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“But after a
few years, her personality started to change. It went rotten, like
fruit. Her sweetness went vile. She became someone I dreaded to
associate with.

“It’s
said that those of us with the power to command the will of others
eventually become... insensitive. Narcissistic. Sometimes even
sadistic. I’ve done my best to stave off this tendency, myself,
but Mirabel was not so vigilant.” His mouth flattened. “She
has always been—how can I put this politely?—a scientific
mind, driven to... experimentation.

“She was
never satisfied with the limited range of abilities she was able to
manifest. She was constantly devising ways to expand her powers. She
was especially interested in using the written word as a vehicle for
manifested compulsion.”

I frowned,
confused.

“Mind
control, in other words.”

“Ah.”

He looked down
into the deeper of the two pools. “Some time after the American
Civil War, she became involved with a psychologist at a college near
the Warden enclave where we were staying. She had no interest in him,
really; she only wanted access to adult test subjects for her
research.

“When the
Wardens found out, they were furious. At that time they were still
bothered by such blatant violations of the Consensus. They implored
me to put an end to it or to tell her to leave.

“I tried
asking her to stop, then... well, I compelled her to. I thought it
would be better than abandonment.

“For years I
thought I’d been successful. The compulsion seemed to reverse
some of the changes in her personality and behavior. I was convinced
she’d turned her genius to nobler pursuits.” He shakes
his head. “Of course, I was wrong.

“I later
discovered she was in the habit of visiting a local orphanage on a
regular basis—first twice, maybe three times a month, then
eventually up to five times a week.

“I was
foolish, but not foolish enough to trust that her motives were pure.
So one night, I disguised myself and followed her there.

“I didn’t
need to observe her for long to understand what she was doing. She
was altering the primers the children used in their lessons.
Apparently my orders had not been sufficiently restrictive, or
perhaps she’d never been under my control to begin with.

“I was so
ashamed of my naiveté, my inability to prevent this lapse,
that I confronted her immediately and told her never to return to the
enclave.

“That was
the year 1883—one decade before the year I lost.

“The Wardens
were glad to see her gone. Relieved. So when I finally came to my
senses after Mnemosyne’s beheading, only to discover that
Mirabel had suddenly become intimately acquainted with the President
of the Watchers of the Americas—well, that was the first sign
that something significant had happened in the time I’d lost,
something that they were keeping from me.”

“Wait,”
I said, interrupting Julian. “The President?”

“The
Watchers are a true democracy,” Julian said. “In fact, in
that very year, they underwent a regime change. A friend of
mine—Desmond Schuster, Haruko’s uncle—was voted out
of office.

“In any
case, I was surprised—and unnerved—when the Wardens
wanted me to take over our House. But when I learned that the next
candidate in line was Mirabel, I accepted immediately. They set me up
here, right next to the remains of the only major outpost Mnemosyne
had bothered to establish in North America, perhaps hoping that by
stuffing my pockets with cash they could pacify me, and by sending me
into these backwoods they could collapse my sphere of influence. I
cooperated with them. I wasn’t sure what else I could do.

“For years I
watched Mirabel’s descent into madness from afar, at a loss for
how I might intervene. The Wardens seemed determined to ignore her
sociopathic behavior—whether because they feared incurring her
wrath, or because they had come to find her talents useful, I can’t
say. They couldn’t possibly have been blind to how her
experiments progressed—how she learned to adapt her
manifestations to accommodate each new form of mass media as it was
invented. That kind of innovation doesn’t happen by accident.
People paid with their minds and souls for the techniques she
created.

“And yet,
even though they must know the full nature of her depravity—perhaps
even more intimately than I do—to this day they still allow her
free reign over the collective human consciousness of the Americas.
She has become indispensable to them; she is at liberty to do
whatever she pleases, so long as she remains a faithful cog in their
machine.”

I stood up slowly,
looking at Julian askance. “I understand that Mirabel is a
problem, but what about—what about your other... children?
Markus and the others?”

“Ah. Of
course. Allow me to explain.

“The only
reason I initiated the ten that came after Mirabel was in the hope
that one of them might inherit the ability to restore memories.
Although I can’t do it myself, these things sometimes skip
generations, so to speak. Of course, none of this would be necessary
if anyone in our family would be willing to help me, but Mnemosyne
compelled the elders among them not to, and, in turn, they’ve
compelled their modern heirs as well.

“Every
single one of my ten heirs came out tainted, their souls perverted by
the same essential flaw I see in Mirabel. The best of them only took
their violent tendencies out on me. The others... I cannot—I
will not tell you how many of the people in my employ suffered at
their hands.” He chewed on a cuticle. “It’s one
thing to drink the blood of someone who’s agreed to provide for
you in a written contract. Someone you’re paying. This is not
the kind of insult I am speaking of. I do not think you want me to
bear witness to the details.

“At first I
imagined that I could rehabilitate my errant children, that I could
use my abilities to compel them towards moral neutrality, if not
moral righteousness. My previous experience with Mirabel should have
shown me otherwise, but...” He shook his head. “Any
success I made in those attempts was short-lived. Eventually they
would revert to their original state—in some cases, they ended
up worse for my effort.

