“Which leads us to now. And to you. Both of you. Eighteen years ago, we were living in Greece. That’s where the Ephors keep the Oracle, Paladin, and Mage. We’d had the same Oracle for . . . oh, years. Since before I was called. And when she died, she gave us one last prophecy. That the next Oracle born would be a boy. So they ordered Christopher to kill him. You,” she said to David.

I took a sip of my lemonade. The ice had melted, and it tasted bitter now, but my mouth was so dry I didn’t care.

“When an Oracle dies, she always gives the place and time where the new one will be born. Christopher and I were sent to get you.”

For the first time, shame washed over Saylor’s face. “Alchemy.” She fumbled in her pocket, bringing out a small blue jar of lip balm. “This is a salve. A potion that lets the Mage do minor mind-control spells. I compelled your mother to hand you to me. She did it with a smile.”

I thought the back of the chair might crack under David’s hands, but he didn’t say anything.

“We were halfway back to Greece when I realized I couldn’t do it,” Saylor continued, tears in her voice. “Christopher couldn’t, either. We’d made a vow to protect the Oracle, no matter what. And so we . . . we stole you.”

She stood up again, brushing at her slacks. “Mages don’t have particularly powerful magic, so we try to steal it whenever we can find it. Back in the 1800s, there was a witch who lived in this town. I don’t know why, but for whatever reason, she threw up wards all over the place. Makes it hard for anyone to get in if they mean to do harm. So it seemed like the perfect hiding spot.”

Saylor busied herself with some of the knickknacks on the sideboard, picking up a porcelain shepherdess and putting it down beside a Swarovski hedgehog. “And of course, I made sure I got on every committee I could, the more excuse to put up extra protection symbols. I even put one on you,” she said, pointing to David’s arm. Startled, he pushed up the sleeve of his T-shirt, and sure enough, there was a tiny scar on his arm, almost like a birthmark, in that same shape of a figure eight on its side.

“But then,” Saylor said, “I guess you figured that out. Still, they worked. Oh, the first year, there was a man the Ephors sent who got through, but Christopher sorted that out, and I put up that ugly statue in the park. After that, there were no more incidents until recently.”

My brain actually ached. I didn’t know that was possible.