“No. I don’t remember a time when they weren’t part of my home. My memory isn’t what it used to be,” she added. “But I can remember incidents from my childhood. My mother in particular was angry—at me—because Jamal had thrown a vase across the room, shattering it. She was certain I’d done it, and she didn’t believe in Jamal. I can still remember her disappointment that I would lie to her.”

“If she took you to the Imperial College, that must have changed.”

Mrs. Erickson nodded. “With time, yes. There were too many coincidences, too many things I had heard of that had nothing to do with our family.”

“And your father?”

“I always thought, as a child, that he believed me. As an adult, I’m less certain. He wanted me to know that he loved me, that he would support me. I think he was afraid of what the ghosts meant to me, and of what it said about me.

“When I was a young child, I asked them if I had had brothers or sisters who had died.” She winced, even at the remove of decades. “They said no. But I could see Jamal. It was Jamal’s idea to prove his existence to my parents.” The grimace became a slight smile. “I’m not certain they believed a ghost existed, but his trick—to be in the room with them when I was not, and to report what they’d said or done—caused concern. In the end, my mother chose to have me tested for magical potential.”

“And you were assessed as without talent,” Sanabalis said.

She nodded. “I think my mother was disappointed. We weren’t wealthy, and she worried about my future. I was odd,” she added. “So odd. I might have made friends had I understood that, but... I was young. Children are not unkind, but they are not always accepting; I think some of the people I met felt I was lying to gain attention.

“As you can imagine, it didn’t make finding friends easier. My mother hoped that if I had talent, I might find company among the mages—mages aren’t normal to begin with.” Sanabalis raised a brow, and Mrs. Erickson actually chuckled. “Dragons would definitely not have been considered normal; I’m certain my poor mother would be beside herself with anxiety if she could see me now.”

“Perhaps not,” Helen said. “You are healthy and you have friends—I think she would be far more at peace.”

“You didn’t know my mother.”

“No. But I have known many parents in my life. I confess I did not always understand their fears; to me, they seemed largely needless or misplaced. But I am not as you are, and I did not consider the worries pointless; I considered them an element of life that a sentient building could not experience.”