“Markus was
the last of the ten. In his mortal life, he’d been an activist
for the cause of nuclear disarmament. I hoped that by initiating
someone on the merit of their strong moral character, I could somehow
avoid transferring to them the taint inherent in my blood.

“At first I
thought my plan had succeeded. His personality seemed to remain
stable over the three years he spent here at the estate. He was
perfectly civil to my staff; he didn’t display any aggression
towards me or towards Aya. He was not a particularly apt pupil, it
seemed; he showed difficulty producing even the most basic
manifestations, but after all my other initiates had put me through,
I was willing to overlook his shortcomings.

“However,
even in Markus, I was eventually confronted with a critical and
unforgivable flaw,” he said, his voice growing thin. “I
take my guardianship of Aya very seriously, you see. I notice
variations in her behavior that others would certainly overlook.
Perhaps six months after Markus’ initiation, she began acting
oddly.

“At first,
she was simply less talkative than she’d been for years, less
cheerful. Her demeanor slowly reverted back to what it had been when
the Wardens first brought her here. She began avoiding me whenever
possible. The few times I saw the two of them together, I sensed
profound injury behind her eyes.

“I
confronted her about her strange behavior, but she wouldn’t
speak to me about it. I—I regret that I had to force her to
tell me the truth, but that was the depth of the shame he’d
inflicted on her. He had violated her physically, then used the
powers he’d inherited from me to compel her to silence.”
He inhaled sharply through his nose. “It turns out he had
learned more from our lessons than I’d realized.”

We were both
silent for a long moment.

“I wanted
her to kill him,” he eventually continued. “I foolishly
thought it would help her recover. I compelled him to submit to her,
thinking this would allow her to avenge herself, but all she did was
leave him for the sun. He disappeared that day. We have never seen
nor heard of him since.”

I shivered.

“I have come
to the conclusion that any initiates of my blood will be destined to
this same dark fate,” Julian said. “Eleven times out of
eleven, the results have been the same. It’s useless to
consider any further attempts.”

I stood up. “Wait,
so... what are you saying?”

He raised an
eyebrow. “What do you mean? Isn’t it clear?”

“Am I
supposed to expect the same thing to happen to me?”

“Dear God,
no.” He laughed a little. “Adam, have I ever called you
my son?”

I thought back and
realized he hadn’t.

“When I
called Mnemosyne ‘our mother’, I wasn’t saying it
in a figurative sense. You may be my ward, and you are certainly my
responsibility, but it’s her blood that flows through your
veins, not mine.”

I brought a hand
to my mouth.

“You must
not tell anyone that you are hers,” he continued. “If the
Wardens find out, they’ll kill you for it. I’m sure the
disparity in our strains has already garnered their attention.”

Something in his
tone struck me as self-serving. “Right. I get it.”

“Is
something wrong?”

“How can I
be sure that you’re telling me the truth about all—about
any of this?”

He sighed. “Of
course. I can no longer ask you to trust my word. I’ve
forfeited that right.”

“So... what
now?”

“If you
wish, I would be willing to lower the wards on my mind, and you can
find out for yourself whether or not I am being truthful.”

I pinched my lower
lip, considering. It made me nervous.

“No,”
I said. “That’s not necessary.”

He shrugged. “In
that case, seeing that you are safe, I suppose I should return her to
her place,” he said. “There’s no reason for us to
stay out here, and I’d like to get a change of clothing.”
He walked back to the tomb and picked up Mnemosyne’s head in
both hands. He carried her to the edge of the deep pool and stooped
down as if to dive in again. The moonlight glittered on her wet
cheekbones. I felt a pang of fascination, drawn to the head for
reasons I couldn’t put into words.

“Wait,”
I said.

“What is
it?”

“Are you
going to put her—“ her?—“in there?” I
didn’t want him to. “Why not put her in the tomb?”

“I’m
fairly certain she would heal herself and escape, were I to do that,”
he said, standing.

I walked over to
his side. I wanted to look at the head, to touch it, to hold her.

“Adam?”
Julian looked at me through the corner of his eye, frowning.

“Sorry, I’m
just... curious. You were going to ask her questions? But she’s...”
I trailed off, listening. In the back of my mind, I thought I could
hear a voice coming from the head, but I couldn’t make out the
words.

“A
disembodied head? Yes, well, nevertheless, she can hear us. It’s
possible she may even choose to respond. This isn’t the first
time I’ve sought her counsel.”

“But why
would she be willing to help you? You’re the one who beheaded
her.”

“She’s
helped me in the past.” He shrugged. “Besides, who knows
whether or not I was actually the one who attacked her? Who knows if
I did anything at all? It could all be an elaborate conspiracy.”
He stooped down and collected the shroud.

Mnemosyne
continued to speak, her voice a tickling whisper right at the base of
my skull. I strained my ears to listen, but I couldn’t
understand what she was saying. Julian draped the shroud over her
head and moved back towards the water.

“Hold on,”
I said, frantic. The voice from the head was getting louder, but it
was still muffled, as if I were hearing it through layers of cotton.
I felt a pure and potent compulsion to grab the head from Julian, to
bring her lips to my ear.

“What now?”

“Don’t
you get it?” I said. “Julian, she knows.”

“She knows
what?”