“Jazzy!”
Michael burst into the room, ignoring everyone else. He could feel her pulling at him even before she had called him. It was painful, the way she pulled at him, never before had he felt such a pull, not from any of the Cassandrians. All of that stopped irritating him when he saw her, his Jessica, lying flat on her back, twisting in the middle of her transformation.
“How long has she been like this?” he demanded, glancing at the man who was kneeling at her side.
“Since she called you.”
Michael glanced at him and around the room, seeing the faces of the men and women he knew but never seen. Aeron was the one near Jessica. Delia and Tiffany, two witches of lesser power, standing by each other, the youngest. Mark and Michaela.
“Give her space, she needs to find her own way back,” Michael instructed.
“Who is this guy?” Delia demanded, but her father waved her to silence.
“Only the Loremaster knows what happens when the Diviner’s Sight is passed on,” Mark declared.
“No Loremaster since before Morgan has seen that passage of power,” Michaela pointed out.
“Lore isn’t enough,” Aeron said, “not for something like this. What I know I learned, what is happening now is beyond my knowing.”
“And why is he – ” Delia started.
“Will you shut up?” Michael demanded impatiently, kneeling to touch Jessica’s face.
She stopped writhing instantly, and opened her eyes. They were colourless now, the deep blues were gone, bleached pale.
“Mic’hael,” she breathed, her voice filled with a new timbre, with power, “I See.”
When she said his name she said it the way it was meant to be spoken. She knew then, the first door had been opened. She would open the others soon.
“Mic’hael, I Know.”
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