Chapter Eleven

I have always liked women. I would be a fool to deny myself the pleasure of kissing them, touching them, looking deep into their eyes on a soft, moonlit night. But I would be a monster to pursue one with the worst intentions…wouldn't I? I am not that kind of man. The love I shared with Amma (a.k.a the Lamb, the Queen Mother, depending who you ask) was mutual. She was very sweet— a buxom, bright-eyes brunette who showed me all the ways of witchcraft with glowing potions and glimmering spells. I was also told that she was one-fourth earth-elf…which made sense after a while. Part-elf women are said to be beautiful.

She loves her daughter so much it makes me want to cry. When Pearl was little, she would gather her up in her arms and bounce her on one knee until the rosy-cheeked girl broke into high-pitched giggles. As Pearl grew older, Amma grew sweeter-- buying her shiny pink makeup cases and big comfy blankets that brushed your skin like a dream. When Pearl began writing, Amma would read everything she wrote and smile-- before offering praise and criticism with equal enthusiasm. Amma even helped Pearl feed Rudy and teach him tricks. Her name is fitting-- she is a perpetual mother.

But even before Pearl, she was a passionate woman.

She loves mystery, too. We would always dress up at murder mystery parties in big, black suits and wide fedoras— pretending to be detectives. Now, the nicknames miiiight have been more than a little suggestive, but Amma came up with her own. She was a lot cleverer than the other guests gave her credit for-- calling her a big bimbo or whatever tickled their tiny pickles. Amma was always very sweet to me, and made the most of our mystery-party dates together. She also wrote a song that made it big on the radio, and I saw her read a lot of outer-space novels. Trust me-- I don't know a single "bimbo" who does those things!

"It's a 'Rendezvous with Amma,'" she would joke, referencing the novel of a similar name.

I would kiss her on the cheek, and that alone sent her eyes rolling back until I only saw the whites. Elves get turned on by everything, they say, Smaller systems and all….

"It'll be more than a rendezvous," I would say, stroking her face.

She would giggle and slap my butt playfully, only to vanish into the forest.

I look back and cringe. I almost feel guilty spending all that time with her, when her greatest love became my own brother. I don't blame her. My brother's always been a bit of a ladies' man, despite being a history buff. Speaking of BUFF, he was short and muscular, despite a belly, and had the full lips, big nose, and straight brow of my favorite actor. He is quite the open-minded fellow; not many are bold enough to marry a witch, much less one of part-elf ancestry. He even reads about magic sometimes. I wish he was just bold enough to practice it.

The two began living in a small cottage in the middle of deep, green-black woods. They called it "Mama October", because it creaked and crunched with each footstep. It was soft and warm, with its red-browns and burnt oranges. As Cap researched dead Polish kings and worked on his thesis, Amma would heal local folks from her woodland home with herb mixtures and healing spells. They have since left the Mama October, but it still creaks in my dreams like the bones of a grandmother.

Speaking of grandmothers, I would often see Bathilde hobble up and downhill. She's a tiny, round dumpling of a lady, so I would offer to help her. She'd chuckle, but always accept. I found her an interesting lady; she was comfortable chatting with me, as if we knew each other, about water and fire and how she used to control both-- and would I ever like to? I would say no-- as if on cue. (I'm a little nervous about witchcraft, myself.) Once we reached the top, she would do the splits! "Ha!" she would snort, "You're a smart one, ma bichette! You helped save this old hag's strength!" I'd laugh, and then she'd vanish into the cottage-- nitpicking, yet gentle with Amma's new spells.

I am a married man. My wife, Sofia, is a sweet woman but she has this terrible addiction to shopping and gambling. It pains me to say that we went our separate ways— but there is simply no other way to put it. Whenever I stayed with Pearl and her parents, Sofia would always leave early. Thanks to the endless eyes and mouths of private investigators, she was also having an affair. Which is funny, because a lot of women say I'm handsome, that I look like a hairy, Eastern-European James Garner and Robert Wagner, they like my big belly and muscles, blah blah blah….

So I began an Internet romance of my own, with a young Japanese lady named Kanako. She works in the Imperial Palace and used to date the Prince. (Awkward!) She often vents about how rude everyone is, how she wishes the Prince's cousin was here, how much she likes listening to music and getting a good nap. I feel for her, but in a way— she feels for me, too. I told her about the strong cologne on Sofia's skin, the rolling eyes, the strained whine in her voice....

