Chapter 12
Light from the window wakes me up. Not morning light—it’s golden light from the west. It must be very late afternoon, which means I’ve slept through almost the entire day.
You’d think that a sleep like that would give me perspective.
Or at least some relief from the previous night’s emotional misery.
But I can still see the hate in Rafa’s eyes as if he were right here in front of me.
Just like I can see Collin’s gentle smile, moments before I sacrificed him for nothing.
Repugnant. Outplayed. Outsmarted. I desperately run over the last moments in the Benevolent Society in my head—we fought our way through vampires, so does that mean Valiente broke his end of the deal?
I don’t have Collin to answer, but something tells me there’s no way I’m getting off that easy.
Valiente was shouting “Stop!” while we were being chased—that is, until I knocked a bunch of vamps down the stairs into him.
He could very well have been trying to get them to stand down.
And both Rafa and I were able to leave the building, and he didn’t come after us once we were out. That’s probably more than enough.
There is no avoiding that I’ve literally ruined everything, so I just pick up crying where I left off, only this time with more quiet tears and rolled onto my back instead of face-first. That’s how pathetic I am.
It takes me another fifteen minutes of on and off weeping before I’m finally out of gas and feeling hollowed out and empty. My neck really hurts. And I’m also crazy hungry, since I haven’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday.
I’m debating between doing nothing about that—thus punishing myself with some kind of sloth-like hunger strike—versus calling for food delivery, when there’s a knock at the office door.
I can’t help hoping it’s Rafa coming back (I know, that’s screwed up) while also being afraid it’s the vampires (not likely in daylight!). But the unmistakable silhouette of a woman behind the frosted glass clues me into what would actually be realistic:
It must be Nicole. Checking in to find out if I have any news on her daughter.
God, this is the last bit of music I want to face!
And I have to look crazy scary, covered in dried blood and with what I’m sure are huge bruises around my neck.
But I owe her an answer, so I trundle my achy body over to the door and pull it open—to see my mother standing there, all blond and teenage in a form-fitting, strapless pastel-pink dress.
She has a minuscule clutch purse expertly tucked under her arm and is holding up a branded brown paper bag of McDonald’s.
Mom started speaking the moment I turned the handle. “I realize actually placing a call to me with an update is too much to ask, but I would at least expect you to answer your—”
Then she sees me and her entire face falls.
“Christ. Alvin.” She brings up the pink french-manicured fingertips from her free hand to cover her mouth, blanching. It causes the clutch purse under her armpit to slip almost a whole quarter of an inch.
She seems honestly shocked. I must really look like hell.
“What are you doing here, Mom?” I’m so stunned, I just blink. “How do you even know about this place?”
She swallows and regains a bit of her usual arrogance. “Because I’m your mother.”
Sure. Okay. Whatever that means.
We stare at each other across the open doorway for an awkwardly long time. She breaks first.
“I… could tell you were in pain,” she says.
“Emotional pain. More than you usually are. That’s why I’m here.
” She motions with glossy nails at the stenciled SARAH STRYKER, PARANORMAL INVESTIGATOR text on the frosted glass of the door.
“And I’ve known for months that you’ve been working for the human wizard, because I make an effort to keep myself informed about who my son associates with. ”
Um… what? She can sense my emotions across distance? And she’s been straight-up spying on me? Well, none of that is awesome!
My mother arches her eyebrow and sighs. “So, are you going to let me in or should I just eat this unholy garbage pretending to be food, by myself, in the hall?”
There’s probably a million reasons I shouldn’t let my mom through my boss’s door. After all, she’s apparently some kind of evil succubus Hell queen. But if she really has malevolent intentions, odds are Stryker’s magic will still stop her.
And fuck it, I’m hungry.
I step back and, with an eye roll, motion for her to enter.
She glides through and doesn’t burst into flames or whatever, so I guess we’re good.
Mom rests the food and her purse on the side of the couch. Then she turns to me and lightly touches my neck. There is real anger in her eyes. And threat.
“Who did this to you?”
She actually seems like she’s ready to make someone pay—and even in the form of an underage porn star, I don’t doubt she’s dangerous enough to deliver. What Rafa did was very uncool, but I don’t want him dead.
So, I dodge.
“Vampires,” I say. “It was a rough night.”
