Somehow, Van made it through the next day without his thoughts turning to Miranda during sessions, scheduled or otherwise. Between sessions, well, that was another matter, but not as bad as being distracted while trying to help someone would have been.
He got home, and ventured cautiously in the front door. “Oblique?”
“Kitchen,” she called back.
That sounded safe. He followed the hall down to the back of the house. Not altogether surprising to find her there at around this time; she did most of the cooking, and it was getting towards supper time.
She glanced at him and smiled, then went back to making... hm, brownies, by the scent and the pan she had out. “How was work?”
“About like usual. Only one unscheduled crisis drop-in, and I got it. Otherwise, just standard stuff. How's Miranda?”
“Doing well enough. She's taking a bath right now, and we found her enough of my clothes to wear for the time being. She'll be joining us for supper.” She poured the dark thick batter into the pan.
“You don't mind having another sensitive around?”
“No, even if she is nearly young enough to be my daughter. All sensitives are one family, to us.”
“Is there any chance she is?”
“My daughter?” She regarded him for a moment, weighing options. Van expected her to tell him it was none of his business, but she sighed, and the smile came back, affectionately. “I suspect I was about ten or twelve when she was born, and she hasn't said anything about the Vladislav mage who bought her altering her skin colour, so I would say it's extremely improbable. Leave it at that.”
Van nodded, leaned against the counter. “Actually, I'm surprised he didn't do any shapechanging.”
“Did I say he didn't? I imagine she'll eventually ask you or Bren to undo it. If a mage did to me what he did to her, I'd take the first chance to hit him with something heavy, too. But don't bring it up, let her decide. She's still worn out emotionally and physically, so treat her accordingly, and let her set her own limits.”
“I'd do that anyway.”
“Do it even more carefully. But I think she'll be fine in no time, she's intelligent and strong and independent. After all her life knowing that her choices consisted of constant motherhood or constant paranoia, the most traumatic and terrifying possibility has already happened, and she's discovered that while it can be very bad, she's still alive, and there's much more to it than she thought. Just try to give her some space, while you can. Now, go tell Bren that supper will be ready soon, and he's to clean up before he comes inside.”
Van gave her a playful salute, and went out via the laundry room door in search of Brennan.
He found his uncle on his knees, weeding the garden, and passed on Oblique's message.
Brennan nodded, and sat up, arching to work the kinks out of his back. “As if I'd dare track dirt in the house,” he said, amused. “Look, the tomato plants are starting out well, we should have a good crop of them. That'll please Oblique.” He got to his feet, stretched.
“Always a good thing.” By every custom and every conditioned belief, two Master mages should not be able to share a sensitive peacefully. Brennan would be entirely within his rights to demand that Van never come within arm's length of her. But Oblique had chosen to help Van pass his Master's exam, which the laws allowed for since Van had already been living with Brennan and learning from him, and Brennan had decided to allow her to make that choice for herself; it had simply grown deeper and richer from then on. Without the lifelong bond between Van and Brennan, it probably wouldn't have worked even within the uncommonly tolerant Donovans, but as it was, they had a stable and reasonably serene family.
“Is she still acting like a hen with one chick?”
“That's a good description. Maybe she's identifying with her?” He laughed, following Brennan back to the house. “Maybe we should worry she's identifying with a sensitive who brained one mage and threw things at another one?”
Brennan chuckled. “Nah, if Oblique wanted to whack either of us with a frying pan, she would've done it by now.” He pulled open the door, and paused by the sink to scrub his hands and lower arms.
“I wonder if I'll be allowed to go upstairs to change my clothes.”
“Yes,” Oblique answered from the kitchen. “Miranda is here with me, and if you're as dirty as you usually are, you are most certainly going to change your clothes before you sit down to dinner with the rest of us.”
“Yes, my Lady,” Brennan teased her, drying his hands before stepping into the kitchen, Van a stride behind him. “Immediately, my Lady.”
Oblique simply pointed in the direction of the stairs, her other hand on her hip. Van wondered whose idea it was for Miranda to be perched on that particular kitchen chair, where the elder sensitive could keep herself in the middle. One of the sarongs Oblique was fond of had been wrapped and tied into a dress in a way that Van could never have duplicated even with magic, over a short-sleeved top. She looked much better, but was watching the two mages warily.
