt, as if she never wanted to let him go. "Say something," she said. "Please."
"Morgan-" He rested his cheek against her hair and ran a soothing hand down her back. "It's all right."
"Do I frighten you?"
"No," he said. He wanted to believe that. Morgan was Morgan. Fearing what she could do was as bad as fearing what Santi could do with a gun. What Thomas could invent in his workshop.
///
Fear turned minds, and he would not be afraid of Morgan.
But he was now afraid, very afraid, that he knew exactly how best to use her.
By the time he finally found his bed, it was well on toward morning, and the thick, soft mattress let him doze, but not really rest. Between the High Garda, the deprivations of running from the Library, and a prison house in Philadelphia, his body had grown used to hard, lumpy beds and-as he discovered when he lacked appetite for the rich breakfast-unaccustomed to the greasy sausages and eggs that his family preferred. Buttered toast seemed like an indulgence, but he allowed himself that much, along with coffee that seemed weak, after Alexandria's.
Strange, he'd been away from home for such a short time and had changed so much. Like Morgan, he'd grown into something new. He had no idea if it was something better, but he knew one thing: this Jess Brightwell was far, far stronger than the green, innocent one who'd boarded a train to the Great Library, hoping to find his place.
"Good night, elder brother?" Brendan clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed, then left off when Jess didn't wince. "The guards saw you go out into the garden with your girl last night. Must have been freezing out there, but I suppose you found a way to keep warm."
Morgan wasn't here, but Glain was, and she missed absolutely nothing from where she sat contemplating a single poached egg and toast. Apart from her, the dining room was deserted, save for a servant putting more hot sausages in the warming tray, and so Jess put his plate down, met Glain's eyes, and then turned and grabbed Brendan hard by both arms. He shoved him up against the fine wood paneling and pressed very close, close enough that Brendan couldn't miss the seriousness in his eyes.