I did get back to sleep, however, and when I woke again, presumably it was morning. I still had my sleep mask on and Victor was still there in bed with me, so I couldn't check immediately. Instead I stretched and snuggled up to him.
He drew in a long deep breath, and said, "Good morning. How is it with you this morning?"
"Good morning. I'm very, very, well, thank you… Truly." I said lazily. Something occurred to me. "The wedding—our wedding—is in three days!"
"So it is. Given all the trouble and preparations that are going into it, I believe we had best return home, lest we miss it. No doubt there will also be varied matters concerning it to which we must attend personally— surely your dressmaker will want to fit your gown, for one."
"Yes, I expect so…" We got up and got moving. The embassy kitchen sent up breakfast, and after the previous night and its various activities, I found that I had a healthy appetite.
During breakfast, I suddenly remembered something. "I mentioned that I got you a present yesterday," I told Victor, " and then I forgot about it. I'll be back in a moment."
I found the box in which his robe was packed, and returned. "It isn't your wedding present," I explained, "That has yet to be bought. This is—just because. I know it's too heavy for this time of year, but in only five short months, that cashmere lining will be perfect."
"Thank you," he said, running his hand down the lapel and then feeling the lining. "The fabrics are so fine, and the color…Thank you very much, my dear." He stood up and slipped it on. "The fit is as good as if you had taken my measure."
"But I did, the other night, remember? I set out to memorize you with my hands. I knew just how broad your shoulders are, and they were the most important part of it." I smiled. "I'm glad you like it."
"I do, very much. Come November, I will benefit from it greatly. You are not the only one who has a present to give this morning—do you not see the box at your place? It is a mere trifle, something to wear on more informal occasions. I thought of you when I saw it was up for sale."
Uh-oh. There was a small and badly battered jewelry box beside my juice glass that hadn't been there before. I picked it up, privately wondering why it was in such poor condition until I opened it. Only Victor would call an original, Belle Epoch Lalique pendant a 'trifle'. That it was still in its original box made it all the more valuable.
It wasn't very big, and there were no enormous stones in it. Lalique had been an artist and a craftsman, fascinated by beauty rather than by mere cost. He had preferred glass to diamonds, because he made the glass himself, rather than trust to the vagaries of nature which created diamonds. This pendant was more glass than gold.
It was a little mid-summer twilight landscape. A moon of actual moonstone hung over some mountains and shimmered on the waters of a tranquil lake. In the foreground there were cattails and Queen Anne's lace, and another moonstone hung from the bottom, as if the lake had let fall one moon-enchanted drop. The technique Lalique had used was plique a jour, which meant it was open at the back, like a tiny stained glass window. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen in my life, and I said so.
"It's perfect. It's just amazing. Thank you, Victor."
"You're quite welcome, my dear."
It had probably cost a lot more than I would be comfortable thinking about, but in comparison to the jewels that were locked up back at home, it was bound to be inexpensive. I could wear it without feeling like I was saying, 'Let them eat cake' when the poor complained that they had no bread, as Marie Antoinette reportedly said. I would get a lot more pleasure out of this than I would from the other pieces.
"Now," Victor said, laying a slice on smoked salmon on a piece of brown bread, "have you considered what you want done about your relations?"
"Not in any detail. I had been planning on ignoring their very existence unless they start trying to claim me. Since Malice learned certain details about my life while she was in my head, there is a distinct possibility she may actively hunt them down and tell them. They may identify me on their own, though. It would make for a complicated situation if the media takes them seriously—especially my mother."
He looked at me meaningfully. "It need not be a complicated situation. You have but to say the word, and they shall be obliterated. Their behavior demands redress." He said it as simply as if he were offering me the orange marmalade, and took a bite of his open-faced salmon sandwich.
He meant it, too.
That was chilling. He really wouldn't see that there was anything wrong with having my entire family (minors excluded) killed. For Victor, there were opponents, such as Reed Richards, there were people for whom he was responsible, such as the people of Latveria, there were a few—extremely few—people for whom he truly cared, Boris and myself—and then there was the rest of the world, who could be crushed like cockroaches.
It would not bother his conscience for even a moment, even a flicker.
However, it would bother mine. "No." I said, carefully, while he chewed. "My mother casually disposed of my grandmother's cat, uncaring that she would be euthanized, merely because she didn't like her. I like to think that I am a saner, healthier person than my mother, perhaps a better one. It would be very hard for me to retain the moral high ground if I were to do to them what she did to Pickles."
"As you wish." Victor said, indifferently.
"Besides," I surprised myself by going on, "My relationship with my mother wasn't just bad relationship—it was the last in a series of bad relationships—my mother's relationship with her family, and, I suspect, even Grandmother McKenna's relationship with her mother." My mouth twisted, and all of a sudden I was on the verge of tears again. I continued.
"I want to break this chain of hurt, and I think perhaps the place to start is not with my children, but with my mother. I need to care about her, because I doubt anyone else does. I need to love her—at least enough to somehow see to it that she is correctly diagnosed and gets the help she needs. I doubt anyone else will, if I don't." This was coming from somewhere deep in me. I had not known I was going to say it. There was more
"It will be difficult, especially since I never want to be in the same room with her. The healthiest thing that I can do—for her and for me—is to stay away from her, because the schizophrenia didn't create all the hostility and resentment she has for me out of nothing. The seeds were there already—her mental condition made them grow to monstrous size. Besides, I made my choice. I walked away."
"Once again, you surprise me." said Victor. "Another insight?"
"Yes, but one born from the heart alone. My intellect stood aside for it, this time. And, just to complicate things, there are some papers and documents which I hid in my grandmother's house which I absolutely must get back. I said I had no proofs of my theories concerning the Laws of Heroics. I lied, because I don't have access to them. There are the materials which first led me to make certain conclusions, and then there are the items which proved them to me beyond a doubt."
"Do you need them so desperately? Can they not be duplicated somehow, reassembled from the sources you consulted before?" he asked.
"I doubt it. They were one-of-a-kind discoveries. In any case, there isn't time…" I explained the Law of Angst to him, and how it applied to us.
"I, like Doctor Strange, am inclined to dismiss these—until I think of how uncannily well it explains certain mysteries. I don't know what will come of this, but of one thing I am certain."
"What is that?" I asked.
"That you will need the services of a very good and very clever lawyer. Fortunately, I know of just the man."