The Lamb and the Gray Battle

September 18, 1990

Mary had to get home. She needed to focus. What would ZangZang say after all this time? What if he rejected her?

But what if he didn't?

Her heart exploded. She shot into the air, her wings wide, and twirled in the sky. Street lights were on, but otherwise, she was surrounded by darkness.

Gran complained about the noise when she burst into their little house.

"I'm sorry, Gran," her wings aflutter. "Go back to bed. Do you want me to bring you some tea?"

"I want you to be quiet," she said in the old Irish tongue, slamming the door behind her.

Mary didn't know where to begin.

Dear Nianzang.

That seemed easy enough.

Dear Nianzang,

I'm your mother. My name is Aiobh an Mhor. Or Banrion Ao Aiobh. But you probably know that. I go by Mary right now.

I have wanted to know you your whole life and I'm so sorry I haven't reached out before now. I didn't want to leave you. I beg you to please write back to me. Tell me anything. Tell me everything. I anxiously await your reply.

Don't tell your father I wrote.

Love,

Mam

Mary had performed the trick dozens of times. Even in PC with all the demon alarms. It was one of the first things she'd been taught as a child. She focused her energy, found the thread of her heartbeat, followed it to the mirror that was her son, his pale skin and slanted eyes like his father's. But he had a youthful face and a broad smile. That was like her. He was alone in his room. The letter jerked in her fingers, then disappeared.

For an hour she sat and waited for a reply.

Then she started crying. It was worse than she feared. She hated Knox. He made her hope. Even if it was only a few minutes, for a moment, she could see a connection with her child, that they would talk about music together and they would laugh. She even had the embarrassing thought that they would make fun of his father together.

She put it away, fell asleep on her tears.