"Kira, Mommy asked you a question," Dawit said.

Kira sighed, rolling her eyes. "Je suis fatiguee, Daddy."

Dawit glanced at Jessica and saw that her face was drawn with anger. Kira knew her mother did not speak French, so she was purposely trying to annoy her. What was worse, it was as though she instinctively knew how to play on Jessica's most basic insecurities. As with past offspring, Dawit was surprised at how naturally intuitive children are, for better or worse.

"You speak English to me," Jessica said.

Kira didn't answer, her eyes on her plate, puffing her cheeks out so that she reminded Dawit of Dizzy Gillespie. This time, when Dawit looked at Jessica's face, her bottom lip was trembling.

"Kira Wolde," she began, "you better answer me, or I'm going to get one of my belts and whip your little behind. Do you hear me? Do you want a whipping?"

Jessica's hushed voice hung over the table. Neither of them ever spanked Kira, so the threat startled Dawit and made tears appear in Kira's eyes. Kira crossed her arms, her lips pursed.

"David, you better say something to your daughter," Jessica said icily.

"Babe, I think she's just-"

"And stop always making excuses for her!" Jessica shouted, glaring at him. The anger in her eyes was the potent brand that accompanied ultimatums. He fell silent. Jessica pushed her plate away and leaped up from the table, near tears herself. "I don't need this. I must be crazy to put up with this s.h.i.t."

As Jessica climbed up the stairs, Kira began to sob.

"Kira ..." Dawit began, leaning toward her. "Were you acting that way because you were disappointed Mommy was late?"

Still sobbing, Kira nodded.

"Well, you shouldn't do that. It isn't nice to try to hurt people's feelings on purpose. A little later, you need to tell Mommy you're sorry. Don't be a baby. You're almost six."

He wished he could explain to Kira that Jessica's emotions were likely to be very volatile because the face of her entire world was changing. Kira's time for illumination would come soon, but not yet. Not quite yet.

Jessica had her good days and her bad days-and this was a bad day, Dawit decided. She'd been so much stronger, so much more accepting, than he'd imagined she would be, but she was still a mortal being forced to bring changes into her life. Mortals and non-mortals shared a dislike for change. He could not rush her. The balance was very precarious now. The slightest upset might push her away, and then it would all be lost.

After dinner, Dawit left Kira in her room coloring at her desk and found Jessica curled on top of the bedspread, talking softly on the telephone. The TV was playing a 1970s sitcom about a bigoted white-haired man he remembered vaguely. Dawit had his own affinity for romantic movie cla.s.sics, a weakness Jessica teased him about, but at least he had an excuse; as he told her, until he'd returned with his phony doc.u.ments to amuse himself at Harvard fifteen years before, he had never seen a motion picture. Some of them, especially the older ones, were charming and full of innocence.

" ... Love you. *Bye," Jessica said, hanging up, and Dawit recognized the voice she used with her mother. They spoke once a day, usually at this time. Dawit had not known parents in so long that he observed with amazement how strong Jessica's family ties were. Christina, too, had constantly been in her parents' bosom. He imagined she must have gone back to them, with Rufus and Rosalie, after he left them alone.

Jessica sighed, blinking. She was staring hard at the television screen, but Dawit was certain she was not paying attention to the program. Since she didn't speak right away, he busied himself changing into his bedclothes.

Jessica would have reason enough to grieve for her family, Dawit thought sadly. Once the Searchers realized that Jessica knew about the Living Blood, Bea and Alexis would be in danger if Jessica returned to Miami. Jessica was not likely to see much of her mother and sister for many years. And she would surely live to see them both die, as she would every other mortal on the planet.

But Dawit knew he could not explain any of this now. The process of disclosure with Jessica was not yet complete.

Dawit felt liberated by the small secrets he had divulged so far, but bigger ones still weighed against his conscience. He could not tell Jessica how Khaldun claimed that he had come into possession of the Living Blood, not now nor ever. Even if Khaldun's claim was unfounded, a true woman of faith like Jessica would never consent to receive blood that might have been stolen from Christ.

And, grievably, there was much more he could not tell. The worst secrets remained unuttered. The worst must never be uttered, and so he would never be free of them.

If only he had tried to think of more clever solutions than killing those mortals. Yes, killing was always the easiest method to quell questions or dissent, but he had come to dismiss mortal lives too easily. He had told himself he'd acted to fulfill the Covenant, and yet now he had willfully broken his word to Khaldun by revealing himself to Jessica. What purpose, then, had the deaths served? Death had been a favor to dear Rosalie-he must believe that-but he had killed the others in hypocrisy. Or, as Mahmoud said, in sport? Killing had been Dawit's first lesson in life as a child wrested from his father, after all. Killing, too, was as constant as he.

But it would cease. It must. The killing must end.

And even Teacake's secret could not yet be told. Dawit could not mention Teacake's condition because he knew she would be horrified by the violence of the Ritual inflicted on her precious cat. For now, that must wait.

