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in this feverish vision of mine. That had been his charm for me from the beginning of knowing him, a secular crown prince of sorts, full of openness and self-confidence.
    Love would always save Quinn. Losing Aunt Queen, he had been sustained on the love he'd felt for her .
    The only one he had hated, he had killed . "May I give her my blood?" he asked. He reached out for me, squeezed my shoulder and bent forwar d hesitantly and then kissed me .
    How he could take his eyes off her I didn't know . I smiled. I was gaining my bearings. Oncle Julien was nowhere about that I could see . "Nowhere," echoed Quinn . "What are you saying?" asked the shining newborn . "Oncle Julien, I saw him," but I shouldn't have said it . Sudden shadow in her face. "Oncle Julien? " "But he was bound to-." Quinn said. "At Aunt Queen's funeral I saw him, and it was as if he was warnin g
    me. It was his duty, but what does it matter now? " "Don't give her your blood," I said to Quinn. "Keep your minds open to each other. Of course you'l l
    depend on words, no matter how much you read of each other's thoughts, but don't exchange blood. To o much, and you'll lose the mutual telepathy. " She reached out her arms to me. I embraced her, squeezed her tight, marveling at the power she'd alread y
    achieved. I felt humbled by the Blood rather than proud of any excess to which I'd taken the whol e
    process. I gave a little accepting laugh as I kissed her, which she returned in her enchantment . If any one trait in her made me a slave it was her green eyes. I hadn't realized how clouded they'd been b y her illness. And now as I held her back, I saw a sprinkling of freckles across her face, and a flash of he r beautiful white teeth as she smiled .
    She was a small thing for all her magical health and restoration. She brought out the tenderness in me , which few people do .
    But it was time to move out of the rhapsody. Much as I hated it. The practical matters came to intrude . "Okay, my love," I said. "You're going to know one last bout of pain. Quinn will see you through it. Tak e her into the shower, Quinn. But first, arrange some clothes for her. On second thought, you leave that t o me. I'll tell Jasmine she needs a pair of jeans and a shirt. "
    Mona laughed almost hysterically.
    "We're always subject to this mixture of the magic and the mundane," I replied. "Get used to it."
    Quinn was all seriousness and apprehension. He went over to his desk, punched in the intercom number for the kitchen and gave the order for the clothes to Big Ramona, telling her to leave them right outside the door. Okay, good. All the roles of Blackwood Farm are played smoothly.
    Then, Mona, stunned and dreaming, asked if she might have a white dress, or if there might be a white dress downstairs in Aunt Queen's room.
    "A white dress," said Mona, as if she were caught in some poetic net as strong as her mental pictures of drowning Ophelia. "And is there lace, Quinn, lace that nobody would mind if I wore . . ."
    Quinn turned to the phone again, gave the orders, yes, Aunt Queen's silks, make it all up. "Everything white," he said to Big Ramona. His voice was gentle and patient. "You know, Jasmine won't wear the white dresses. Yes, for Mona. If we don't use them, they will all end up packed away. In the attic. Aunt Queen loved Mona. Stop crying. I know. I know. But Mona can't go around in this disgusting hospital gown. And someday, fifty years from now, Tommy and Jerome will be unpacking all those clothes and figuring what to do with it all and . . . just bring something up here now."
    As he turned back to us his eye fastened on Mona and he stopped in his tracks as if he couldn't believe what he saw, and a dreadful expression came over him, as though he only just realized what had happened, what we'd done. He murmured something about white lace. I didn't want to read his mind. Then he came forward and took Mona in his arms.
    "This mortal death, Ophelia, it won't be much," he said. "I'll get