He let go of the scroll and leaned back, lacing his long fingers. The scroll remained open even though every law of physics dictated that it should snap back into a roll. Greg forgot about physics sometimes.

“In that case, you’re aware of the age penalties.”

It wasn’t a question, but I answered it anyway. “Yes.”

He sighed. It was a small movement, only noticeable to those who knew him well. I could tell by the way he sat, very still, craning his neck slightly, that he had guessed at my decision.

“I wish you would reconsider,” he said.

“I don’t think so.” For a moment I could see the frustration in his eyes. We both knew what was left unsaid: the Order promised protection, and protection to someone of my lineage was paramount.

“Can I ask why?” he said.

“It’s not for me, Greg. I can’t deal with hierarchy.”

For him the Order was a place of refuge and security, a place of power. Its members committed themselves to the values of the Order completely, serving with such dedication that the organization itself no longer seemed a gathering of individuals, but an entity in itself, thinking, rationalizing, and incredibly powerful. Greg embraced it and it nurtured him. I fought it and almost lost.

“Every moment I spent there, I felt as if there was less of me,” I said. “As if I was shrinking. Dwindling away. I had to get out and I won’t go back.”

Greg looked at me, his dark eyes terribly sad. In this dim light, in my small kitchen, his beauty was startling. In some perverse way I was happy that my stubbornness forced him to visit and now he sat in a chair less than a foot away, like an ageless elven prince, elegant and sorrowful. God, how much I hated myself for this little girl fantasy.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I said.

He blinked, startled by my formality and then rose smoothly. “Of course. Thank you for the coffee.”

I saw him to the door. The outside had turned dark, and the bright light of the moon enameled the grass on my lawn with silver. By the porch, white Rose of Sharon flowers glowed against the shrubs like a scattering of stars.

I watched Greg descend down the three concrete steps into the yard.

“Greg?”

“Yes?” He turned. His magic flared about him like a mantle.

“Nothing.” I closed the door.

My last memory of him, poised against the moonlight-drenched lawn and clothed in his magic.

Oh, God.

I cradled myself with my arms, wanting to cry. The tears would not come. My mouth had gone dry. My last link to my family severed. Nobody was left. I had no mother, no father, and now no Greg. I clenched my teeth and went to pack.

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2