Besides, he knew Jessica was not yet ready to face the question of whether to accept the Life gift. Her abrupt silence in the cave after he revealed that he could perform the Ritual told him that. He should have held his tongue! Once they vanished to safety in Senegal, he would begin to convince her. How could she refuse to spend eternity as a family? And what mother could forfeit the opportunity to protect her own child from death?

He must open her mind a little at a time. But first, their reacquaintance would continue. Tonight, perhaps he would tell her about his childhood so long ago, a time he'd nearly forgotten because he thought of it so little. He would tell her about his father, who died so bravely in battle. And his mother, whose lips curled at the edges like Jessica's. The image of his mother's full lips was all that was left of her in his memory. What had her face looked like?

"I shouldn't have acted like that at the table. I guess I freak out when I can't understand what you two are saying," Jessica mumbled after a long silence.

"It wasn't just you. Kira was being a brat, Jess. Want to go for a walk after she falls asleep?"

Jessica gazed at him thoughtfully. He recognized that look; she was examining him, struggling to understand. To accept.

"You're good with her," she said.

Dawit c.o.c.ked his head dismissively. "You are too."

"No," she said, her voice unsteady. "It's not the same. I mean, I know she loves me too. But I remember how I felt about my father. To her, you're ..."

"I'm one of the parents she loves," Dawit said. "That's all."

Jessica smiled, sitting up in the bed with her legs curled beneath her, a pose that made her appear very young. Her movements were stilted, as though she were dazed. In that instant, Dawit felt profoundly sorry for her. She looked weary of mind and spirit, the way she looked much more often since the cabin. He had stripped something from her, perhaps her sense of balance. He was asking too much, too fast.

At what point, he wondered, does the bent twig snap?

"Want to go to sleep?" he asked gently.

"No," she said, lifting her shoulders and straightening her back as she gathered her breath. "Let me make up with Kira, then we'll put her to bed and go take a walk. I want to hear your bedtime stories. I want to hear all of your stories."

Then, silently, Jessica mouthed his name: Dawit.

That night, as they walked in darkness, Dawit told his wife about the light across the African skies.

33.

Kira had never been afraid of the man in the cave.

She was still wearing diapers the first time she saw him, when Daddy brought her to the cave to get away from the sun. She could barely see him then, just his shadow against the wall like a jellyfish, but she laughed. "Grannaw," she said, pointing, because she wasn't old enough to say "Grandpa" yet.

The bigger she got, the better she could see him. He looked like a real person now, with dark skin and a white moustache and a black baseball cap. He was always eating a Whopper. She was starting to think, even though she'd never tried it, that if she ever wanted to just sit on his lap or reach to touch him, she could. He was just that close.

It was magic, maybe.

Kira knew their house was in a magic place because she could hear the voices all around. Sometimes, when her window was open at night, she woke up because she heard fighting. Other times, it was laughing. On some nights, all the voices came to visit and the treetops sounded like the school playground through her window.

It didn't surprise Kira that Mommy and Daddy never heard the voices except for Night Song, who liked to play tricks with her whistles. Or that they never saw Grandpa even when they were all in the cave and she could see him perfectly clear, not just his jellyfish shadow, but the overalls and shoes he was wearing too.

There were a lot of things grownups couldn't see and hear.

Kira liked visiting Grandpa. She tried to visit at least once every day, after Daddy picked her up from school and she finished her coloring homework and went outside to play before dinner. Daddy thought she was playing with Imani, the dolly Peter bought for her-her especially favorite doll-but she wasn't. She was in the cave, talking to Grandpa.

She felt smart when she was with him. He could use any kind of words, big or small, or any language at all, and she always understood what he was saying. Sometimes they didn't have to open their mouths, not even a little, and they could talk with their heads.

How's my little Pumpkin today?

Tell me a story, Grandpa.

Before, Daddy was the best storyteller Kira knew, and Mommy was second-best. But Grandpa was the best of all, the bestest in the world. When he told stories, he could change his voice to sound like a woman, a lion, a sorcerer. He could make his eyes glow in the scary parts, and his laugh made her dance in the funny parts. When he talked, they weren't always in the cave anymore. She felt like she was in a tall tower, like Rapunzel, or flying on Aladdin's magic carpet.

"I'll tell you a story, all right," Grandpa said, moving his lips this time. "Did I ever tell you the one about Lin?"

Kira hugged Imani close to her so her dolly could listen too. She shook her head. "Who's Lin?"

"Why, Lin was a little boy who lived all the way across the ocean in China. He was a lot like you, Pumpkin. He was smart and handsome, the happiest little boy in the village. He lived with his Mommy and Daddy in a house at the edge of a forest. There were wet rice paddies all around, so the forest was the only place he could play. One day, Lin was walking in the forest looking for sweet berries to eat when he happened upon a fearsome red dragon."

Grandpa made his eyes turn bright red, and Kira laughed even though she hugged Imani tighter because it scared her.