"You should come to Japan someday," she wrote me, punctuating the thought with a winky-face Emoji, "It'll be fun."

Japan! Now, my tall, husky, hairy self would stick out for sure...I'd be like Godzilla! (Was that bad? Kanako thought it was funny....)

"I don't know," I replied stupidly, "I've never been. All I know about Japan is the language and some video games. Maybe anime-- but I'm no 'weeb'. I'm just some dumb middle-aged man."

"Whether you consider yourself dumb or middle-aged," she wrote, "Is your choice, but you're the kindest, and most handsome man I've ever met."

That was enough for me to pack my bags. Kindness! The faint heartbeat uniting us all....

--from the diary of Zell Sankovich

XXX

"I'm praying for Capybara Solstice, not because of what he's been through, but because Capybara is a terrible name to live with." --Bathilde on her otherwise lovable son-in-law, the Professor Solstice

Japan. Even the name brought so many things to Amma's mind-- sushi, sake, silky kimonos, video games, portly sumo wrestlers, white-faced Kabuki actors.... Pearl! She shuddered, her heart pounding in her ears. She's always been adventurous. I know she's just visiting Maman and Hajime, but...oof! My stomach hurts. I was up all night. She's always had a tendency to stray-- whenever we were on the Ferris wheel, she'd wander toward the rollercoaster. Whenever we were at the store, she'd toddle toward a shiny bottle of perfume. I don't think she's ever outgrown that...I don't think she ever will.

Amarantha Solstice (nee Beraude) was no longer a little lamb. With the regal interests of her daughter, she was jokingly called "The Queen Mother." However, with her voice and accent, she reminded most people of a yappy French poodle. She looked young for her age, thanks to a soft baby-face, small nose, slightly pointed ears, and large dark eyes, but crow's feet poked around the edges. She was tall and curvy, but thanks to aging, her weight settled more around the belly. Her dresses were almost always low-cut, or tight, or trimmed with faux fur. Black hair ran in waves down her back, and her full crimson-smeared lips always seemed to match the color of her nails. She carried dried herbs and glittering crystals in a beige satchel tied to her waist. The rosy complexion added to her mystique. If she was full elf, and not one-fourth, she would look almost like a woodland nymph.

"Cap," she cried, darting into the house, "Cap, honey, I haven't heard from Pearl in a week. My God! What's Japan even like? Is my girl safe, in a place she's never been? I know how a lot of the businessmen are, how hostess clubs are with white girls...!" She shook her head. "I don't mean to be rude. Sorry. I'm just repeating what I've heard. And since I haven't heard from her...."

Professor Solstice smiled and folded his hands over his big belly. Amma blinked, wiping her eyes. With his strong, curved nose and firm brow, he reminded her of a Roman emperor— or at least, the slick, powder-white bust of one.

"Amma, dear," he soothed, "You can't worry too much, now. Pearl is a smart woman-- and I'm not saying that because she's our daughter. She's got a unique angle of looking at things. It'll serve her well in her journeys."

Amma opened the silver birdcage and reached into her pocket, popping an almond into the green parrot's mouth. He squawked his approval.

"I know, but she's a bit...immature. I hope we haven't coddled her too much."

Professor Solstice gazed out the bay window, losing himself within the blue-black sky and glittering stars.

"I wouldn't say that. We were the ones who encouraged the journalism thing. Without that, she'd be struggling to tell people's futures with candle wax."

"I still think she's a talented carromancer."

"She is," agreed the Professor, "Witchcraft is a fine hobby. But she prefers writing, and who am I to argue with that? I love history, and now I teach it for a living!"

Amma turned to the living-room mirror and began applying eye makeup. She pulled at her eyes like they were elastic, lining their soft inner rims with sleek black pencil. She opened a square palette, running a gold shadow over her eyelids. She unscrewed a tube of mascara, flicking the black substance furiously over her already-lustrous lashes.

"She still feels like my little girl," she said, examining the gap in her front teeth, "Like it was just yesterday that I walked her to school. That I sang her to sleep. To think of her as a lady is— there's nothing more baffling."

"Nothing more baffling," squawked Rudy.

The Professor frowned at the bird, but held Amma close. Her breathing slowed. She always loved his bear hugs, so much so that he wondered if her good, rich cooking was to purposely fatten him up.

"I understand," he murmured, "But we need to let go. If you hear anything from your mother, great. If not, we'll wait until Pearl gets back."

"Maman is very old-fashioned. Too old-fashioned."

"Blame the elf lifespan; not the elf."

