Chapter 18 #2
“Once she removes that unibrow of hers, maybe,” said Beverly, smiling. She flipped open a compact and inspected her reflection as though discussing facial hair was somehow relevant to the conversation.
“Can you stop and focus,” hissed my mother.
“What?” Beverly blinked innocently. “I’m just saying there are priorities.”
“Dolores can’t do anything,” I told her. “Don’t you think I thought of that? There’s nothing we can do.” I’d already spent half the night mentally running through every witch, demon, artifact, spellbook, cursed relic, and magical loophole I knew. The list was depressingly useless.
Color returned to my mother’s cheeks. “So. You’re just going to give up? I never thought you were a quitter.” Her words hit harder than she probably intended. Mostly because she knew exactly where to aim.
Ronin whistled. “Should have brought more beer.” He looked around the room. “Actually, I should have brought popcorn too. That’s on me.”
Irritation flared. “I’m not giving up. I’m trying to find Addison so she can tell me what she did.” More like I was going to make her tell me. Politely if possible. Extremely impolitely if necessary. The second option was rapidly becoming my favorite.
“I don’t accept that,” said my mother, glaring at me. “Your son doesn’t even look like your son anymore, and you won’t even try to change him back?” Her eyes glistened. “How can you even look at him and not want to fix this?”
“We can’t,” I snapped. “There’s a difference.
” My voice came out loud and sharp. “You think I haven’t spent every second since this happened wanting exactly that?
You think I don’t see it every time I look at him?
” My chest tightened afterward. Because now we were both upset. Fantastic. Excellent work, Tessa.
My mother kept shaking her head, glaring at all of us, even Ronin and Iris, like we were all involved in some scheme to keep Darian the way he was. At one point she actually looked at Ronin suspiciously. He was guilty of many things. Most things, honestly. But not this.
“What does Marcus think?” my mother asked, a tremor in her voice. She looked around the room like she expected him to materialize and support her argument.
“He’s worried.” It was partly true. I wasn’t going to tell her how proud he looked when he saw Darian grown.
Yes, he was also worried, but I knew that male alpha part of him was pleased to see Darian taller and stronger.
Yeah, not sure that would go so well right now.
My mother was already one emotional sentence away from combusting.
My mother nodded. “He should be worried.” Her face screwed up. “While you’re doing nothing to help him what happens tomorrow or in a week from now when he ages again? Will it stop?” Her voice cracked on the last words, and suddenly the anger fell away enough for me to see the fear underneath.
Another good question. “I don’t know. I hope so.” My father was pretty certain that it would, that there were no more traces of whatever Addison had done to my kid. It was a hope, not a real certainty, but I was going with it. At the moment hope was doing a lot of heavy lifting in my life.
“Hope so!” my mother raged. “Are you crazy?” She threw both hands into the air. “Hope is not a plan, Tessa!”
I raised a brow. “Careful.” Because I was already running on too little sleep, too much stress, and approximately fourteen consecutive hours of worrying. One more push, and I might start opening accidental portals into people’s bathrooms again.
My mother paced around the room. “How can you be so calm? There’s something seriously wrong with my grandson, and you’re acting like it’s no big deal.
” She threw her hands into the air again as she turned another lap through my living room.
At this point she had worn a path in the floor.
If she kept going much longer, we’d have to classify her as a weather system.
“It is a big deal,” I grounded out. “And I’m handling it.” Or at least attempting to handle it. Handling it sounded so much better than wildly improvising while fueled by caffeine, anxiety, and maternal rage.
“Really?” Amelia turned to face me. “It doesn’t look like it. It looks like you don’t even care.” The accusation landed harder than she probably intended. Mostly because it hit directly on top of every fear I’d already been carrying around since this nightmare started.
“Oh shit,” mumbled Ronin. “Definitely should have brought more beer.” He looked at his empty bottle mournfully. “Or a helmet.”
I opened my mouth to tell her off but stopped the last second. It wouldn’t do me any good to fight with my mother. She didn’t believe me. So I used the only person she did. “Do you trust your husband?” If there was one person in the universe my mother trusted more than herself, it was my father.
My mother blinked. “What? What kind of question is that?” Her pacing stopped. Finally.
“Do you?”
“Yes, of course I do,” said my mother. She looked offended I’d even asked. Which was fair. Those two were disgustingly devoted to each other.
“And if he said that Darian was safe.” I watched her expression change a fraction.
“That Darian was not in danger of aging again, would you believe him?” Again my father hadn’t given me an absolute certainty that what happened to Darian would stop.
But he was more sure than not. And right now, more sure than not was the closest thing I had to solid ground.
My mother hesitated for a moment. “What are you trying to say?” The anger was still there, but now uncertainty had slipped in around the edges.
“She’s saying that if Obiryn said Darian was safe now would you believe him,” interjected Beverly, lazily glancing at her manicure. “Which frankly is the first sensible thing anyone has said in the last ten minutes.”
My mother’s gaze met mine. “He said that?” Hope slipped into her voice so fast it almost hurt to hear.
I nodded. “He did. And you can ask him.” I held her gaze. “In fact, you absolutely should. Because I know you’re going to anyway.” There wasn’t a universe where Amelia Davenport let this go without interrogating my father personally.
“You bet I will.” Amelia’s shoulders lowered as I saw some of her tension loosen a bit.
“So, you’re saying he’s okay. That he’s going to be okay.
Just… he won’t or can’t go back to when he was a baby?
” Her voice softened on the last part. That was the real wound.
Not the magic or Addison. But the years she felt were stolen.
“That’s right,” I answered, my throat tight.
“He’s going to be fine.” That was a lie, because the truth was, I didn’t know.
And that scared the crap out of me. Every time I looked at Darian I saw the missing years standing between us.
Years we’d never get back. Years Addison had taken without asking.
“Fine,” said my mother. “I should go. I have lunch to prepare for your father. And don’t you worry.
I will ask him about Darian.” Most of the threat was gone from my mother’s voice, and I knew she was slowly coming to believe that her grandson would be okay.
Which was good because I wasn’t sure my living room could survive another round.
“Bye, Mother,” I said, following her to the door. “This was fun. We should do it again soon.” I smiled sweetly. Some lessons were never learned.
Ronin snickered. “Good one.” He was enjoying this entirely too much.
Amelia put her hand on the door handle and turned around. “You find that Addison. You hear me? You find her, and you make her pay.” Her eyes flashed. For a brief moment I saw exactly where I got some of my more questionable personality traits.
I smiled, finally something we agreed on. “You can bet your ass I will.” There it was. The one thing everyone in this house could unite behind. Hating Addison.
My mother nodded, seemingly satisfied, opened the door, and left.
I watched her go, all tense and determined down the street. Even from a distance she looked like she was mentally preparing a speech for my father. Poor Obiryn.
Yes, I would make Addison pay when I found her.
But I had to find her first. And unfortunately my brand-new portal magic seemed to think Martha’s bathtub was a more pressing investigative lead than the evil scientist who experimented on my son.
Which meant I still had work to do.
I’m coming for you, Addison…