Her eyes rake over the large patches of crusted blood covering my clothes. Then her lip curves with a hint of pride. “Hm. Well, if you just got away with bruises, I suppose I should see the other guys, huh?”
I snort, more out of reflex than anything else. It seems I’m moving straight on from raw despair to “you gotta laugh, or it’s just not funny.”
Or maybe it’s just my blood sugar crashing.
“You got an actual burger in that bag?” I ask.
Her smile expands. “Three Double Quarter Pounders, two large fries, twelve-piece nuggets with spicy mustard, an apple pie, and, ridiculously, a Diet Coke.”
All of that is literally my favorite, even though I don’t usually scarf double-burgers three at a time. But right now, I’m honestly not mad at the idea. I nod and can’t help but be impressed. When she wants to play nice, she’s clearly got some game.
I take the McDonald’s and bring it over to my desk to unpack.
I cram a warm, greasy nugget into my mouth before the bag is even half-emptied and squeeze my eyes with bliss.
It is literally the best-tasting thing I’ve ever had.
Mom takes a seat on the edge of the plastic client chair across from me, very pleased with herself.
She remains perched there, smirking silently, as I sit down and inhale two of the burgers, the rest of the chicken, and all of the fries.
It’s only once I’m done that she settles against the chairback and folds her arms for a motherly interrogation.
“Now… tell me what happened.” She clearly expects her bribe of a massive quantity of junk food to put me in a compliant mood.
Which, as it happens, she’s not wrong about. That and the fact that I literally have nothing else to lose. And no one else to unload onto.
I give her the whole story, including Emma and the kids, the apocalyptic death god ritual I’ve enabled, Rafa finding out what I am and stalking off, and even my sex with (and feelings for) the Avatar of Knowledge.
The only things I leave out are Rafa hurting me and any suggestion that I have more-than-incubus powers.
And I skip over that last part mostly to honor Collin, because I know he wouldn’t want me to tell her.
By the time I’m done, we’re getting close to sunset.
Mom is quiet throughout the entire thing, and her face remains surprisingly non-judgey—except when I tell her what happened with the druid, which sparks the murderous look again.
(So, maybe my mother wasn’t behind that particular act of treachery?
Will wonders never cease!) I still expect her to latch on to some stupid detail to beat me over the head with, so I’m surprised when she instead focuses on what’s actually important here.
“Show me this ritual the vampire hopes to cast.” Her expression is serious, but not anxious.
Belly stuffed to bursting, I shove myself up to my feet, wipe my greasy hands on the only non-bloody parts of my sweatpants (my butt, basically), and unlock Stryker’s office to retrieve the book from the safe.
It’s only when I’m back, standing right in front of my mom with a world-ending tome of magic in my hands, that I realize this might not be such a good idea.
“Mom, you need to promise you’re not going to do anything evil”—I immediately correct myself—“—anything I would consider evil—with this book. And I want that to be a magical covenant.”
A war between motherly annoyance and increased regard quickly plays out on her face. The smirk she lands on lets me know she’s at least considering it.
“And what do I get out of this exchange?” she asks coolly.
I exhale, impatient. “You get me to begin to trust you.”
Her smirk slips into genuine gratification. “Very well. Agreed.”
I feel a sense of gently thudding closure land in the magic around us, so I guess it’s a deal. I give her the book, and she starts flipping through the pages.
I drag my chair around the desk to sit next to her and look over her arm at the complex illuminated runes in gold ink that cover each page. None of it looks like actual letters. “Can you even read it?”
That gets me a much more familiar heavy-lidded, I’m-thousands-of-years-old-and-my-son-is-an-idiot glance. The kind that made me doubt my whole existence pretty much every day. Good to know my mom’s still in there and hasn’t been replaced by a pod person or anything.
She slows down over one section early on and stops flipping completely about three quarters of the way through the book, carefully studying the next six pages. After she runs her finger down what must be the last page of the ritual, she meets my eyes again.
“The vampire still has the watch and at least ten humans with magical talent?”
“I think that’s a pretty safe bet,” I say.
She rests the book in her lap and huffs out a sigh. “Then there’s no way around it—we’ll have to run.”
My heart sinks. “It’s that bad? There’s no way to stop him?”