Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
The sharp scent of rain on stone hit me first. A moment of disorientation and I blinked away the dizziness to see a stunning, fertile land of green.
My Floromancy sang in my veins. Multiple small mounds rose in every direction, some covered in flowers, some covered in thorns.
Birds of all shapes and colors flew through the air, their songs high and sweet.
The sky above was a crisp, vivid blue, not a cloud to be found.
I inhaled fresh, clean air, tears coming to my eyes at what I was denied.
My mother appeared on a flower covered mound, dressed in a silvery blue gown. Her hair streamed behind her. She made no move toward me but stayed silent and watchful.
I bit down my annoyance and started walking. Before I got very far, a wail in the distance made me freeze. Darts of silvery mist appeared in the distance, heading right for me. I watched, certain these were banshees. As far as I knew, I wasn’t marked for death.
Tess, I hoped, would tell me. The thought made me laugh. It’d be just my luck if my ass was about to die a horrible death in front of my mother because my banshee friend forgot to tell me I was due to die today.
Five banshees landed before me. Some short, some tall. All female, all with long, flowing hair.
“Speak a memory you refuse to think or speak of,” said the tallest banshee, “and you will be granted access to our queen’s domain.”
I exhaled. “Mom. You know this is bullshit, right?”
No one said a word. “I’m your daughter, and you’re the one who opened the stupid portal.”
Cliona didn’t even blink.
“I swear to the gods, you are off my Christmas list.”
“What kind of memory?” I said to the creepy banshee. They were pale imitations of Tess, washed out visages of once living women. I was half convinced my hand would pass right through them if I reached out.
“A memory you refuse to think or speak of,” the banshee repeated.
“Helpful,” I drawled. My brain was full of memories I refused to do either of, but would any of them work? Was my mother searching for information to use against me, or was she just being a bitch?
Both could be true. I racked my brain, keeping my mother in my peripheral vision, trying to come up with something good enough to let me through.
“Does it matter when the memory was?” I asked the banshee.
“No.”
Chatty, this one. “Who decides if the memory is good enough?”
“The magic will decide,” the banshee said.
Hmm. I’d told few people about Scotland, but never how I felt lying on the ground, dying.
My mother didn’t deserve that memory. I thought of Caelan and how I never voiced how he made me want for something I may never be able to have.
Cernunnos came to mind—how angry I was at him for abandoning me and trying to reckon with knowing he’d done it to keep me alive.
I thought of Moira and Tess and Ash and my shop and land.
Joy surrounded me. All I had to do was reach out for it.
Even so, a well of grief and anger lay deep and endless inside me.
And then…I had the memory. A soft, tender memory, layered underneath years of confusion and horror.
I smiled at my mother and had the pleasure of watching her blink and take an involuntary step back.
“When I was a child, my mother was a cruel, vindictive mistress. She never lay a hand on me. That was not her way. No.” I shook my head. “Cliona deprived.”
The banshees’ eyes widened.
“My mother deprived me of love, touch, and kind words. Never food. Never shelter. I was dressed well and always had new clothes and new shoes. My hair was brushed to a dark sheen, decorated with pretty, shiny barrettes and braids. I was clean and well fed, sent to a good school, and educated about the human world. But she never held me when I skinned my knee or cried over a fellow student’s cruelty. I learned how to console myself.”
A silvery tear rolled down the banshee’s cheek.
“I was allowed no friends and no family, no visitors other than those specific people my mother sought to show how good of a parent she was. And then, she gave me away right when I finished with the first school. I don’t remember how old I was. Maybe three or four.”
I met the banshee’s eyes. “My mother saved my life by handing me over to humans. I would not have survived under her cold ministrations if she hadn’t, but that is not my memory.
” I looked away from the banshee and met my mother’s eyes.
“Cliona came into my bedroom only one time, late at night when I was supposed to be sleeping. But you see, I rarely slept in that cold, loveless room.”
Mom’s eyes widened.
“She laid a flower on my dresser, one I’d never seen before, and whispered that if she knew how, she would love me. The next day, she dropped me off on the steps of a small house and left before they’d opened the door.”
Silence filled the air. The five banshees stood like statues, each with tears in their eyes, before the first bowed her head.
“Accepted.” As one, they shot into the air like a silver bullet and disappeared into the distance.
I took a step forward.
My mother floated from the top of her mound to the ground. She turned away from me and waved a hand, revealing a small entryway with a spiral staircase leading downward.
“Enter, daughter.”
I sighed. “Can’t we just talk out here? I have a date later.”
I did not.
Mom’s shoulders stiffened. “Can’t you be serious for one single moment?”
She said nothing about the memory I’d given away, ignored the tension in the air between us, the possibility of something positive shimmering between us before it faded away like it had never been.
“For you?” I snorted. “Nope.”
We started down the staircase, Mom’s dress trailing behind her. Even in the dim light, she managed to still sparkle. “Why must you always be so antagonistic?”
I halted on the next step. “Me? I’m antagonistic?” A crack of laughter I couldn’t hold back. “You’ve been trying to lure my banshee to you for weeks now, and you tried to kill me!”
A scoff. “Kill you?” Her dark hair shimmered against her back as she shook her head. “No, my darling. I was trying to save you.”
Counting in my head wasn’t working so well anymore. If I had a knife, I’d strongly consider raising it and stabbing her right in the space between her neck and shoulder. But I’d get bloody, and I liked this shirt.
