over eight years later

Mohan sat alone at the dining room table, looking through the envelope of pictures Leisha had given her of Bobby's eighth birthday party. Bobby blowing out candles, Bobby opening presents, Bobby eating cake, Bobby smiling. The blond hair, the blue eyes . . . . Her son, yet not her son.

She looked up suddenly, face expressionless, eyes unfocused. A familiar presence was approaching.

Hank.

She straightened the pictures, tucked them back inside their envelope, and rose. Hank had just turned the corner at the end of their block. She unhurriedly placed the envelope in a desk drawer, and waited, watching at the window. When he came into view, her heart lurched.

"So few days left to us," she whispered. Then her brow creased. "What troubles you, my son?"

She pretended to busy herself in the kitchen as he walked in.

"Hi."

"Hi, mom."

"Long day?"

Hank sighed. "I guess so."

She waited quietly, letting him speak when he would.

"Mom?"

"Mmm-hmm?" she intoned as she rinsed potatoes.

"Could I borrow your car Sunday?"

Mohan was glad her back was to him so that the alarm on her face was hidden from his sight. Quickly recovering, she said, "Sunday? I thought Eric was having you all chauffeured to the amusement park."

"He can't go. His mom's made other plans for Sunday."

She turned to face him. "But you've all had this planned for weeks. And I've heard there's going to be at least one new ride this year. Shame for him to miss it."

"I know! We were all free for Sunday, and it was great that we were all gonna go together . . . . But you know how Eric's mom can be."

She looked down with a slight smirk. Yes, I do.

"Well, I was planning on being out Sunday myself . . . but I'll see what I can arrange," she finished with a smile.

Hank smiled, too. "Thanks, mom." He grabbed a granola bar, kissed her on the cheek, and headed for the door.

"Gone again?"

"Yeah. Presto has a new game he wants to show me."

"Have fun."

"I will. And I'll be back before supper. I promise."

Mohan watched as he crossed the street. "So will I."

The mansion was silent. All the staff slept at Mohan's command. She crossed the foyer and entered the library, as her craft directed her. It would have appeared empty to all but an old witch's wary eye.

Camouflage. How droll.

Mohan spoke to the leather bindings of the "E" and "F" encyclopedia as they rested on the bookshelf on the far wall. "Is this how you survived the slaughter of our coven, Ellarice?" She stepped forward. "Were you the whole time watching, cowering right before the murderers' eyes, as your sisters were massacred?" She moved closer still. "I was a fool to ever think I could make something of you." She was upon her now, inches away. "You sicken me with these games, child," she snarled.

Ellarice yelled and lashed out, but struck nothing but air. She lost her balance and fell to the floor. Shocked, she flung her head up, searching for Mohan, and found her standing in the doorway. She hadn't moved.

When their eyes met, the elder witch smiled with a shrug. "Child's play."

A visible Ellarice brought herself to stand and glared at Mohan.

"You know why I'm here," said Mohan.

Through clenched teeth Ellarice answered. "To take my son."

"No," said Mohan quickly and sternly. "I am here to remind you who you are and what you serve. Your son you will give willingly."

"Nothing you say will change me! Years ago you told us all that five would be enough! There are now six, and you have said that young Bobby will go! You don't need Eric! He's mine! I only helped Leisha take your son so that mine could remain! With me! He's all I—" She choked back a sob. "He's all I have that I claim as my own."

Mohan bowed her head and sighed. She slowly walked around the room, gazing around at the collection of books and paintings. "We have all been long from our home. Too long. How could I expect every one of us never to forget . . . to forget what it is to be what we are?"

Ellarice threw her hands to her head. "Don't! Just stop it! Leave me!"

"Child," Mohan began with care.

"I'm not a child!" She whirled around and banged a fist against her own head. "Oh! I feel so old!"

"Nonsense, Ella. Please, calm yourself. Such behavior—"

"Just shut up! Shut up!" Her shoulder hit the wall behind her and she broke into uncontrollable sobs. Then she stopped abruptly, and cut her eyes to the elder. "I'll fight you. Yes. I will. I'll fight you. You'll have to kill me to get to him!"

Mohan moved forward, slowly, shaking her head as she reached out toward her, but then withdrew her hand. "How I have failed you," she whispered. "When the Realm spoke of your coming to us, my heart rejoiced. The Dungeon Master urged caution with you, but I dismissed his warnings. My faith lay in the choice the Realm had made: you, Ellarice." She reached to touch her cheek.

Ellarice knocked her hand away. "Don't touch me! You can't have him! He's not ready! He'll die if he goes! I know it! I know it!"

"Not even the Dungeon Master can know such things, Ella. Be strong against the fears your mind creates."

"I—I can't. I'm his mother! The fears are real to me, more real than this house, more real than you!" She sank to the floor, quiet, tears still streaming down her face.

Mohan could only watch. Words would not come. Ellarice had always pushed everyone away. And, so, Mohan had given her room. Now, she saw that Ellarice had been the one needing the most attention. She wished she had realized this sooner.

"I never told you," Ellarice spoke. "I never told any of you. After I heard the Realm's calling . . . I never heard it again."

Mohan knelt to be nearer as she listened to this revelation.

"The rest of you . . . always so confident in your knowing. The Realm spoke to you, it didn't speak to me! I heard it once, felt it once. Only once!

"I begged! Begged, Mohan, for it to speak to me again, like it always spoke to you!

"But there was nothing. Nothing! I felt so alone! So unloved!" She paused and looked Mohan in the eye. "And I was so jealous! I hated all of you! I hated the Realm! Why did it call to me only to be silent ever after?"

Ellarice buried her head in her knees for a moment before lifting it to speak again. "I've forgotten what it felt like, now, to be touched by such . . . by such a thing. The Realm abandoned me! I want to forget! I want to forget it all." Her voice had become softer. "Because I can't hear. I can't hear. I can't hear." Ellarice rocked herself back and forth, still repeating her last words and staring blindly at the floor.

Mohan silently wept at her side. She understood now. She could not imagine such abandonment, for the Realm had spoken to her even here. Across time and space, that familiar and unheard voice had reached her in those moments when she needed it most. So faint it had been, such a whisper that she could not bring herself to share those fleeting moments with her coven. Even she had questioned whether or not she had imagined it. But she knew she had not. And she wondered if her words had reached the Realm, and believed they had.

She watched Ellarice as she shook and rocked, still chanting. She didn't seem aware of Mohan, or of anything anymore. And Mohan realized she was losing Ellarice. Right before her eyes, she was slipping away.

"No," Mohan said, shaking her head. And with all her being she reached, and reached, and reached.

She needs you.

"Can't hear, can't hear, can't hear," Ellarice whispered on.

Mohan took Ellarice in her arms, placed her hand against Ellarice's forehead. Then she leaned to her ear and whispered, "Hear it now."