Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Achime rang, long, low and loud, drowning out everything else.
A strange feeling of vertigo surged through me, as if I was falling, but I didn’t feel wind rushing past my skin or gravity tugging at me.
The last of the familiar magic Nate and Eryk had pushed through me started to drain away as it hurtled me through all the dimensions—time, space, geometry, sound…
Then, there was nothing.
For a long time, I couldn't see anything at all. Not even blackness, or that reddish-brown tinge you got when your eyes were closed. It was the strangest sensation, as if my eyes had been removed completely or as if I’d never known vision at all.
My body felt weightless, substance-less.
No hair tickled my bare shoulders. But somehow, I knew it was still there.
The chime faded. With a strange pop, my ears unblocked, and I realized I could hear someone crying.
It was a woman. Sobbing, letting out little hiccups, and wailing every so often. She sounded so distraught.
Light bloomed at the end of a long hallway. I frowned. I recognized this place, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. It felt… bigger than it should. The hallway was twenty miles long and the size of an enormous cavern. A door towered up ahead, a thousand miles high.
The door was slightly ajar. The woman’s crying came from inside.
I felt terrible. The poor woman sounded so sad, so pitiful. I wonder what had happened to make her cry? I edged closer, tiptoeing down the massive hallway, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Out of nowhere, guilt pierced me, and I hesitated, scared to go any closer.
It was my fault.
I’d done it. She was crying because I broke a little statue, her favorite, a ballerina dancing on the tip of her toes.
It was so pretty. Mom kept it up on the mantelpiece.
I just wanted to hold it, and I knew she would never let me.
So, I waited until she was busy in the kitchen, pushed the ottoman over, and climbed up, so I could pick it up and hold it.
But the statue was heavier than I expected, my fingers were small and pudgy, and I dropped it.
It shattered into pieces. I tried to hide it, but she found out, and now she was crying in the kitchen.
I’d made my mom cry. My lip wobbled; guilt and grief consumed me, making my head heavy.
I’d broken her. Mom was broken, and it was all my?—
The silver flecks on my star-spangled bra flashed in my eyes for a split second, jolting me out of despair.
I blinked. Wait. This wasn’t real.
Well, it had been. But I wasn’t a toddler. I was a grown ass woman.
“Holy shit.” I closed my eyes quickly and hissed out a breath. “Are you kidding me? Was I really about to fall at the first hurdle the Under threw at me?”
This was one of my very first memories. I was only three years old, and I never forgot how shitty I felt when I broke Mom’s favorite little statue. She shouted at me when she found it and gave me three short, sharp spanks on my butt.
It was the first time I’d ever felt guilt and shame. It was all I could think about for weeks. I’d made my mom cry.
I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting of the Under, but I thought it would be more like what I saw when I was watching Donovan stride through strange jungles and swamps, fighting off ghosts.
I didn’t realize I was going to be plunged into my most potent life memories, but I supposed it made sense.
I was facing the things I still felt bad about. Just like Donovan was.
Donovan. I had to find him.
Quickly, I checked the little tattoo on my wrist, and let out a gasp. The sand was already half-fallen. Last I checked, I had around three-quarters of it to go. Goddamnit, I had to hurry.
If this is what it took—if I had to confront all the things I’d ever done in my life that made me feel shitty, then I’d do it.
And I had to do it quickly.
“Okay,” I said out loud, marching down the enormous hallway. My feet sank into the thick Turkish carpet runner. I’d forgotten about that; my mom loved that carpet. “If this is a thing—if I have to get through my own bullshit to get to Donovan, let’s get it done quickly.” I pushed the door open.
My giant mother sat on a giant chair at a giant kitchen table, her head in her hands. “Sorry, Mom!” I shouted up at her. “My bad!”
I was sorry. But I was just a kid. There was no reason to carry around the shame and guilt for all eternity.
Mom looked at me, then, she shrank until she was normal sized. The whole kitchen shrank, in fact.
No, wait. She didn’t shrink. I grew. I was normal sized. I pinched my eyes closed and sighed. Alice in Wonderland had nothing on me.