“Van, could you set the table, please, while Brennan changes?”
Van nodded, collected plates and silverware and glasses, and made a second trip for juice and butter and the like while Oblique began to arrange things on platters and in big bowls.
“That smells really good,” he heard Miranda say, shyly.
Oblique chuckled. “Thank you. I've had a long time to learn. Brennan's idea of cooking is basic at best, and Van is too impatient. Someone has to keep us all fed. Besides, I rather enjoy it.”
“How'd you learn?”
“Books and practice, in large quantities of both, and some lessons and advice from a couple of family sensitives, and a few classes here and there. I'm going to start taking this in the dining room, I'll be right back.”
Van made sure he was on the far side of the table arranging place settings when the two sensitives came in, and kept himself as far from Miranda as he reasonably could, while the pair made a couple of trips to fill the table with food.
“And Bren gets away with not helping,” he joked. “It's not fair.”
“Bren grew the chicken and most of the vegetables,” Oblique pointed out. “Of course, you paid for the rest, and I did all the rest of the work, so you may be right.”
Van eyed the rectangular old table, big enough for six comfortably, and the four chairs around it—the other two, seldom used, flanked the china cabinet, but he didn't know where the leaf to add to the centre had gone—and wondered where Miranda was likely to feel safest sitting. One way or another, she was going to be in arm's length of at least one mage. As little as he wanted her to feel isolated or singled out, he wanted even less for her to feel threatened.
“Both of you may as well sit down,” Oblique said. “I'll be back as soon as I take the brownies out.” She vanished back into the kitchen.
Van gave Miranda a questioning look. “Any preference?”
She considered the table, with that measuring look he'd seen yesterday, and chose a seat on one of the longer sides. Habitually, Oblique sat at the end nearest the kitchen, and Van and Brennan sat on either side of her; adding a fourth body shifted the dynamics completely. Van decided on the chair opposite her.
Miranda nodded silently.
“Fresh home-grown food, Oblique's cooking... I think that could help brighten anybody's day.”
“It's a lot better than I'm used to,” she conceded.
“It's a lot better than what I got used to while I was away going to school,” he said ruefully. “My mother got around one of the laws by arranging for me to have my own apartment in the house of a Master mage in the city where the college was. I really didn't like living alone, and having to eat my own cooking was only one of the reasons. It's a wonder I graduated, living on canned soup and canned spaghetti and sandwiches. I'm spoiled, now.”
“Mages have laws?”
“Mages have a lot of laws. This particular household is a tad peculiar, but technically it counts, so the most anyone can do is give us funny looks.”
“For what? Not having another sensitive here?”
“Oh, according to most mages,” Oblique said lightly, joining them, “Bren should be insanely jealous and never let Van near me. But they're Donovans, so the other families expect a certain amount of strangeness from them. The Donovan family figured out the big secret.” She sat at the end of the table, and poured herself a glass of juice.
“What secret?” Miranda looked intrigued.
Oblique took a sip of juice, and smiled. “Horses and dogs have always performed much better when they are happy, healthy, well cared for, and not abused. It occurred to some brilliant Donovan that the same might hold true for sensitives, too. Officially, that's why sensitives who belong to Donovan mages tend to be better taken care of than most.”
“Unofficially, quite a lot of them have discovered, while being responsible and considerate Lords and Ladies, that astonishingly enough, sensitives have minds and feelings and personalities, and that it can be worth it to allow one's sensitive a certain amount of freedom to express that.” The smile became a grin. “Amazing how observant they can be, hm?”
Miranda snuck a wary look at Van—maybe expecting him to be angry at Oblique's disrespectful comments about mages?
“Donovans,” Van said dryly, “are widely regarded as softhearted. And a tad soft in the head, too, depending on who you ask. And possibly weak, because as far as I know, there has never been a Donovan who joined the hunters, and they're supposed to be superior to the rest of us.”
“But there are a hell of a lot of us,” Brennan said, taking the fourth seat. “So as long as we don't overtly break any laws, they leave us alone and whisper about us behind our backs. Mm, that chicken looks delicious, Oblique. You certainly do them justice.”
Attention turned more towards food than mage society. Van and Brennan were both very careful to avoid touching Miranda when passing her a dish or accepting one; she seemed uneasy, but not actually frightened, which was a relief.