Amma nodded. She had given birth at an age most humans would have fainted at.

"I know, I know." She rubbed a crystal for comfort. "And Maman's half, so I guess a full-blood like Grandmama must have shit her diapers on a dinosaur."

"Pearl's a journalist, remember? And the Prince of Japan is getting married to the Thai Princess. She might be getting the inside scoop for Tatler."

Amma laughed. She loved how her husband used goofy, outdated terms.

"Scoop," she chirped, "It's never just a scoop for her."

"Or your mother."

"I know! She's a bit...worrying, how curious she is. Which is why I can't stand not hearing from either of them. I know this is because Maman was born way back in the 1890s, but can't she at least call?"

"I understand, but nothing bad's happened. Besides, most homes didn't have telephones until 1948."

Amma chuckled coolly.

"Thanks, Professor."

Professor Solstice smiled and walked to the birdcage. Rudy flapped his wings excitedly, like a toddler trying to swim.

"Thanks, Professor!" he repeated, "Most homes didn't have telephones until 1948!"

"How helpful," snorted Professor Solstice, "These almonds might be serving Rudy's memory a little too well."

"That reminds me...are you all right with Pearl taking him?"

"Taking him when?"

"When we...you know."

She dragged a finger across her throat. The Professor glanced at the bird, still amazing that the little green chatterbox would outlive them.

"Well, I...! I don't see why not."

"Yes, but if she insists on gallivanting across the globe, who's going to take care of him? You remember what happened when we went to Newfoundland. He's too fussy with strangers."

"Fussy with strangers!" barked Rudy.

"I'm sure she'll settle down-- she always does. You know how she is-- getting obsessed with running across the world, then spending a month in bed with tea and a good book."

"Or TV show," Amma interjected, "She pretends to read sometimes and watches old shows. Besides, she didn't join the Old Hollywood Trivia Team for nothing!"

"How could I forget," chuckled Professor Solstice, "Movie night always turned into a history class."

"I wonder who she got that from," giggled Amma, stroking his cheek.

Professor Solstice blushed. After all these years, he still couldn't get over how affectionate she was. She had to find him sexy-- if not sexier --now that he was older and well-padded. Years ago, he'd been considered a heartthrob, with his chiseled features and compact, muscular frame. But it seemed that Amma preferred him with jowls and meat on the bones-- to send her cavewoman nerves a-firing. She was more beautiful now, too, he thought, stroking her face back, As the soft belly balanced her ample curves, the light-gray roots brightened her black hair and emphasized the warmth of those soft, soft brown eyes....

"I hope Pearl finds a love like ours," he said, "She's always been a romantic, you know. Blame those movies if you want, but I think she's just sweet and sensitive...like you."

"Not too much either way, honey," Amma replied, fingering a smooth, bright opal, "She has a good head on her shoulders, but...how do I say it...no common sense?"

"No common sense!" shouted Rudy.

The Professor raised an eyebrow and waved a finger at Rudy, like he was disciplining an unruly child.

"If you don't watch it, young man," he snapped, "I'm putting the blanket over your cage."

Rudy froze. He blinked his beady eyes, absorbing the sharp tone of his owner's voice.

"Do you mind if I call Zell?" Amma asked, twisting her ring, "He's always wanted to visit Japan anyway, and he just got laid off from the factory...."

"Zell?!" The Professor's eyebrows shot up at the mention of his beefy, hairy younger brother. "Oh, no. We're not calling him. Always strutting around, like he's some kind of action hero."

"Why not? He's more intimidating than us. If Pearl's in a bad situation, he can fend them off."

"Well, you're right about that."

"Wait...I forgot, he's already in Japan!" Amma grinned and clasped her hands together. "Oh, pumpkin, this is perfect!"

"Good," Professor Solstice chuckled, turning back to his wife, "Now, where were we?"

"Hoping for Pearl. Hoping she enjoys herself in Japan, and maybe finds a man."

"Not any man, a good one. And just like that story by Flannery O'Connor...."

Rudy puffed out his chest triumphantly and squawked:

"A Good Man is Hard to Find!"

XXX

What is an elf?

The humans say we are as supernatural as giants or fairies— though we lack the giants' strength and the fairies' beauty. They say we are small and hard to see, though they accept our presence as reality. They say we have magical powers and primitive lives and pointy ears and yet…we are made for them. Whether we help or hurt them is up to us. (And them— if they behave accordingly.)

