"Now," said Victor. "This is the normal view…" The screen showed Cynthia dozing peacefully in her chair. He tapped a few keys. "Infrared is useless, given her proximity to the fire." A few more keys, and the screen showed her as normal once again. "Her morphogenetic field is identical to her physical form—why do you smile?"
"I can't help it. I'm married to a man who not only knows what a morphogenetic field is, he has a scanner that can detect it."
"I invented the scanner that can detect it." He corrected me. "I must acknowledge that knowing you to be capable of understanding such concepts contributes greatly to my belief that we will, as you put it earlier 'work out in the long run.' There are a surprising number of entities about that can shapeshift. It was for that purpose that I devised the scanner. Returning to the matter of her aura—observe." He tapped a few more keys.
I looked at what the screen showed. "Ah—surely an aura is not supposed to be as active as that."
"It is not. There are several energies in conflict within her." Victor said.
"I had been wondering, earlier, if this version of Cynthia might have sold her soul—but not died."
"Perhaps that is what happened." Victor commented. "She urges him to pursue courses of action that are at best unwise. There is no possible way in which this wretched impostor can hope to defeat Magneto—any more than the dog which savages its master can hope to become the owner and master thereby."
"I think the results of her influence are all around us. The condition of Doomstadt—this hideous family—I had wondered how you would react to this Cynthia. You seem quite detached." I observed.
"I am detached. That is not my mother. My mother has been dead for over thirty years, and her soul at peace in heaven these past five. This is of intellectual interest, nothing more. We must identify our foe, and focus upon that goal. There are not many entities which are capable of such widespread alterations of reality, and fewer still who are mutants. I have spells—."
"Victor?" I interrupted.
"Yes, my dear?"
"Have you eaten anything since the change?"
"No." he stated. "My mind has been elsewhere."
"Aren't you hungry? I had no appetite earlier, but now I'm ravenous."
"What do you propose to do about it?" he asked.
"Raid the kitchens." I suggested. "And where were you planning on sleeping tonight?"
"I was not planning on sleeping tonight."
"That's up to you, but I think tomorrow will be very eventful. I will be astounded if Cynthia doesn't have me brought in so she can inspect me. Any woman in the world would want to have a look at the proposed mother of her grandchild. I anticipate an encounter with the impostor as well. I want to be well-rested for that. Will you not eat at least a little something with me?"
"I cannot refuse such a charming invitation. Very well—let us forage."
We returned to my room with bread, cheese, and fruit tied up in a clean kitchen towel.
"Will you take the chair, or the bed?" I asked him. "There's nowhere else to sit but the floor. On the other hand, if we both sit on the floor, there won't be any crumbs in the bed."
"The floor it is then," he agreed, and we laid out a midnight picnic on the floor of my old room, the enchanted privacy-insurance rose as our centerpiece in a glass of water.
"Did you enjoy your outing with Boris, before the world changed all around you?" Victor asked, as he sliced the cheese.
"Very much." I replied, accepting some of the slices.
"And his wedding gift to you?"
"Gift? Unless you mean it in a metaphoric sense, he didn't say anything about a gift."
"No—he said he had something he meant to give you. What, I do not know. It is likely he had not got around to it." Victor took a chunk of bread and ate.
"He told me a lot about your early years—I liked hearing about how you kept him at his wits' end, playing pranks with violins and spending your money on books." I smiled.
"I was a trial to him at times." Victor reminisced. "It made no impression on me at the time, but there were many nights he took very little dinner, in order that I might have my fill."
"And now you take care of him." I said, and bit into a nectarine.
"Yes."
"Do you do it merely as good policy, to show your people what rewards loyalty to you will earn? Or do you do it out of pride?" I raised an eyebrow at him, and sucked some juice off the heel of my thumb.
"Neither. I have a great deal of affection for Boris. I owe him far more than can ever be repaid—more than a comfortable old age or a few square kilometers of land and the best horses in the world, to be sure."
I nodded. "I thought you would say as much. I know of something that would go a long way toward making up for a thousand nights spent with a growling belly, for every time he shook his head and wondered what he was going to do about that boy. There is something he wants, something he never even hinted to you. I might be the only person he's ever told about it."
"What might that be?" Victor asked. "My treasury is open to him; he should know that he need only ask."
"He does know it. He told me so." I put down my nectarine pit, and drank some water. "This is something tremendous, however. It might strain even your generosity."
"If it is in my power to get it for him, he shall have it, whatever it may be." Victor took a slice of cheese.
"It does lie within your power—yours, and no one else's"
"Then tell me. I would know what this is."
"What Boris wants, more than anything else in the world—is that every now and then, you should call him 'Father'." I waited to see what his reaction would be.