“I’ve taught them both to identify thoughts that are actually prophecies, and we’re working on learning what to do about them. He knows not to mention them to anyone. He can keep the secret.”
“And if the prophecy is to save someone’s life? Some other child?”
I sighed. The sigh turned into a gasp as a contraction hit. It took me a second or two to regain my breath to respond. “I don’t know the answer, Malcolm. I have a hard time figuring out what to do with spontaneous prophecies for non-Wardens myself. You know the alternative.”
Malcolm’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t want him homeschooled. You have enough to deal with without adding that burden. And a tutor is almost as bad. He needs to learn how to get along with other kids.”
“You know all the research says kids are better socialized when they’re around adults than other kids.”
Malcolm shook his head. “I’m not worried about his socialization. He’s like a tiny adult. That makes it even more important that he understands the way ordinary people his own age behave.”
Another contraction gripped me. “I don’t want to tell you to speed,” I said through gritted teeth, “but sooner is better.”
“We’re almost there.”
We pulled up under the hospital portico, and Malcolm got out and ran inside to find someone with a wheelchair. The contractions were hard enough now I didn’t think I could make it under my own power. Men and women passed our car and glanced at me incuriously. I didn’t try to smile. It would have come out as a grimace.
Malcolm returned, trotting beside an orderly pushing a wheelchair. “All right, let’s get you inside,” the man said with a cheery smile. I nodded, unable to speak as the biggest contraction so far hit me.
The rest of the time passed in a haze of pain. I remembered my doctor saying, “No epidural, Helena, you’ll give birth before it has time to kick in,” and then a lot of moaning, probably from me. Then Malcolm was gripping my hand and telling me to push, and I pushed, once, twice, and on the third time felt my belly go slack as the baby slipped out of me. I gasped with relief. Malcolm kissed my forehead. “She’s perfect,” he said.
He left me to help bathe her, and soon they brought her to me and tucked her into my arms. “Genevieve,” I whispered. “Little Jenny.”
She opened her eyes and looked at me. They were the same brownish-blue as my own. It breeds true, I thought, and cuddled her close to my heart.
Malcolm brought the boys to see their sister that evening, shortly after my mother and father stopped by. Duncan bounced until I reminded him he had to sit still if he wanted to hold her. Even so, Malcolm hovered nearby. Alastair watched everything in wide-eyed silence and held his sister gently when it was his turn. “She’s so small,” he said.
“You were even smaller than that when you were born,” I said.
“I spoke with Mother this afternoon,” Malcolm said. “She won’t be back from Vancouver for a few days, but I told her it would be all right for her to visit after that.”
“Send her lots of pictures,” I said. Sometimes it still struck me as strange that Madeleine and I weren’t at each other’s throats anymore. We would never be close, but she wasn’t my enemy.
Someone rapped on the door, and Judy poked her head inside. “We’re not intruding, are we?” she asked.
“No, come in. You didn’t bring Sophia, did you?”
Judy entered, followed by Mike. “She’s with Father,” Judy said. “I think he likes the excuse to eat fast food.”
“I don’t like Sophia,” Duncan said.
“Duncan, don’t be rude,” I warned him.
“You like Sophia,” Malcolm said, “right up until she outraces you.”
Duncan scowled. He and Judy’s daughter were the same age, and they were either going to kill each other or end up married.
Judy glanced at me for permission, then took Jenny into her arms. “She’s precious. And…she has the eyes.”
“All babies have eyes of an indeterminate color,” I said.
Judy shot me a narrow-eyed look. “You know better, though.”
“I know better.” I sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if I don’t have a duty to the world to bear as many oracles as I can.”
“You know better than that, too.” Judy’s expression went distant, and I felt like a jerk. Sophia had come along after seven miscarriages, and Judy and Mike had decided not to risk Judy’s health further. Judy refused to talk about it, and I would never push, but the look in her eyes told me everything she wouldn’t say.
“Yeah. Three is enough for me. We’re officially outnumbered.” I accepted Jenny from Judy and examined her, though I knew nothing bad had happened to her while she was away from me. The baby let out a tiny cry and waved a fist, tapping my nose and making me laugh.
“So are you taking a break?” Mike asked.
I nodded. “For a week. That’s assuming I don’t have any spontaneous revelations.”
“A week isn’t very long,” Judy said with a frown.
“That’s what I told her,” Malcolm said. “She has a weird concept of maternity leave.”
“It’s not like my calling is a burden,” I said. That wasn’t precisely true. Being an oracle meant seeing things I wished I hadn’t. But I’d never been able to explain to anyone, not Lucia, not my friends, not my husband, the swooping, beautiful feeling of a revelation unfolding inside me, even the devastating ones.
Just then, I felt it—a rush like diving into a deep pool, followed by bright images and knowledge I translated into words for the benefit of others. “Somebody tell Lucia her prey is holed up in the Bide-a-Wee Inn just outside Cardston,” I said. “Room 208.”
“He has a gun,” Duncan said. “A big gun.”
“And there’s a lady with him,” Alastair said.
Mike cleared his throat. Malcolm took out his phone and stepped into the hall. Judy said, “That never gets less disturbing.”
“I wonder if Jenny saw it too?” I said, brushing a wisp of pale hair away from her forehead. Jenny burped. “We almost never all get the same revelation at the same time, or even related ones.”
“Even so,” Judy said. “The boys—” She shut up. I could guess what she was thinking.
“They’ll learn,” I said. “They all will.”
Eight days later, I sat down to the computer in the office and opened my message program. I’d switched to this dedicated computer years before, when the Board of Neutralities and I had worked out the details of how the new oracle would work. The office gave me more privacy. Now that there were no more factions in the aftermath of the invaders’ attempted destruction of our reality, the Neutralities didn’t need to be neutral anymore, but it comforted people to know that some things, at least, hadn’t changed.
The oracle wasn’t one of those things.
I checked my personal message box first. That was overflowing with congratulations from people all over the world. Claude had sent a letter and a baby blanket rather than a message, but Abdel Fayed, custodian of the Well, had messaged to let me know he had made a wish on our behalf. That warmed my heart.