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to find the library. She’d gotten to do no more than stare at the shelves, somewhere between gluttony and lust, before Mrs. Grenville had found her again and taken her outside to make introductions. All the same, she’d gotten there. The process had proved unexpectedly gratifying too, if also confusing. She’d expected the boys to be skeptical about a female teacher. She hadn’t expected St. John, of all people, to set them right.
    â€œWoodwell,” Mrs. Grenville said, breaking into Olivia’s thoughts while they walked up the path away from the gardens, “will probably be the easiest to deal with. She’ll end up teaching in a year or two, or going into the field, depending on how things work out.”
    â€œInto the field?”
    Mrs. Grenville nodded. “You know what they’re here for, right?”
    â€œYes.” If the letter hadn’t made that clear, the interview would have. “But—” Olivia began and then stopped. Somehow, she didn’t think but she’s a girl would hold much water with Mrs. Grenville. “But she’s very young. They all are.”
    â€œYou send them to war and sea younger. Down the mines too, I hear, or into the factories, though that’s not so glamorous.”
    Memories of London came back. Pinched, smudged young faces above tattered clothing. Girls selling flowers and ribbons in dirty streets. Boys with brooms. Those weren’t the worst off, she knew, not by a good ways.
    â€œNot as young as Elizabeth,” said Olivia, though she wasn’t sure how she dared say it. Mrs. Grenville had a stare like a gauntlet when she wanted to. She also wasn’t sure what the woman had meant by you —America had both factories and armies, after all. “Or, um, Michael?” She recalled a tow-headed boy, all freckles and puppy fat, who hadn’t looked more than thirteen.
    â€œFairley, yeah. We won’t take them that young, generally. Simon thinks it is too young to volunteer for this kind of service…except when it’s worse for them to go untrained.”
    â€œThe levitation?”
    Mrs. Grenville nodded. “The levitation. Donnell does that when she’s upset. Fairley can make it rain.”
    â€œAnd the others?”
    â€œNothing uncontrolled. Woodwell talks with animals, she says. Fitzpatrick and Waite don’t have any natural talents, but they want to learn. Like you and Simon.”
    Fitzpatrick’s first name was William, Olivia had learned a little while earlier, and the third boy was Arthur Waite. They were fifteen and seventeen, respectively, both dark haired. Fitzpatrick was slightly taller and broader shouldered, despite his youth, which would allow Olivia to tell them apart for the moment.
    â€œThey’ll be the easiest to teach, then, I’d imagine,” Olivia said, hopeful despite what she’d heard from both young men earlier.
    â€œProbably. The most trouble otherwise, though.” Mrs. Grenville sounded perfectly casual when she spoke, even amused, and there was nothing in her expression to suggest she knew about the incident near St. John’s office.
    â€œOh?” Olivia looked carefully off toward the house.
    â€œSeems likely. Woodwell’s old enough to have grown some brains, and Donnell’s scared of her own shadow. That’s its own issue, especially since she starts floating around when she gets scared. But she won’t give you attitude. Fairley might, but the naturals mostly want to get their powers under control. Waite and Fitzpatrick…” Mrs. Grenville pulled a face. “Recruits, right? Signed up of their own free will, and you’ve got to give them credit for that, but the problem is they know it.”
    She sounded very familiar with the situation. Her father had been military, Olivia thought, or maybe her first husband. Olivia wasn’t inclined to ask.
    Mrs. Grenville gave another shrug. “You might have