"Well, Lin had heard enough about dragons to know that they can blow fire out of their noses, and they don't like little boys, so he was frightened and ran away. He didn't play in the forest for a long time. But one day, weeks later, he fell asleep beneath a sapling. When he woke up, he felt something warm and wet against the side of his face. He opened his eyes, and there was the dragon staring him right in the eye."

Kira gasped.

Grandpa held up his finger. "But then, Kira, a very strange thing happened. Lin realized the dragon hadn't hurt him and his eyes looked friendly, so he reached out and touched the dragon's long, scaly snout. It felt soft. The dragon smiled. From that moment on, Lin and the dragon were very best friends."

"Did he bring him over to his house?"

"The dragon was too big to go into Lin's house. You would need a palace for a dragon that big, and these were poor folk. But the two of them played in the forest, and the dragon was so big that Lin could climb on his back and sit between his wings."

"Like Princess!" Princess had been just like a horsey. Kira didn't want to think about Princess too much, or she'd cry.

"Yes. Exactly like Princess," Grandpa said, smiling a wide smile at her, just like Ms. Raymond did when she answered a question right. "And one day, Kira, while Lin was sitting on the dragon's back, the dragon spread out his ma.s.sive wings and flew straight into the sky. Lin had never seen such an incredible place. The dragon and Lin lived there forever."

"But what about his Mommy and Daddy?"

Grandpa sighed. He bit into his hamburger. Kira wondered if he'd forgotten the rest of his story, but soon he went on: "The thing is, Kira, Lin's Mommy and Daddy were wizards. And wizards have wonderful magic powers, but they can't live in the sky. That's the price they pay for their magic."

Kira wasn't sure she liked this story anymore. She wanted to hear a fun story. "Wasn't he sad without his Mommy and Daddy?"

"Sad? Well, he was at first. Of course you are. It's scary to live in a new place. But let me tell you something: Lin had his very best friend in the world with him, the dragon. And he met people he didn't even know about: his parents' parents, and their parents, and all of the parents to the end of time. And they wrapped so much love around him, he couldn't help laughing all the time. He'd never been so happy."

"And ... he didn't miss his Mommy and Daddy at all?"

"Oh, yes. He did, Kira. But whenever he thought about them, Lin just climbed on the dragon's back and they flew down to earth so he could see what they were doing. They were always busy- there's a lot of work for wizards-but they were just fine. And Lin's parents couldn't see him, but they always knew he was there. So they would smile. And then Lin would go back beyond the clouds, and he lived happily ever after."

Kira clapped her hands. That turned out to be a good story, after all! Grandpa would never tell her a bad story. Except once he made her cry because he said something mean about Daddy, but he promised her he would never say anything mean again.

I know you love your daddy, Kira. I'm not saying he's bad. But can't good people sometimes do bad things? Maybe they don't mean to, but they can do bad things even to people they love.

Daddy won't do anything bad!

Shhhhh. I'm sorry, Pumpkin. We won't talk about your daddy.

"Are there any other Lin stories?" Kira asked.

"Oh, there are plenty of Lin stories. Lin gets into mischief every now and then. But I won't have time to tell you today. Your daddy is about to come call you. He sees it's getting dark."

"Are we really leaving, Grandpa? Like you said?"

"Yes, very soon. You'll know when it's time," Grandpa said. "It will be in a rush. Even little Imani will stay home. You won't have time to bring her. But Teacake is going to come."

"What about you, Grandpa?"

"Oh, I'll be here," Grandpa said. "I can't go. Not me. But you'll see me again just a few days later. You sure will. You won't be away long at all."

Kira heard Daddy calling her from the front porch. Just like Grandpa said, Daddy was saying it was too dark outside. Grandpa was never wrong. Not even once.

Kira didn't tell Daddy and Mommy about Grandpa anymore. That one time she said something about him, they acted like she'd said some bad words. Like she was in trouble. You couldn't talk about some things with grownups.

"Before you go, Kira, tell me ..." Grandpa said, leaning over to look at her face. He was smiling. "If you saw a red dragon, would you climb on its back? Would you fly into the clouds?"

"Is it a nice dragon, like Lin's?"

"Perfectly nice."

Kira grinned and nodded yes.

34.

Lately, Jessica noticed in church, her mother was wearing pastel colors that beamed across her dark skin. Peach. Rose. Lemon yellow. For years after her father died, even for routine Sunday services, Bea only wore black in church. Then, she slowly progressed to other sober shades like rust or forest green.

Now, for some reason, a rebirth.

Jessica wondered if Bea's bright new look had anything to do with Randall Gaines, the retired optometrist who sang the male lead in the choir and always managed to glance at Bea during his slightly off-key solos. After church, they stood in the parking lot in the hot sun talking for twenty minutes at a time as the crowd melted around them and worshipers waved goodbye before running to the air-conditioned sanctuary of their cars.

Today, standing beside her mother with a polite smile as she listened to them one-up each other in conversation, Jessica was surprised to learn they'd been having regular meetings at Bea's house to discuss the Founder's Day program. They were also both on the community health committee. How cozy, Jessica thought.