“He was.”
She was too upset to appreciate his irony.
In the distance, an early lobster boat headed home, the chug of its motor traveling over the water. Liz‟s mind spun, picking
and discarding memories, testing pieces of the puzzle.
“The grief counselor said he was okay. „As well as can be expected.‟ ” She bit her lip, the small pain a distraction from the
ache at her heart. “But about six months after Ben died, Zack changed. His hair color, his hygiene, his clothes.”
Those damn boots, she thought. He never went barefoot anymore. Even in the house, even in the summer, he wore socks.
Morgan nodded. “The Change comes on at adolescence. He would try to control it. Failing that, to hide.”
Liz swallowed painfully. “He started spending all his time in his room. I thought—he‟s a teenager. But then his grades
dropped. He didn‟t want to see his friends.”
“He could not confide in them.”
“He could have come to me.” The hurt burst out of her. “I‟m his mother. I‟ve always told him he could come to me about
anything.”
“He would not have the words to tell you what was happening. To explain. How could he? He did not know himself.”
Her heart broke for him. Her poor boy. Emotion clogged her throat. “I never suspected . . .” Wasn‟t that what parents
always claimed while their children suffered teasing, addiction, abuse? “I didn’t know.” “I never dreamed . ” “He never said
anything.” Useless now to look back and wish and wonder. “I thought he was doing drugs.”
“You must not blame yourself.”
She shook her head. He didn‟t understand. “I knew something was wrong. I should have found a way to fix it.”
“He does not need to be fixed. He is not your patient.”
“No, he‟s my son.” She pressed her fingers to the headache pounding in her temples. “I could have handled drugs,” she
muttered.
How did she handle this?
“There is nothing you can do,” Morgan said.
She raised her head and stared at him.
“Zachary needs to be with his own kind now,” he continued calmly while her world crashed around her ears. “On
Sanctuary.”
Her blood chilled. The drumming in her head made it difficult to think. “Excuse me?”
“It is dangerous for him here. He needs the guidance of his own kind. When I return to Sanctuary, Zachary goes with me.”
She stared at him, her warm brown eyes huge and accusing.
A completely foreign emotion gripped Morgan‟s chest.
Guilt.
He resisted the urge to look away. He had faced down demons in the deep, stood unfaltering on the wall of Caer Subai
when Hell‟s own flood had crashed down on his head. He would not flinch before one mortal woman.
But that look harpooned his heart.
Even when he had left her at dawn sixteen years ago, even when their son was arrested, even when Morgan had Changed
before her eyes, Elizabeth had retained her essential courage, her indomitable determination.
Now she looked shaken. Vulnerable. Betrayed.
He gritted his teeth. Of course he must take Zachary with him. The boy could not be left to bumble on his own.
Especially not with Gau hunting these waters.
She inhaled audibly. Her chin jutted out. “Over my dead body.”
He felt a rush of relief. He would rather fight her than feel this grinding guilt.
“Let us hope it does not come to that.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Threats?”
Over the water, a gannet folded rigid white wings and plunged into the sea after unwary prey.
He was handling this badly, Morgan realized. His emotions were a nameless, toxic brew, a witch‟s cauldron seething and
bubbling inside him, corroding his customary detachment.
He had never before concerned himself overmuch with the truth, only with survival. Compared to the preservation of his