“Save me,” I said slowly, after a too-long pause. “Didn’t you show up with Donovan to stab Caelan in the back and also work with Rhona to take me down?”
“Semantics,” she said from over her shoulder. “Fae will work with anyone who furthers their goals.”
“Good to know. I assume that’s why I’m here.”
We came to the bottom of the stairs, the area widening into a large room with bookshelves along the walls, soft cushioned chairs in blue and greens.
Stunning carved wooden furniture surrounded a stunning gemstone table.
Mom snapped her fingers, and a tea set appeared, complete with cream, sugar, and two delicate cups dotted with flowers and vines.
A bit on the nose for Mom.
“I made Earl Grey. I hope that’s okay.”
“That’s Moira’s favorite. I’m more of a coffee drinker.”
Mom’s lips thinned. “I can bring in coffee if you like.”
“No. I know you prefer tea.”
She waved a hand. “Please. Have a seat.”
I sank into a chair and had to stifle my sigh. The chairs were amazing. And definitely not from a discount furniture store.
I would not ask her where she found these.
I would not ask her where—
“I’ll have some delivered to your home, Evangeline,” Mom said as she poured the tea.
Dammit. “Thank you.”
“If you wish to walk among our people, you must learn to control your facial expressions. Every emotion shows in your eyes.”
“Who said I want to spend any time with the fae?”
One of her eyebrows quirked up. “Your attendance at Cernunnos’s dinner was a fluke?”
Fae spies sucked. “I was invited. Curiosity doesn’t mean I want to move to the fae lands.”
“Regardless, my point stands. Even if you do not entangle yourself in your kind, your relationship with the wolf will require your presence in delicate political situations. You must learn to position yourself as neutral, even if you burn inside.”
My mother was making…sense. Why did it make me want to stick my tongue out at her and refuse to drink my tea?
“Why did you call me here?” I took a sip of my tea and wished it was coffee.
Mom rolled her eyes, wiggled her finger, and the scent of the brew changed into a dark, rich Colombian roast. Where was this mom when I didn’t want to eat my vegetables?
“You swallowed the World Seed. Did you even once think about the consequences before you made such a foolish choice?”
“Bonding time is over, I guess?”
Mom set her teacup down and leaned forward, her vivid blue eyes burning. “You are a living gate, Evangeline. Your life will never be the same.”
“My life hasn’t been the same since a Chimera attacked me almost eight years ago. What’s one more thing?”
“So flippant,” Mom murmured. “Soon, when the worlds stop reeling from your decision, you will have the gods at your doorstep. You are their key home. But some won’t be so magnanimous. Some will try to tear the power from your heart.”
“And you?” I said, willing my heart not to thunder like a scared rabbit. “Will you tear it from me?”
“You think me terrible,” she said. “A bogeyman in your life. Every decision I made was one that kept you strong, kept you alive.”
“And my father? What about him?”
Her eyes flashed with fury. “I suspect you know who your father is. After all, he’s taken quite an interest in you, hasn’t he?”
Cliona wasn’t stupid. Every time a god dropped by, they left a mark of power, an indelible stain denoting their presence that took weeks to fade. Cernunnos’s touch was over much of my land. Cliona couldn’t enter my property, but she would know he was in Joy Springs.
“And if he has?”
“The Fae King is bored. Such is the way with immortals. You are a new and shiny thing. Do not be surprised when he casts you aside for something else.”
“Gee, Mom. You should go on the road with motivational speeches like that.”
Mom reached down beside her chair and picked up a small suede pouch. “I have something for you.”
“Beware gifts with teeth,” I muttered to myself.
“This is your heritage,” she said, ignoring me. “And your anchor to my lands. If you keep it in the pouch, you can use it to travel here at will. If you plant it…” Mom’s voice trailed off. “Well, we will see what you choose. Either way, what is in the pouch and what comes of it belongs to you.”
I did not take the pouch from her outstretched hand. “Is it a bomb?”
“Use your magic. It is nothing more than a seed made by my own hand.”
I tested it before I took it, sending a questing tendril of magic toward the pouch. My magic seeped through the suede, touching the seed. I felt deep, earth-shattering power, a touch of Tess. No. Banshee magic and blood, soaked in greenery and earth magic.
Cliona wasn’t lying. A seed, albeit a strange one, lay inside. I took the pouch from my mother’s fingers and tucked it in my pocket, unsure if I’d ever use it. “Is this why you wanted to see me?”
“Do I need a reason to see my daughter?’ Cliona asked primly.
I rolled my eyes. “Let’s not do this.” I waved my finger back and forth between us. “This mother daughter shtick where you pretend to care about me, and I pretend like anything you say is real.”
A flicker of real hurt flashed over her face, there and gone in an instant. Mom straightened and rose. “Very well. Then I suppose this meeting is over.”
I didn’t rise right away,
“I assume you can see yourself out.” Mom walked past, pausing to brush a lock of hair from my eyes, her fingers soft and cool. It was the first time she’d ever voluntarily touched me.
And that made me immediately suspicious.
“Until we meet again, Evangeline.” A wisp of power and she was gone, leaving me in this room with the amazing chairs and a pot of tea I didn’t want.
“Dammit,” I muttered. She was the bad guy.
So why did I feel so awful?