A vehicle pulled in the driveway.
“What on earth...” Brennan got up, and went through the living room, reaching the front door just as someone thumped the knocker imperiously. Van placed himself in the doorway from living room to dining room, protectively.
Brennan opened the door, and inclined his head to the pair of mages who stood there—a muscular woman of middle height with short-cropped hair, a man of about her height with broad shoulders and small eyes and dark hair greying in streaks at his temples. Both were in semi-military camo and denim, but Van didn't need the hint to recognize them. Elena Nicodemos, Brock Eldridge. The junior of the two local hunter teams. Van felt his heart speed up, felt his stomach turn queasy, even though he'd been expecting this.
“Can I help you?” Brennan asked calmly.
“You could invite us in,” Brock said pointedly.
“I could, but I would prefer that you come to the point quickly so I can get back to my supper.” One law to which the hunters had never been given immunity was the one that forbade entry uninvited into a mage household. What happened in a household was up to the Master—or senior Master if there were more than one, although that was only common among the Donovans—and that space could not be violated.
“We tracked a renegade here,” Elena said. “She assaulted the Vladislav mage who was her lawful master, and fled.”
Brennan glanced over his shoulder. “Van?”
Van came closer, leaned against the edge of the living room archway. He'd spent quite a lot of today figuring out how to handle this when it came; as much as the hunters scared him, he could use the laws against them. “He failed to control her.”
Elena frowned. “Yes.”
“I claim her.”
“No Donovan is going to be able to master that one. She attacked him with a cast iron frying pan and gave him a serious concussion. That goes quite a long way beyond simple rebellion.”
“I claim her,” Van repeated steadily. “He failed to control her, I caught her, therefore I have the right to try.”
“Always trying to save them, aren't you?” She shrugged. “He had her for fifteen days. Given the age of the trail, I'm guessing you caught her yesterday. You have fourteen days left to tame her and prove it, otherwise she's officially a renegade and we'll take care of her personally.”
The thought of what it would mean to Miranda, to be “taken care of personally” by the hunters, gave Van chills. For Miranda to end up like the poor broken pair who belonged to these hunters... He nodded, though.
Elena's gaze flicked to one side, and Van picked up on the sense of Oblique's presence, not touching, but in arm's length—he glanced back, found her expression docile and her eyes properly low but her body spoke instead of alertness and wariness. “Just what the world needs,” Elena said in disgust. “Another sensitive who doesn't know her place, to go with a couple of mages with no idea how to put her in it. I'm going to come myself to make sure you have the renegade under control, and you can damned well expect to prove it.” She smiled, but it was cold. “After all, we can't have sensitives around who think it's acceptable to assault their masters. And she'd better have a collar by then.” Her gaze rested pointedly on Oblique's bare throat.
“Oblique wears her collar when she's not on my land,” Brennan said, and there was steel under the softness. “If I choose not to have her wear it at home, that is my concern. Van's new sensitive will have one at the appropriate time, and will wear it when Van chooses. Now, unless there's a law we've broken or further business to discuss, you will please stop disrupting my household, take your opinions, and leave.”
Elena shot Van a venomous look. “Two weeks, and if I have any reason to doubt your control over her, I'll declare her renegade and take her.”
Van shrugged. “Fine.”
The two hunters strode away, back to a sleek dark-red mini-van parked next to Brennan's truck. Brennan stayed where he was, and Van moved up beside him, trying very hard not to let his thoughts focus on the shadowy outlines in the back seat. Both watched until the van had pulled out of the driveway and was gone.
Only then did Brennan close and bolt the door, and shoo Van and Oblique back towards the dining room.
Miranda was just inside the doorway, where she could listen unseen.
“I should've known they'd find me,” she said miserably. “Now I've gotten you in trouble, too, just for helping me.”
“Nonsense,” Brennan said briskly. “We aren't in any more trouble than usual, and we aren't out of options yet. Sit down, there's no point in wasting excellent food. Nothing more is going to happen tonight.”
Van obediently sat, but he picked at his meal with little interest. Okay, so he'd just bought them two weeks. So what?
“Don't play with it, eat,” Brennan commanded. “Your brain will function better with fuel.”
“I think I've lost my appetite.”
