Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
Mom was way easier to visit than she used to be, and from the way she waved at me from the top of one of the mounds surrounding her property, she was expecting me to visit.
I put my hands on my hips and peered up at her. “Neit told you?”
Mom nodded and jumped down from her perch, landing gracefully. “I wasn’t sure you’d show up today, but I had a feeling. What he didn’t say was why.” She pulled me in for an embrace, her sweet scent enveloping me.
Mom stepped away and studied me, her azure eyes, my eyes, taking in my face. “You seem worried.” She looped her arm through mine and led me away. “I made some soup. Are you hungry?”
I nodded, surprised by the domesticity. Mom could cook and she had a few times before during my childhood, but she often left it to the household help to feed me, her thoughts usually somewhere else.
She led me inside her dwelling and toward the kitchen. I pulled out a scarred wooden chair and sat down while Mom bustled around, filling a glass of lemonade for me before she set a bowl of hot vegetable soup before me.
Following that was a slice of freshly baked bread that she spread with soft, slightly salted butter. I waited while she served herself before taking a bite.
The soup flavors hit my tongue and exploded. I could cook, but this recipe was out of this world.
“Mom!” I said when I could speak. “This is amazing!”
A tinge of pink colored her cheeks. “Well, thank you. I do enjoy cooking, but it’s only recently that I’ve had the time.”
“And the bread is amazing, too. Mind sharing your recipes?”
Mom stared at me for a long moment. “Of course I will, Evie.” She reached over and touched my arm. “I’d be honored to share with you.” A hesitant smile, one I’d never seen her make, touched her lips.
“I’d make this all the time,” I promised. “It’s delicious.”
Mom’s lips trembled, but she played it off and forced a smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”
We ate in silence for a while, and when we were done, Mom stood and poured herself a tea and started a cup of coffee for me. She’d bought one of the pod machines, and I knew she didn’t drink coffee.
A knot inside my heart loosened. She’d bought it for me.
When the coffee was ready, she poured me a cup and fixed her tea before bringing both to the table.
“Now,” she said, once she’d settled into her seat. “Tell me what you need.”
I didn’t beat around the bush. “Tess is missing. We thought Lugh might—”
Mom’s attention sharpened. “Lugh?”
I nodded. “Long story. We thought Lugh might have her, but Neit said he didn’t sense Tess’s presence anywhere where Lugh was staying.”
Her mouth pursed. “Why would Lugh have anything to do with your banshee?”
“She’s not my banshee,” I said gently.
Mom sighed. “I know. It’s only a term. I call Moira your vampire and your Lord your wolf.” She waved my concern away. “I’m well aware Tess is powerful enough to resist any attempts to claim her.”
Mom sounded so disgruntled over that I almost smiled. Instead, I told her the story of how Lugh had come to Joy Springs, and when I finished, Mom’s face had gone from slightly amused to grim. “He’s bad news, Evie.”
“I’m starting to understand that.”
Mom stirred a little sugar into her tea. “He’s not bad, not exactly. None of us are complete villains, despite what others might think.”
I tried not to resemble that remark. Over the last several months, I’d learned exactly how deep prejudices could go.
“But Lugh,” Mom continued, “is perpetually bored. Nothing much holds his attention anymore. Ennui catches up to him faster than any other immortal I’ve ever known.
Banshees do not exist where Lugh is from.
Death is merely an ending, not a precursor to something new.
If he spotted her, he very well might have taken her.
Neit might not have sensed her because Lugh never held her there. ”
Our eyes met. “Would you like me to see if I can track her?”
I bit down the question I was dying to ask. What will it cost me?
But Mom wasn’t stupid. A sad smile touched her lips. “You do not have to worry about asking me for anything. Not anymore. The game I played to keep you safe is long over. Those who do not know who you are to me, and your father will know soon enough. Word is already spreading.”
Sympathy touched her eyes. “For that, my dear, I can never apologize enough.”
I wanted to ask about her cryptic words, but Tess was more important.
