doll,” Imani continued. “I made an emergency therapist appointment this morning: she sat silent for a full forty-five minutes!”
“You know our girl, Imani: she’ll talk on her time.” That was the theory, anyway.
“And I have done everything to keep her safe. I moved to a new apartment with no windows. I set burglar alarms. David and I, when she’s home, we…” She swallowed, as if debating divulging this information to her ex-husband. “We take shifts. Watching. So she can’t slip past us. And still she got out . David said it must have been something I’d done. Then he stormed out. And…” She swallowed. “I don’t know what to do, Paul.”
“David will be back,” Paul reassured her, wanting her to feel better, wondering, when did I sign up to support my ex-wife’s relationship with the man she cheated on me with? “Even if he hated you,” Paul joked, “He wouldn’t risk the headlines of a bad divorce. You’ve got friends in the court and the press. You’d make his life hell.”
“Very funny.” The suppressed bemusement in her voice made him smile.
“And Aliyah’s bold, but she’s not stupid. If she’s out on the streets…” Paul winced, hating to tell Imani even a half-truth. “I’m sure she’s playing it safe. Some mothers even let their kids take the subway at this age.”
“But how do I stop her from getting out ? How do I get her to talk ?”
“I don’t know, Imani. She doesn’t do that at our house.”
“That’s because you give her those damn videogames. As a pacifier.”
“No, we play them together. They could be quite a social activity, if only you’d–”
“Can you honestly tell me,” Imani shot back, her voice glacial once again, “That you think videogames are improving her life?”
It’s not the videogames. It’s the ’mancy . And she can’t stop doing that.
Paul rolled the words on his tongue, wanting to say them as he had so many times before. If he could just tell Imani, then everything would be easier. He hated watching Imani’s leonine confidence eroded. And Imani loved Aliyah, would almost certainly help Aliyah in ways he and Valentine could not…
Then Paul’s eyes settled on today’s Times op-ed: “Why Reprocess ’Mancers When We Could Execute Them?”
Paul remembered the dead eyes of the Unimancers he’d fought. They had all been ’mancers like him once, each obsessed with model trains or baseball or death metal – and someone had reported them. SMASH had rounded them up, shipped them off to the Refactor out in Arizona, brainwashed them until they all thought the exact same way as their commander.
They could use magic only if the group hivemind allowed it. Their individual needs: erased.
They barely remembered their names.
Paul had drawn up endless pros-and-cons lists, crunched numbers: he gave it a ninety percent chance that Imani would accept the news that her daughter was a ’mancer with compassion. He’d seen Imani go to great lengths for charity – after she’d canvassed her neighborhood to help get Aliyah her reconstructive surgery, Imani hadn’t stopped after Aliyah’s face was rebuilt to the best standards that modern medicine could provide. Imani turned those initial donations into a full-on foundation, managing fundraiser events that helped get other burned kids their necessary treatments. Imani might see Aliyah’s videogamemancy as just another special need, and adapt to it. Aliyah had picked up her stubbornness straight from her mother; if any non-’mancer could get Aliyah to master her flux, it was Imani.
But that ten percent chance....
We don’t allow processed sugar in this house , Imani had said. I moved to a new apartment with no windows .
As much as Paul wanted to give his ex-wife the benefit of the doubt, it was also possible Imani would react to the news by instituting greater control. Imani had always believed in outside help – sneering at the parents who suggested Aliyah might benefit
“You know our girl, Imani: she’ll talk on her time.” That was the theory, anyway.
“And I have done everything to keep her safe. I moved to a new apartment with no windows. I set burglar alarms. David and I, when she’s home, we…” She swallowed, as if debating divulging this information to her ex-husband. “We take shifts. Watching. So she can’t slip past us. And still she got out . David said it must have been something I’d done. Then he stormed out. And…” She swallowed. “I don’t know what to do, Paul.”
“David will be back,” Paul reassured her, wanting her to feel better, wondering, when did I sign up to support my ex-wife’s relationship with the man she cheated on me with? “Even if he hated you,” Paul joked, “He wouldn’t risk the headlines of a bad divorce. You’ve got friends in the court and the press. You’d make his life hell.”
“Very funny.” The suppressed bemusement in her voice made him smile.
“And Aliyah’s bold, but she’s not stupid. If she’s out on the streets…” Paul winced, hating to tell Imani even a half-truth. “I’m sure she’s playing it safe. Some mothers even let their kids take the subway at this age.”
“But how do I stop her from getting out ? How do I get her to talk ?”
“I don’t know, Imani. She doesn’t do that at our house.”
“That’s because you give her those damn videogames. As a pacifier.”
“No, we play them together. They could be quite a social activity, if only you’d–”
“Can you honestly tell me,” Imani shot back, her voice glacial once again, “That you think videogames are improving her life?”
It’s not the videogames. It’s the ’mancy . And she can’t stop doing that.
Paul rolled the words on his tongue, wanting to say them as he had so many times before. If he could just tell Imani, then everything would be easier. He hated watching Imani’s leonine confidence eroded. And Imani loved Aliyah, would almost certainly help Aliyah in ways he and Valentine could not…
Then Paul’s eyes settled on today’s Times op-ed: “Why Reprocess ’Mancers When We Could Execute Them?”
Paul remembered the dead eyes of the Unimancers he’d fought. They had all been ’mancers like him once, each obsessed with model trains or baseball or death metal – and someone had reported them. SMASH had rounded them up, shipped them off to the Refactor out in Arizona, brainwashed them until they all thought the exact same way as their commander.
They could use magic only if the group hivemind allowed it. Their individual needs: erased.
They barely remembered their names.
Paul had drawn up endless pros-and-cons lists, crunched numbers: he gave it a ninety percent chance that Imani would accept the news that her daughter was a ’mancer with compassion. He’d seen Imani go to great lengths for charity – after she’d canvassed her neighborhood to help get Aliyah her reconstructive surgery, Imani hadn’t stopped after Aliyah’s face was rebuilt to the best standards that modern medicine could provide. Imani turned those initial donations into a full-on foundation, managing fundraiser events that helped get other burned kids their necessary treatments. Imani might see Aliyah’s videogamemancy as just another special need, and adapt to it. Aliyah had picked up her stubbornness straight from her mother; if any non-’mancer could get Aliyah to master her flux, it was Imani.
But that ten percent chance....
We don’t allow processed sugar in this house , Imani had said. I moved to a new apartment with no windows .
As much as Paul wanted to give his ex-wife the benefit of the doubt, it was also possible Imani would react to the news by instituting greater control. Imani had always believed in outside help – sneering at the parents who suggested Aliyah might benefit
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