Along with humans, we (and the fairies) are descended from a common, prehistoric humanoid ancestors-- known affectionately as the Ice-Flower People. (Modern Giants are descended from the fur-clad, hermaphroditic ice-cave warriors and mammoth tamers, Amathzuli Giants, remembered for their massive muscles and thin black tattoos. Unlike Ice-Flower People, they are mummified in human museums.)They lived in caves across the world, wore dried, light-green grass clothing, and received the name due to their small, delicate bodies-- as well as their worship of flowers-- which they stuffed into the mouths of their deceased. (So they would be fed and have good dreams in the afterlife, according to time-travel studies with Chronoliqueur.) They had pointed ears (to hear the nature sing), tiny, transparent fly-like wings, bald heads, and brittle bones. The most recent surviving evidence of their existence are their bright green paintings-- brushed gently across cracked cavern walls. Why the humans deny their roots or their relation to us-- we will never know.

We are connected with nature. So connected to our respective elements, in fact, that a cave-elf is unable to procreate with a fire-elf, etc. We are proud of our ancestors, to the point that we overlook Kringmy-Errin, their hunter-gatherer feast days of BugBeef. We enjoy meatless food and drink, such as juniper coffee, bird-egg bread, and centipede eggs mixed with hazelbell berries. We love getting drunk on fermented juniper juice and dancing until early morning hours. Our ancestors worked hard to gather and farm and were often devoured by pterodactyls and Lorafge, the carnivorous giant centipede— so now we live it up!

Yet they also neglect to admit that we live longer than them and our women can bear children in old age. We live in nature and are practically connected, though we are easily distracted by shiny things. And sweet things— such as the Opthyst (acorn-apple pudding) served at an earth-elf wedding.

The red-skinned fire-elves are the smallest of us, followed by the slender water-elves, then into the stocky earth and cave-elves. Humans can recognize us by size rather than element. Such as "That's the big elf! That's the little one with red skin! Gra bii, gra bii." [Et cetera, et cetera]

Even part-elves can learn magic if they wish. We know them by the light in their eyes and point in their ears. They approach life with a child's mind and old woman's heart. They glow softly in the right light, and their blood smells of raspberries. They are not perfect, but when they attempt something— it is either so good or bad, it nestles deep into your soul and sleeps there for a while.

There is great difference between a human, and a human who is part-elf.

—The Ko'Trin Island Elf Heritage Association handbook, edited by Lady Coralis of the Water-Elves, translated by Bathilde Beraude. (published upon group's formation in 1656 A.D., but not translated until later.)

Pearl didn't mind showing up today. She liked Hajime's teaching style, but she wanted it to wait. She craved a man's big arms wrapped around her body, keeping her safe and warm from the painful necessities of life. She craved to be doted on, to be spoiled with more snacks and shows. She craved the comforts of endless money and a big fluffy bed. Her eyes stung with tears as she recalled the Prince's smile and the gentle, yet flirtatious way he spoke to her, a way she hadn't heard in years. But she also recalled the warmth and kindness Tadashi showed her that first day-- and how cuddly he looked. She recalled that last night she had beautiful dreams of creating shimmering new colors and shapes in clear pools of water. Her heart pounded at the memory of Grandma Bathilde's soft, worried face when she "rescued" her from the Palace. The softness and warmth of those plump old hands. The tremor in her voice. I want her love, too, Pearl thought, I can want many loves at once, can't I? It's so hard to conserve energy from one to the next- no matter how different they are. She rolled over, flicked on the light, and tried to distract herself with Carromancy: A Complete Guide by Guinevere Gerard. Her eyes squinted in the harsh light, and her stomach rolled with nausea. But doesn't Grandma know-- I'm not a kid anymore? And certainly not her little lamb....That morning, she dragged herself out of bed, her brain pulsing with men and magic.

The lesson went well for the first few minutes. Hajime smiled, revealing dimples and soft creases around his eyes.

"Good. Now drop one more stone."

Pearl dropped the rose quartz into the pond. It sank slowly to the bottom, leaving several wide, pulsing ripples in the still water. Before she could react, a long, slender shadow rose and swirled into a serpentine shape. She blinked. It almost reminded her of a dragon, but there was no face-- no shiny scales or fiery breath, but four stubby legs tipped by three bony, gnarled toes. Sharp ivory claws jutted out, making Pearl's mouth drop open.

"Oh my God," she gasped, "Hajime, what is that thing?"

The old wizard chuckled and patted her shoulder.