Mom rose and took her tea. “Come,” she commanded.
I grabbed my coffee and followed her deep into the back of her house. Magic rose around us as we walked, the smell of flowers intensifying the deeper we went. Finally, she stopped at a scarred wooden door with a large, ornate doorknob.
Mom turned the knob and pushed the door open. Death magic rolled over my shoulders, cold and clammy, fingers of mist touching my neck and hair. I shivered and paused at the threshold.
“This is your heritage too, Evie,” Mom said quietly. “Enter and do not be afraid. The dead cannot harm the living.” A faint smile. “Usually.”
“Gee, Mom. That last qualifier makes me feel so much better.”
To my surprise, Mom laughed. “You are safe with me,” she clarified.
I stepped into the room. Even though Mom hadn’t touched the door, it slammed behind her, the boom of sound making me jerk in fear.
I looked around the room with wonder. The wood was dark and shiny, a deep blue woven rug taking up a large expanse.
Two burgundy chairs sat on either side of a bookshelf stuffed to the brim.
Tomes and journals filled with random scraps of paper lay scattered in random order on every shelf.
In the middle of the room sat a round table with a leather-bound book atop the surface.
Two fat, squat candles sat on either side.
On the right sat a small silver bowl holding a charcoal brick and the remnants of something burned, incense if I had to guess.
There was a small bowl of soil toward the top, a feather to its left, another charcoal brick filled with a fragrant powder below it, and another silver bowl filled with water above that.
An altar.
Mom tied her hair back and picked up a bundle of sage, lighting it with nothing more than a thought.
When the sage caught fire and the flame went out, releasing a pungent but pleasant scent with its smoke, she motioned me over and used a large feather to flick smoke over my hair, face, and body, doing the same for herself when she finished.
I watched as Mom took the formal steps of ritual before she returned to the place at the table. She pulled up a chair and sat down.
“It will take a few minutes,” she said.
“Try to be as quiet and still as possible, and do not disrupt the energy, no matter what you might see or hear.”
I nodded, more curious than anything. Mom had always kept her rituals private from me. I’d never seen her use this side of her power for anything other than control. I’d received gifts from both my parents, but I’d never held any dominion over the dead or my mother’s banshees.
Tess had once told me she liked my energy. Maybe some of my mother’s power clung to me, but it wasn’t enough to hold any power over the afterlife. I was glad of it. The powers I had were enough to deal with, and I’d barely touched the surface of any of them.
When I thought about that, I felt overwhelmed.
How was it that I could have the ability to shift into anything I desired and not be using those powers every single day of my life?
I’d embraced myself and my gifts, but sitting here now, watching my ageless mother commune with death, I wondered if I truly had.
My Floromancy felt like an extension of one of my limbs. My Chimera powers felt like an afterthought sometimes. I spent far too long being afraid of them than using the magic to my advantage.
I itched to fidget as I thought about it, uncomfortable in the assessment of myself. Maybe I should call Barrett back and ask him to come over. He’d offered, but the swans had thrown a wrench into everything.
Mom’s eyes widened, a silver film covering her irises. I sucked in a breath and froze, wondering if I should intervene, until her words came back to me.
No matter what I saw, do not interrupt.
But it was hard. Mom went still as stone, her eyes clouded with the film of death.
The room had fallen silent except for the crackling noise of the burning incense. Fragrant smoke filled the area, the scent at odds with the scene before me.
Death was not a power I coveted. I preferred the warmth and fiery power of life. Death was a release. Life was holding on to everything for as long as you could and fighting like hell to stay on the ride no matter how hard things got.
Death was letting go, and let’s face it, I’d never been good at that.
Mom sucked in a ragged breath and opened her mouth, a wail tearing from her throat. It wasn’t quite the same as a banshee wail, but it was similar enough to make my eyes water and my teeth grit.
A second later, the room fell into silence once more.
Mom gasped and opened her eyes, the film clearing away like it had never existed.
“I know where she is,” she croaked.