Then I tried to make sense of them through the thoughts I’d been having as I approached the doors, like they were a Magic 8-Ball answering my questions.
But not all my thoughts aligned with their images.
I tilted my head toward the skylight and heaved a heavy sigh, scrunching the paper in my grip.
There had to be something!
“You’re going to be late for training.”
I snapped my attention to Cato.
He looked over my shoulder at my messy notes.
“I need to figure this out.”
He panned between the three sheets of paper. Then he frowned at the wordsMagic 8-Ball.
“The doors are ancient, sentient magic. Do not think you can simplify them into something so mundane. How does your father use them?”
Were we really going to get into another lesson?
I slumped back in my chair.
“He uses their ability to see the past, present, and future to judge souls. But he said he can’t see the images I see, and I think they respond to me differently.”
“What is their basic function?”
“To judge souls?”
His thinly pressed lips somehow became thinner.
“Basic.”
Thatwasbasic.
“To… help?”
He dipped his head. “If he is in need of their guidance, they help him.”
I thought about that. The images they showed him couldn’t be random then.
“They would show him what he needed to see when he needed to see it,” I said more to myself than to Cato.
Then I started back at the top with that thought in mind.
“They showed me Ni to warn me. They showed me Michael torturing me to…”
What?
I wanted to say torment me, but that wasn’t the purpose of the doors.
What did I need then?
I bowed my head.
“Strength,” I whispered. “And they showed me the last images for the dagger, not my abuse.”
“Or both,” Cato suggested, studying my descriptions. “The doors have a purpose with each image. Take great care to note the nuances.”
