The Unskillful Thaumaturge

VIII

Lillian walked into the conference room and gazed at Rolf questioningly. "Where do I sit?"

"There is fine," Rolf pointed towards the end of the table where a good deal of equipment had been set up. Lillian walked over to the table and lowered herself into the seat, glancing around the table expectantly. "What am I supposed to do?" Her gaze drifted to the butterfly needle lying on the table as a woman in a lab coat picked it up, preparing for the blood test. Even as a child, Lillian had never been afraid of needles, and she didn't mind the pricks of pain that accompanied her regular vaccines and blood draws. Even so, she tried her best not to flinch as she felt a cold cotton ball pressed to her skin and the prick of the needle on the inside of her right elbow.

"Would you like to start the interview now, or after Janelle is done?" the woman on Rolf's left asked Lillian.

"Can we wait?" she asked, trying not to look at the needle.

The woman nodded, flicking her dark hair out of her face. A few minutes later, the woman wearing the lab coat walked back to Lillian's side and gently pulled the needle out of her arm. She took out a bandage- which, Lillian noticed gratefully, was not decorated with pictures- and placed it on the inside of Lillian's elbow.

"Would you like to start the interview now?" the dark-haired woman asked again. Lillian nodded, ready. A man sitting two chairs away from her on the left side of the table turned on his tape recorder.

"Okay," Rolf began, "these might seem like silly questions, but we need them for the basis of the tape. What is your name?"

"Lillian Bankhurst," she answered immediately.

"Do you have a middle name?" asked the woman on Rolf's left.

"No."

"What is your date of birth?" This time it was the regal-looking woman sitting between Rolf and the man with the tape recorder.

Lillian thought for a moment before answering truthfully. "I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" asked the man taking the recording.

"I do not know my exact date of birth," Lillian explained, "but I can give you an estimate."

"Well then, what's your estimate?" he followed up.

"April 9, about, 2003."

"Hm." The recording man was thoughtful for a second. "Did you ever think that was around the date of-"

"Derek!" the dark-haired woman snapped. "In time." He stopped speaking and lowered his head. But Lillian had grasped his meaning already.

"No, I don't think that's exceptionally surprising. There are a lot of people who were born around that date."

Derek nodded slowly, not buying it.

"Who are your parents?" Rolf asked gently.

Lillian winced. "I don't have any. At least not real parents."

"Can you clarify that?"

"I don't know who my real parents are. I'm adopted."

"Well then," the woman sitting on Lillian's left said sympathetically, tapping a pencil against the table. "I'm sorry about that. Do you still live there?"

"No, I live in the dorms at the university."

"How were you able to get into the dorms?" the tall woman sitting between Rolf and Derek asked.

"I take classes at the university." The woman clamped her mouth shut.

"Get over it, Erica," the dark-haired woman said quickly. "Are you an early college student, then?"