"A dream-serpent," he said, "Your energy-- good and bad. Since you created it, you can also destroy it. Go on. Try it."

"But it's so...strange. And so interesting, I don't want to destroy it."

"Then go against your instinct. It's something all magical people learn to do."

Pearl considered this. She figured this earlier, with the Prince, but to destroy something of your own creation felt downright cruel. She felt her cheeks burn bright-red as she lifted and spread her fingers.

"What spell do I use again?" she asked.

"You have it written down, don't you?"

Pearl pursed her lips as she searched.

"Shit! I forgot my Book of Shadows."

"You've hardly touched it," Hajime pointed out, "The dust must be collecting."

Pearl closed her eyes, recalling the Retrieval Incantation. It had been a few years since Grandma Bathilde wrapped her fat baby hand around hers, guiding her to the shape the letters with a violet-ink pen:

"Being of shadow and light,

You've had your day; now it's time for night!

Curl into eternal sleep,

As my mind sings, and my heart weeps."

The serpent hissed softly, making Pearl's chest twinge in pain. It was a faint, high sound, like a flame withering into a wisp. The slim, shadowy body drifted into long streams of smoke. Pearl exhaled, and they reacted to her breath-- fading into dark flecks of dust, carried by the cool breeze.

"How did that feel?" asked Hajime.

Pearl scratched her cheek. She wasn't sure how to answer this without disappointing him.

"Well, to be honest...it was sad. I didn't want to do it."

"But, once you did it, how was it?"

Pearl frowned. He was combing her mind for a specific answer; something in her didn't want to give it, like a crab clutching a glossy shell in its claw.

"It was...calming. But only because I remember Grandma helping me write that. I really didn't want to kill that thing."

"Ah! It was hardly alive."

"But I made it. Why would I want to kill something I made?"

"What if you didn't make it, Miss Pearl? What if it came from...me?"

Pearl shook her head.

"I guess I...guess we...am I even strong enough?"

"Pardon me?"

"I'm not strong enough. Sorry. I just can't do this. I'm soft. I'm spoiled. I'm not even technically a witch! How can you teach me like this?!"

Hajime adjusted his glasses. He sighed, tempted to give her a snarky, yet rational, tongue-lashing-- but his heart wasn't up to the task.

"I get myself into these situations," Pearl sighed, "And I suppose...curiosity has destroyed me, but you know what? I want it to destroy me. I just didn't think it would...destroy me this way, with a Prince, on so high a scale!"

"Well, now, he's human too."

"Right. But different. But on another level that I could never become. A level I...want to be as a witch, a person, but it's impossible!"

"All right. Let's move onto the next lesson."

"Let me finish!" Pearl cried, lifting a hand, "I-I...all I want is...is...his love!"

"Don't you think, you're just the slightest bit...jealous of him?"

"What?"

"I mean, from all you've listed. It sounds like you're jealous and want what he has-- and the perk of a man as desirable as himself."

"I...uh...well...."

"What if I told you there's something better?"

"Impossible!" Pearl gasped.

"And that serpent you were so sad to destroy...did you even consider its life? Really consider it? Prior to its death?"

"I-I suppose not. It was just kinda there."

"Just there, living."

"I guess, but I never think of living until I have to."

"I see. We might need to work on that."

"But, Hajime...!"

Hajime scowled and gripped her roughly by the wrist.

"Do you still want your grandmother's gift, or not?"

"I...I have no choice."

"I wish you would give me a straight answer."

"Well...I'm not sure. I didn't, and I still don't, but I want to make her happy...."

"So?"

"So I still don't want it."

Hajime sighed.

"Your comfort is more valuable than your grandmother's life. Such straight priorities."

"But...!"

He curved his fingers upward, beckoning her toward the woods. She followed him. Everything magical seems to happen in the forest, shrouded in dark green trees, she thought. She stopped a few times-- her eyes transfixed on the fragile sunlight glittering between craggy brown branches.

"Here we are," Hajime breathed, breaking her out of her reverie, "I-I don't mean to alarm you, but...Bathilde!"

Grandma Bathilde was crumpled in a trembling heap on the itchy grass. collapsed to her knees, spreading plump, emerald-ringed fingers across the turquoise kimono Pearl froze. Her face was no longer round and rosy, but puffy and paper-white. Black shadows seeped under her large brown eyes. She hadn't even bothered with glasses; the whites of her eyes were pink. Red blood trickled from her cracked lips to her chin, splashing the warm earth. What disease is this? Pearl thought, heart pounding, Something only elves get? Or will I...?

