Helen was waiting in the open door when Kaylin crossed the fence line. Mrs. Erickson had fallen back nervously; had she not been leading Jamal, Kaylin thought she might have remained standing there, looking at Helen’s exterior. Jamal, however, was a concern, as he had been for so much of her life.
Kaylin turned to Mrs. Erickson and offered her a hand; Mrs. Erickson missed it the first time. Helen, smiling softly, waited at the door, watching their slow progress up the walk. Only when Kaylin reached her did Helen move; she opened her arms to offer Kaylin what Kaylin thought of as the welcome home hug. It was a bit more awkward than usual because Mrs. Erickson hadn’t let go of her hand.
“Imelda,” Helen said, as she released her primary tenant, “I’m delighted to see you. Will you come in?”
Mrs. Erickson nodded. Kaylin knew her name was Imelda, but doubted she’d ever feel comfortable actually using it.
“We’ve come to ask you a question,” Kaylin said, although Helen already knew what it was.
“Yes, I see that.” Helen’s smile was soft, almost radiant. It made truth out of what Kaylin had feared were exaggerations. “Come in. Come in, all three of you.”
Jamal’s brows rose.
“No, dear,” Helen said softly, “I can’t see you. But I believe that you’re there because both Imelda and Kaylin can. Thank you for giving me this opportunity.” Although she had invited Mrs. Erickson—and Jamal—in, Jamal shook his head.
“You are worried for Imelda, and I find that commendable. Please, come in. You can look at the house, and you can decide whether or not you think this would be suitably safe for the woman you have protected for so long. I do wish I could see you,” she added, her voice almost familiar. It took a moment for Kaylin to realize why: Helen had chosen to subtly mimic Mrs. Erickson’s speech habits.
Jamal didn’t seem to notice, but that made sense: this sounded natural to him. Although he had observed other people, they didn’t speak to him; they couldn’t see him. Helen was the edge case—but Helen’s acknowledgment made clear that she respected Mrs. Erickson’s ability.
“Come in. If you are not satisfied by the end of the tour, you may offer Mrs. Erickson your advice. I am not a prison. I hope, in time, to be a friend.”
Jamal hesitantly slid one foot across the threshold. When nothing happened, he slid the other across it. Helen then led them away from the door before it closed—quietly—at their backs.
The tour that Helen gave Mrs. Erickson and Jamal was unlike the tour that Kaylin had received—but nothing was trying to kill them at the moment, and there were no pressing emergencies. Mrs. Erickson inspected the kitchen with delight, not judgment; she asked questions about storage, about cupboards, about the operation of the stove—and received answers that were a bit too technical for Kaylin’s taste. They included a history of Imperial stoves.
They entered the dining room, and Helen apologetically explained that the dining room tended to be where the cohort gathered, and the dimension of the table tended to change to accommodate the number of guests. The parlor, she explained, was similar. The cohort didn’t use it, but on occasion Kaylin had Imperial guests, and when she did, Helen arranged a sitting room worthy of those visitors. Kaylin disliked the “worthy” part, because she saw nothing wrong with the parlor into which Mrs. Erickson entered.
While they walked, Helen explained—largely for Jamal’s benefit—the defenses erected against intruders, be they mortal, Immortal, or otherwise. This impressed Jamal, who asked Mrs. Erickson about Dragons.
“Yes, even against Dragons, should they decide to enter without permission. I believe it’s the reason Kaylin felt Imelda would be safest here.”
“She thinks the Dragons will try to hurt her?” He was skeptical. Mrs. Erickson had clearly chosen not to share the events of the day that might prompt that dire interest.
“You’re quite aware that Imelda has talents that other people don’t. Those talents, used in the wrong place or the wrong way, could be deadly to the living, and hell for the dead. But you know this; you know what Azoria wanted.”
“What about Barrani?”
“She will be absolutely safe from Barrani, even the ones who live here should they lose their tempers. I do not allow my guests or my tenants to harm each other.”
“What about the spiders?”
“I believe you mean the Wevaran, and yes, I can prevent Wevaran from entering my home. I admit I’ve never had one try, but I understand how their portals work.”
“Azoria?”
In a very gentle voice, Helen said, “She is dead. And unlike you, she doesn’t have Imelda as a friend. I do not believe she will come here—or anywhere—again.”
“What are your neighbors like?”
“I am uncertain. I cannot leave my house, so I have never met them. But if you look out the window, you’ll see how far away the nearest neighbor is. Our properties are not connected in any way, and I’m sorry to say, the guard patrols are quite frequent in this part of town.”
“Why sorry?”
“This isn’t really where they’re needed, in my opinion. It’s just where the money resides.”
“Don’t get me started,” Kaylin muttered.
Jamal nodded. And then insisted on seeing the other tenants. Helen didn’t correct his use of the word, but apologetically said every tenant was entitled to privacy, and she wasn’t certain she could demand they come out to be inspected by a person they couldn’t see.
Far from upsetting Jamal, this seemed to comfort him. He did ask for information about each tenant, and Helen complied, adding that until very recently, one of the residents had been a Dragon. His eyes nearly fell out of his head, and he demanded details with the excitement of a boy his apparent age.
