I stared at her and saw the truth in her eyes, and anger flared within me. “You are my mother!” I hissed. “You are the mother who abandoned me, who left a defenseless baby exposed to the elements!”

The woman nodded, and two tears trickled down her cheeks. “I had no choice, child. Your father was dead, and I already had six daughters whom I could barely feed. I knew of the couple who adopted you. They wanted another child, so I placed you where they would find you. I knew they would put a roof over your head and fill your belly. I loved you, child. I loved you with all my heart, and it tore me apart to leave you like that. But it had to be done, for all our sakes.”

I could understand why she’d done it, but it still hurt. Of course, she couldn’t have known that the man she chose to be my foster father would turn out to be violent.

She buried her face in her hands; her whole body was trembling with emotion.

There were tears running down my own cheeks. “So why seek me out now? Why, after all these years?”

“Because I am dying, child.” She looked straight at me again. “Something is eating me from within. It is a disease that twists my stomach and withers my skin. Within weeks I will be dead. So, while I can still walk, I have come to tell you what you are.”

“What do you mean?” I cried, frightened by her words. Was she really my mother, or some madwoman?

“The blood of the Samhadre runs through the veins of our family. In most it is weak or nonexistent, but in a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter it first flares up around the time of her thirteenth birthday. I am such a daughter—and so, my daughter, are you. Your foster mother named you Jennifer, but that is not the name I gave you, which you must not reveal to anyone.”

“Who are the Samhadre, and what name did you give me?” I demanded. I’d never heard of such a people.

“They are the Old Ones, daughter—those beings who walked the earth while humans were no better than dumb animals who sat in their own excrement. The Old Ones were powerful, wise, swift, and compassionate, but deadly. You will inherit some small part of what they were. Soon gifts will come to you. I want you to prepare your mind to receive them. Nobody told me what to expect; I thought I was going mad. I want you to accept that the gifts are real. That is the first step that will enable you to survive.”

This seemed to me like an old wives’ tale, something told before a winter fire to wide-eyed children while the shadows of the night deepened. But I was certainly intrigued; I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the face of the woman who claimed me as her daughter.