"Grandma!" Pearl cried, rushing over to her, "Are you...are you...? Let's lay you down."

Bathilde lifted a trembling hand in protest.

"I-I'm not going to be here much longer," she gasped, "I don't think I'll die tonight, but I need to give...." She inhaled sharply, licked her lips. "You possibly the most...important piece of power."

"M-My God," muttered Pearl.

Bathilde's lips twitched into a weak smile. She dabbed her mouth with a silky emerald handkerchief.

"You may follow any dream," the witch rasped, "But you must take this. Don't let a good thing rot, ma bichette."

"How can it rot if we remember it?"

"You refuse?"

"No, but I don't think a power or talent ever really rots...it just finds a new way to bloom."

Bathilde frowned.

"When you receive this, you will regret saying that."

Pearl nodded, thinking, We'll see about that!

Grandma Bathilde lifted her hands, extending them so the palms face upward. Pearl knelt down and examined them, tempted to look for a future in the lines, but the idea of Bathilde seeing much of a future was unlikely now. Her eyes stung with tears.

"I...love you, Grandma."

Pearl didn't know why she said this. She felt it in her heart, blazing with each beat, but to say it felt strange...as if she was talking to a fading light. Bathilde coughed more blood into her handkerchief. Pearl wiped her eyes and waited for her to continue.

"Pearl Bonita Solstice," whispered Bathilde, turning her hands, "With the heart and soul aligned, with no malice in my mind, I give thee the gift of Retrieval! The ability to retrieve all essences of man into weapon!"

Before Pearl could react, emerald beams shot out of the old witch's red-clawed stubby fingers. Pearl felt them sizzle into her skin, squirming and wriggling like a thousand leeches in her bones. A sour taste swirled inside of her mouth. Sweat formed at the nape of her neck, slowly cascading down each bump of her spine. She squeezed her eyes shut. She felt like a fossil on display; she felt her body deflating and withering before the gaze of bright, deathless eyes....

"Aaaahhhh!"

Pearl fell forward, her limbs sprawling across the lush grass. Hajime leapt back in shock. He shot Bathilde a look, lifting one eyebrow.

"Don't you think," he said, "The girl's felt enough?"

"Wait. I'm almost done, ma bichette...."

Grandma Bathilde rose to her feet, the emerald beams still searing into her granddaughter's skin. She tiptoed slowly, as if she was walking past a sleeping lion. The silky handkerchief rustled in one hand and flew to her mouth as she unleashed a long, gurgling cough.

Hajime rushed over, his hands flailing about wildly.

"Bathilde, dear, you need to rest! This isn't safe for you or Pearl!"

"Hush, hush. I know what I'm doing."

Bathilde lifted the handkerchief, pressing the blood-splotched side into the back of Pearl's neck. Hajime removed his glasses and wiped them off. Was this really happening?!

"There," Bathilde beamed, "Now she is a Sorciere Du Sang."

Hajime raised a bushy brow and pressed a hand to his chin.

"A witch of the blood?"

Bathilde nodded gravely, but a tear dripped down her plump cheek.

"Goddess forgive me if this is foolish," she said, "But Pearl is stronger than we've given her credit for. She can handle more power. She can handle more challenges. She can handle such a gift-- I know she can."

"And it will keep her busy," Hajime sighed, "And away from stupid men."

Bathilde pressed her lips together firmly and nodded again.

"That wasn't my first thought, but I see you regard her as your granddaughter, too."

Hajime chuckled.

"Well, I try. She hasn't warmed up to the idea herself."

"Give her a chance. Goddess knows what this gift will do."

She took a few steps back, and Hajime did the same. He didn't know why, but he felt the sanctity of the blood ritual burrow deep under his skin.

"We should leave her," Hajime said, "For now. Let her wake up and discover this on her own."

"Leave her?!" gasped Bathilde, "But why?"

"She's a grown woman. She has to learn something by herself."

"Yes, but, ma bichette-- I've left her my blood!"

"Then we shouldn't leave her-- just stand back a bit...and watch."

Bathilde bent forward, kissing Hajime's cheek. He blushed.

"I-I can never thank you enough," she whispered, "For helping me grow-- and Pearl."

The old wizard's eyes glistened with tears.

"I'm afraid you're horribly misguided...in the best sort of way."

He motioned toward Pearl. The woman lay still, yet her breathing synced with the smooth, regular pulse of the earth.