“Wait’ll I tell the others!” His smile froze then.
It was Mrs. Erickson who knelt beside him. “I’m sure they’ll love it—they might even be a bit envious.”
“They’re not here anymore.”
“No. But you can join them now. You don’t have to worry about me anymore. I’ll be fine here, and...it’s a long time since I had a living friend. A very long time.”
Jamal looked at Helen. Although he knew Helen couldn’t see him, it was to Jamal she had been speaking. Helen could see what Kaylin could see with a tiny bit of effort.
“Promise you’ll protect her until it won’t make a difference.” His expression was every bit as serious as it had been when he made the same demand of Kaylin. He had less leverage here, and knew it. He didn’t threaten to remain. He knew, with Helen, it wouldn’t matter.
“I promise I will protect her as well as I protect Kaylin, unless she attempts to harm her.”
Jamal bristled instantly. “She would never do that!”
“No. I don’t believe she would. And if she did, she might have good reason. But I am what I am, and my imperative should that ever occur is to protect Kaylin. Can you accept that?”
Jamal considered this with as much care as an annoyed child could. He made the effort not to let annoyance make any decisions for him, but it was clearly work. “Yes. Yes, I can accept that.”
“Imelda,” Helen said, turning to the woman Jamal was afraid to leave behind. “I would very much love it if you would accept the hospitality of our house. You will not be imprisoned here; you are free to leave should you decide the house is too loud or too hectic. Choice in these things will always be yours. But I would value and appreciate your company, should you care to accept our offer.”
Mrs. Erickson’s smile was gentle and almost beatific. She held out one hand; Helen took it carefully. “I would. I would love to live here.”
“I want to see her rooms,” Jamal said. “I want to see where she’ll be staying first.”
“You’re adding conditions after the fact,” Kaylin told him. “That’s poor sportsmanship.”
“Jamal, be reasonable,” Mrs. Erickson added, in the tone of a woman who has no hope whatsoever that her request will be granted.
He ignored her, focusing on Kaylin. “Who cares about sports?”
Helen, however, smiled. “You may see her rooms, if it will comfort you. She cares very much for you, and she does not want you to worry in any way.”
“It’s all right?” Mrs. Erickson asked, with a trace of anxiety.
“Of course it is. They will be your rooms, and Jamal has always been part of your home.” Helen then turned and led Mrs. Erickson to the foyer, to the wide staircase, and up it, to the second floor. She turned down the hall in which all of the tenants—except one—had their rooms. Those rooms were adorned by silhouettes that spoke to or about the inhabitants.
Kaylin noted the new door down the hall; it was beside her own room. On it was something that looked suspiciously like the basket in which Mrs. Erickson put the baking she brought to the Halls of Law. Kaylin wondered if baking would still be done, still be brought in, when she no longer had the children to entertain; she wouldn’t need stories of her daily life to bring back to them.
“This is your room,” Helen told Mrs. Erickson. “I am always present; if you call me, I will answer. Kaylin’s is next door, if you feel calling me will cause discomfort.”
Mrs. Erickson nodded, and then reached out for the door’s handle. She opened the door slowly. “This...isn’t a room,” she whispered. Kaylin looked over her shoulder; she could see grass and wildflowers, a blend of white and green and violet.
“It is one of my rooms, Imelda. Just beyond the field—you can see it from here—is where you would be living should you choose to stay.”
Kaylin did not expect tears, but Mrs. Erickson shed them, as if unaware that they were falling. She turned to Helen. “You knew?”
“No. Not until you opened the door.”
“This was the home we wanted, when we were young. A home of our own, not a home that was only mine. My mother said—she always said—that no matter how much we loved the homes of our birth, we would outgrow them; we would need to stretch and experience life before we could make a home of our own.”
“You have experienced much of life—and death—Imelda. If the dream does not live up to those you had in your youth, this room will change; it will accommodate you. It always will. That is my gift and my responsibility.”
Jamal watched in silence, and then a smile graced his face, a moment of deep and abiding joy.
Mrs. Erickson turned to him; a deeper, older joy had transformed her features. That and tears. She knelt in front of Jamal, and for only this moment, he seemed to Kaylin to be the older of the two—as if his apparent youth had somehow transmuted her apparent age into something lighter, something precious.
She held out her arms, and he came to her, although she couldn’t touch him.
“Goodbye, Jamal, my dearest friend, my brother, my child.”
“We’ll wait for you,” he said. “We’ll wait. Bring us lots of stories. But not too quickly, okay? This is your time now. Yours.”
She nodded.
The door closed as Kaylin watched.
“Let them have this moment on their own,” Helen said. “We’ll have moments of our own in the future. It is how history is built.” She paused, and then added, “Thank you. You were, of course, right.”
Kaylin didn’t pretend to misunderstand.
“I have always been grateful that you came to me—but even I did not expect so much. You have been a tenant, yes, but a gift as well. When you at last depart, I will always remember you. And now I will go inform the cohort—and consider a welcome dinner.”