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rain-filtered light seeped into the bedroom, giving everything the grayish cast of a silent film. I needed an outfit that would go with the rain. Something gortexy. It was bad enough that I had to wear a bra at all times in the house now, since we were living with two teenagers.
    I felt too tired to put an outfit together. Too tired to even drag myself across the room, let alone reach the kitchen. I guess having your ass kicked by a primordial demon could do that to you. But that was a year ago, and I still felt like my insides were raw. Like my body was nothing but scar tissue, held together by stitches, bandages, and the dumbass neurons that refused to stop firing. I loved my job, and I loved my family, but all I wanted to do was close my eyes and let myself be washed away.
    I stood still for a moment, relaxed, and tried to align myself with the earth.
    When I was a little girl, and my power was at its height, I used to be able to hear the convection currents deep beneath the crust. For some reason, they sounded like distant dogs barking to my twelve-year-old ears. Now I could barely feel the layers of mud, sediment, and bedrock beneath the house, creaking and settling within their dark matrix. The power didn’t flow through me like I was a naked lightbulb anymore. Lately, it felt more like trying to coax an old transmission into second gear, with every nerve in my body screaming a complaint.
    If I felt this way at twenty-six, how would I feel at forty? No wonder mages died young. The golden years weren’t much to look forward to.
    I threw on a sweater and ventured into the hallway. Derrick was cooking something, and I could smell coffee. My senses perked up. Materia couldn’t rouse me in the morning, but coffee was a different story.
    The kitchen was a strange domestic tableau. Mia sat at the table, drinking coffee and doing her homework, or at least something that looked like her homework. Even Derrick, who had a flair for handwriting analysis, could barely decipher what she wrote in the margins of her notebook.
    Miles was sitting next to her, looking over her shoulder. He signed something to her that I didn’t catch, and she shook her head.
    “No, I think I’m supposed to solve for y. But I could be wrong. I stared at this same problem for, like, a thousand years last night before going to bed, and it still doesn’t make any sense.”
    “Math never really helped anybody.” Derrick put a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her. “Except for bloodstain analysts. But they’re creepy.”
    She tasted the eggs and made a face. “Did you put rosemary in these?”
    “I may have.”
    “God, is there anything you don’t put rosemary in?”
    “I can think of several things.”
    “All I’m saying is that, sometimes, you can just let eggs be eggs, you know? They don’t always have to be fancy.”
    “I’m sorry our kitchen doesn’t resemble a truck-stop diner. If you’d like, I can make some corned-beef hash for you.”
    “Mmmm. Could you burn it a little? I love it that way.” He looked at Miles and signed: Any advice?
    Miles shrugged and signed back: At least she’s eating breakfast.
    “Morning.” At least I think that was what I said. It might have been “mgrngrl.”
    Derrick put a steaming mug in front of me. “You’re up early. I thought you weren’t meeting with Tasha until ten.”
    I let the mug warm my hands. “I have to stop by the trace lab first.”
    “Is Cindée working with the armor that they found on Ordeño?”
    “And Ben. He mentioned something about a Teichmann test for old blood, and it got him all excited.”
    Mia closed her notebook. “Why was the dude wearing armor? Was he in one of those medieval reenactment societies? Because there’s this guy in my physics class, George Pearsall, and both of his parents belong to one of those, and they actually put on armor and fight with swords. I mean, she’s like a serving wench or something, but apparently his dad—”
    “We’re not