“We'll manage,” Oblique said. “Right now, we have two weeks of safety, in which the hunters will make no move against you or Miranda. Quite a lot can happen in fourteen days.”
“Everything can change in less than that,” Miranda muttered.
“Precisely. Now eat your supper, or you'll be living on sandwiches for a week. I don't go to all the effort of cooking for you to sit and push it around the plate.”
Van obediently took a bite. “All right, I'm eating. But we still need to figure out what to do.”
“I don't see very many possibilities,” Miranda said. “I could run away, and you can tell them whatever will keep you out of trouble. I bet I could get a long way in two weeks. Or I can stay and we can convince them that you can keep me under control better than he could.”
Van stopped with his fork halfway to his plate, staring at her, vaguely aware of Brennan's startled expression.
Miranda shrugged. “What? Is there another one I don't know about?”
Oblique laughed. “No, dear, those would be about the only two options that come to mind. Which of those would you prefer?”
A pause, while Miranda thought about that. Tired and vulnerable she might be, but Van could almost see the same quick mind that had surprised him yesterday coming back into play. “I don't know how much longer I can keep running, and I'm not sure what the point would be, because eventually they'd track me down and all I'd be doing is delaying it. And it might make them wonder even more about you, if I'm gone. If I stay, it might win you points for being able to control a sensitive someone else couldn't, and it would mean that I could be somewhere I have a bed and meals and don't have to be scared every minute.”
“The proof she expects will include my pulling power through you,” Van said gently. Coercion didn't have to involve literal force; an untenable situation and a lack of options amounted to the same thing. He just wished he had something to offer her besides gentleness.
Miranda swallowed, hard, but her expression never changed, and her voice stayed steady. “Oblique says it's like sex, it's awful when it's forced but it's okay when it's with someone you trust.”
“These are hardly ideal circumstances for you to learn to trust me.”
“Neither is having been hunted, captured, bought, and told that you now have no rights and belong to a well-meaning but rather misguided man who has absolute power over you,” Oblique pointed out dryly. “At least you don't have peculiar ideas about the necessity of obedience.”
“I was young and stupid,” Brennan laughed. “I got over it.”
Oblique gave him an affectionate smile, then turned her attention to Miranda again. “You don't need to decide right now.”
“I don't think it's really much of a choice,” Miranda said. “Being safe, and pissing off the hunters, and getting my own body back, are worth some chances, and it can't be any worse than what I've already been through.” She tilted her head a little to one side, watching Van intently. “Would you stop me if I decided to leave afterwards?”
“Will you promise not to lie to me anymore?”
Van hesitated. “I can try, but if it comes down to lying to keep any or all of us safe, I'll do it.”
Miranda nodded. “I don't know if I would have believed you if you said you never would. But that I believe.”
“It would seem,” Brennan said, “that we'd best find another place for the computer, and see about buying you a dresser. And some clothes. Oblique must mass at least half again what you do, there can't be much of hers that fits.”
“This Friday is my usual day to myself,” Oblique pointed out. “That gives Van time to get Miranda a collar of some sort so we can't be caught out on a technicality, and she can come with me and we'll go shopping. As long as Miranda's collared, they can't mess with her.”
Van looked questioningly at Miranda.
She shrugged. “I'll have to have one sooner or later anyway.”
“Any preference? Style or the name to put on it?”
Another shrug. “I like simple stuff. And I don't think you'd pick anything that's mean. Whatever.”
Van sighed to himself. Okay, so normally it was up to a mage to choose collar and name, but he'd have preferred to let Miranda choose them herself. On the other hand, if she didn't feel comfortable doing that, then the best thing he could do was spare her that. Collars were easy enough to change, he knew sensitives with whole collections of them, and a sensitive's name not much harder, if she thought of something she'd prefer later. “I'll see what I can do tomorrow, so you and Oblique can do whatever you want on Friday.”
“Thanks.” Miranda paused, frowned, and shook her head, as though clearing it. “I just thanked someone because he said he'd buy me a collar and think of a new name for me. This is going to take some serious adjustment.”
“It does,” Oblique agreed. “But it isn't so hard. At least, not for us. A mage could never do it.” She laid her knife and fork on her empty plate, neatly crossed, and glanced around the table. “All done? Are we having dessert now, or shall we leave that for a snack later?”
“I'd say later,” Van suggested. “It'd be a little too much, on top of everything else.”
