Death of an Adept

Ximena sank down in the nearest chair and gnawed moodily at her lower lip. "Why does it have to be Adam?" she wondered aloud bitterly. "Why can't somebody else see about bringing this malefactor to justice?"

"Because Adam is the one appointed for the task," Philippa said. "These things don't happen by chance. On the contrary, Adam's responsibilities, like his talents, are his by birthright. He was born to them, and he couldn't turn his back on them without betraying his own nature.

"Ximena," she went on, at the younger woman's crestfallen expression, "believe me when I tell you that your husband is no novice when it comes to dealing with the servants of Darkness. This isn't the first time he's crossed paths with this particular adversary. He knows what he's up against. If he goes into danger, it will be with his eyes wide open."

"I'd feel better if there was something constructive I could do," Ximena said. "I've never been a pacifist. I'm not used to sitting on the sidelines. I wish I had some psychic talent of my own - something that would be of some use!"

"Count yourself lucky to be what you are," Philippa retorted, smiling. "Being psychically gifted is a mixed blessing. You can't just turn your perceptions on and off, like a tap. On the contrary, the psychic must teach himself to handle the pain that comes with unwelcome knowledge. If he doesn't, his mind can crack under the strain."

"That's all hypothetical," Ximena insisted, spreading her hands before her in frustrated appeal. "What good am I to Adam if I can't see what he sees?"

Philippa found herself thinking back to her own long and happy marriage with Adam's father. "You are an island of quiet in his life," she told the younger woman. "You are a place of refuge from the tumult of the outside world. Without you, he would have nowhere to go to escape, even for a little while, from the constant noise that surrounds him every waking minute of the day. You are the rock of his repose."

"I'm also something else for him to worry about," Ximena said, shaking her head. "Especially in a situation like this, where I don't have the means to defend myself."

"Your defenses are different from Adam's. In one sense, they're stronger," Philippa told her. "If psychics are more open to the subtler impressions from the world around them, they're also more susceptible to forms of attack that would have little or no effect on an ordinary person. It's no accident that Julia proved more resistant than Peregrine to the effects of the Hand of Glory.

"Let me put it this way," she went on, constructing a medical analogy as she saw that Ximena still looked uncertain. "Individuals who are psychically impressionable are like people whose immune system has broken down. Lacking the usual natural defenses, they have to create defense systems of their own, building them up from scratch. And that, I can assure you, is bloody hard work. Be glad you've been spared the effort."

"All the same," Ximena said, "I feel as if I've blundered unwittingly into a war zone. How do you live with the possibility that your life could be blown apart in an instant by some danger lurking unseen just around a corner?"

"How do you live with it?" Philippa asked. "The same way policemen's wives and soldiers' wives live with it: by taking each day as it comes.

"No, listen to what I'm saying," she went on, as Ximena started to shake her head. "Adam's father was a serving officer during the Second World War. There were three things I learned during the hours I sat up waiting to find out if he was going to come back to me. The first rule is, Don't poison your life by speculating vainly about what might happen. The second rule is, Make each day together count as a celebration. And the third rule is, Never forget that whatever befalls the body, the spirit itself is imperishable."

"You're talking about faith," Ximena declared.

"Yes, I am," Philippa agreed. "And hope. And love. 'Now abideth these three - faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.' Just love him, Ximena. That's the greatest gift you can give him, and one of the most powerful weapons he will ever have at his command."

Chapter Twenty-Eight

WHEN Adam returned later that evening, Philippa found occasion to draw her son aside and tell him of her conversation with his bride; and later still, when Ximena came to his bed, their lovemaking could leave no doubt in her mind how much he had come to cherish her love.

Yet even at the height of their passion, a part of him remained detached and on guard, haunted by grave forebodings regarding Raeburn's intentions. The Lynx-Master would strike again; that much Adam knew. And now he was striking closer to home.