Oblique nodded. “They're in the kitchen, help yourselves whenever.” She stood up, began gathering plates. Miranda rose quickly, and with all four helping, it took no time at all to clear the table—Brennan and Van both took care not to come too close to Miranda, who accepted the proximity of two mages with surprising calm.
“I'll do the dishes, since I didn't do anything else,” Brennan volunteered.
“And putting away the leftovers only takes one pair of hands,” Oblique said. “There are too many bodies in this kitchen.”
“Going,” Van said, and retreated to the living room. Hm, maybe curling up with a movie would take his mind off current problems he could do nothing about.
Distracted, he didn't hear Miranda's bare feet on the carpet behind him.
“I heard that one's pretty good,” she said, reaching past him to tap one. “Is it?”
Van tried not to jump. “If you like science fiction with a fair bit of action, it's a good way to spend a couple of hours. As long as you don't think too closely about the plot.”
“I like science fiction.”
Van pulled that one out, popped it in the DVD player, and picked up the remote, then hesitated. Miranda was already extremely close, any move he made to stand up was highly likely to result in direct contact.
Which she has to know. Why do I get the feeling this is a test?
“Move back a bit?” he requested, keeping his tone carefully casual.
She retreated to the couch, and curled up in one corner of it, tucking her sarong-dress over her legs. Like her jeans and sweatshirt, nothing showed, Van mused, not even general proportions, only head and lower arms and lower legs. He took the other end, and fast-forwarded through the coming attractions at the beginning.
The movie was well underway by the time Oblique paused in the hall archway, fastening a heavy gold necklace-chain in place around her neck so the knotwork-patterned round pendant rested at the hollow of her throat. On the flip side, Van knew, it had been engraved with Brennan Donovan and below that, Oblique. “Will you be all right alone with Van for a little while, Miranda? It's a nice evening, Bren and I were thinking we'd go for a walk.”
Miranda nodded, her gaze on the collar. “I'm okay.”
Oblique smiled. “I thought you would be.”
“You've, um, still got scales showing.”
“We aren't likely to run into anyone out here, and if we do, there are no streetlights. It isn't a problem.” She glanced behind her. “Ready, Bren? Enjoy your movie, you two.”
Van noticed that Brennan locked the door behind him, not a normal act as long as any of them were awake and home. Bren must be more worried than he was letting on. He kept that to himself, simply rewound the movie a little so Miranda could see the part she'd just missed.
Cautiously, Miranda rearranged herself so she was lying down, her head toward him and resting on her arm. Van doubted anyone any larger could have achieved that position on only half the couch.
“Do you want the whole couch so you can stretch out?”
“No.” She hesitated, then it came out in a rush, all on one breath. “I grew up in a really big family where we're... we were always touching a lot and I've been away from them for a month and no one's touched me except to hurt me until Oblique yesterday and today and I'm just feeling... kind of... lost...” It trailed off, forlornly.
There are so many different sides to her... I wonder if I'll ever see all of them.
“If you're feeling inclined to be forgiving for yesterday,” he said, choosing words carefully, “I've been used as a pillow before, and at the moment, I can promise no mage tricks.”
Miranda considered that. “Oblique said you were worried that the hunters were using me to trap you.”
“It seemed like a possibility at the time.”
“You could have just tossed me back outside on my own, or handed me over to them.”
“I couldn't do that without knowing for sure.”
“You scared me, bad, but you didn't hurt me, and I can understand doing things because you're afraid. And I scared you right back.”
“Oh yeah, you definitely did that, believe me.”
“Hm. Which makes us even, I guess, so we can forget yesterday happened?”
Startled, Van looked down, and found himself smiling. “Fair enough.”
Miranda wriggled into position with her head resting on Van's leg. Van stayed very still, letting her settle herself however she was comfortable.
“Okay?” he asked, once she stopped moving.
“Mmhmm. But I missed some.”
Van obligingly rewound the last few minutes, and relaxed against the back of the couch. It felt good, having her there. Just somehow right.
Not until the movie ended did he realize that he'd been running his fingers through Miranda's jaw-length dark hair. “Oh, hell. I'm sorry...” Great, no mage tricks, but uninvited and fairly personal contact... Now there's a great way to give her space and make her feel safe.
“Hm? Oh. It's okay. I would've told you to stop if I minded. It felt nice.”
Well, that was a good sign, at least. “Always tell me to stop, if I do anything you don't want, all right?” At least if he could trust her to do that, he could worry less about whether he was doing the right thing.
Since Miranda showed no signs of being inclined to move, Van used the remote to turn the stereo on, and reduced the volume to a comfortable background level. He glanced down when Miranda chuckled. “What?”
“Seems funny, a mage using a remote control like anybody else instead of just waving a hand and making it change.”
“I suppose I could use telekinesis to press the buttons, but that would be a lot of unnecessary work when I can use the remote instead. There are very definite limits on what a mage can do. Especially alone. Any mage who tries to tell you differently is lying.”
“I know mages can get hurt and bleed just like anybody else.” Her voice shook, and Van ran a hand soothingly over her hair.
Silence, for a moment.
“Can you... undo what he did to me? Please?” The quaver was back in her voice again. “I don't like it, and it keeps reminding me of him...”
“You don't need a reason. Anything you want to be, you can be.”
“I just want to be me again.”
“Well, that's easy to do.” He laid his hand on her shoulder, and closed his eyes, concentrating completely. This wasn't familiar Oblique, and with Miranda already torn open magically, it was going to take extra finesse to keep from hurting her. Delicately, he found the spring where power bubbled up, gathered from air and light and everything else around her, and dipped a mental hand into it. It had a different taste than Oblique's, but it was tangy and fiery and altogether pleasant.
Now... whatever a mage might lay over it, her own genetic code lay beneath, immutable. That was one thing Oblique had never asked him to use even as a foundation for a change, but he knew how to find it, even if he did have to draw on slightly fuzzy long-ago memories of his mother's sensitive Richard patiently helping him learn. He looked deeper, seeking out the shapechange that had been imposed on her...
Bloody Vladislav pervert, he snarled to himself. I think he was just getting warmed up, getting ready to turn her into his own little twisted sex doll. No, calm down, she's away from him and safe now, and you can fix this.
Miranda shivered, once, under his hand, then he heard her whisper, “Oh.”
Van moved his hand away, brushed her hair back from her face. “You're all right?”
“Yes. I didn't exactly believe Oblique, that it doesn't always hurt. But she's right.”
“She usually is.”
Miranda ran a hand down her front, over her clothes. “I'm me again.” It sounded like a prayer, and there was a suggestion of tears there, too. “Thank you.” She sat up, and Van expected her to move away, but instead she shifted closer so she could hug him and bury her face in his shoulder. Automatically, Van wrapped both arms around her to hold her steady, then wondered why she felt so good there. “Thank you,” she repeated.
“That kind of sick behaviour is exactly what we're trying to get laws against. And if I had a way to ram it right back down his throat...” Van throttled his anger again, firmly, but it wasn't easy. He kept his attention on Miranda, on stroking her hair and keeping her close and being ready to let her go instantly if she seemed to want that. She felt so very small and fragile, though the latter directly contradicted available evidence.
A key in the door made both tense, Miranda twisting around just enough to see.
Brennan held the door for Oblique, and followed her inside. “Good movie?” he asked noncommittally.
Miranda nodded, and slithered neatly free, arranging herself sitting next to Van—but still very near, he noticed. With the shapechange undone, she didn't look terribly different, except that the fine lines of her face were a little stronger, more androgynous. Back in her jeans, she could have passed for male or female equally easily, most likely. “Good walk?”
“Extremely pleasant,” Oblique said. “The mosquitoes and flies aren't out yet, but it's mild enough to be comfortable for walking. And I think I've worked up an appetite for chocolate.”
“Chocolate sounds good,” Miranda said, and looked up at Van.
He shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
He didn't miss Oblique's faint, satisfied smile as she watched him... or, more accurately, he suspected, watched him and Miranda together. Hoping for exactly what she was seeing?
They all had brownies, the conversation centred around a stag and a couple of does Brennan and Oblique had seen, and scattered to their respective rooms for the night—Miranda with Oblique.
Van stretched out in bed, mulling over the events of the evening.
The counsellor part of his mind nagged at him, that there was something going on here and it was unprofessional not to take a closer look at it, but he shoved it away, too tired to care at the moment. Whatever it was, it could wait.
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