Chapter Fifteen
To say I was fussed over would have been an understatement.
Finn went overboard the second Imani had seen to bandaging up the wounds on my back (which she’d said weren’t so deep that they’d need stitches).
Somewhere along the way, my headache had improved, so that was an added bonus.
I couldn’t help but wonder if my newly found magical abilities were somehow aiding in my recovery.
It just seemed like I should have been in more pain and physically worse off than I actually was.
Regardless, throw pillows were shoved behind my back and an avalanche of blankets settled onto my lap in mere seconds. Wanda made no secret of how funny she found the whole thing, aiding and abetting my teenage son with unholy enthusiasm.
“This really isn’t necessary,” I protested when Finn pushed a cup of potion-infused green tea into my face.
The stuff was great for soothing nerves if you were a supernatural creature.
For mere mortals like myself (if I even was a mere mortal any longer), the brew was likely to knock me on my ass, if not send me off to sleep entirely.
Finn gave me a stern look, aiming it down his nose. It was impossible not to notice how he towered over me on the couch. He was getting so big. I might have even found the worry endearing if he weren’t hovering so much.
“It is necessary, Mom. You’re tired, you’re hurt, and you need to sleep.”
“All excellent points,” Wanda said, settling on the arm of the sofa opposite me. Her generous proportions barely fit onto her perch. She was practically overflowing the neckline of the black silk blouse she’d selected for the coming night shift.
I still didn’t envy her the ruse. Pretending to be a vampire for the safety and comfort of herself and others was taking its toll on her. She looked more tired and put out than usual.
“Don’t you start,” I warned her, taking the cup from Finn’s hand when he pressed it hard into my palm. There were just some battles I wasn’t going to win, and I had a feeling this was one of them.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to rest. I’d seen Andre safely up to my bedroom until further notice.
I’d left him there snoring, one arm clutching the pillow to his chest. It was the position he preferred when we slept together.
I’d gotten used to falling asleep with my head pillowed against one shoulder, my body curled perfectly around his long, lean frame.
The truth was that I feared I’d hurt him if I sprawled.
We were both tender, and a night or two sleeping on the couch didn’t feel like such a sacrifice if it kept him comfortable.
After all, he had been put through a tougher wringer than I had.
“You’re exhausted,” Wanda said with a faux exaggerated sigh. I could tell she wasn’t that exasperated with me. Not yet, anyway. “And you need to heal. Nothing bad is going to happen. Just drink your tea and close your eyes. Auntie Wanda won’t corrupt your son. Too much.”
“You know how to inspire boundless confidence in others,” I said dryly.
That made Wanda crack a smile and tip her half-full glass of wine in my direction. I wasn’t sure if I should roll my eyes at the day drinking or not. I wasn’t the one stuck inside most of the morning lest I be discovered as a fraudulent vampire.
“You joke, but I mean it. I won’t let anything touch the kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” Finn argued.
“Fine, I won’t let anything touch your pouting adolescent.”
Finn made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat but didn’t argue this time.
I watched the exchange through heavy-lidded eyes.
I was tired. I didn’t need a potion to make me melt into the couch cushions and drift off.
It was the fear that tickled the base of my spine that kept me upright.
Fear that the thing I’d seen was going to make its way in again.
That none of us was safe. Furthermore, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I represented a sitting duck, being magically drugged into sleep.
I couldn’t let that thing touch my son again. Or Andre.
“Drink,” Finn ordered.
I took a single sip, nose wrinkling at the aftertaste of rose and benzoin.
No matter how watered-down I’d made this potion, it still managed to override the taste of whatever chaser I added it to.
Add in the hyssop and anise touches that Maverick added in for extra healing, and I had to hold my nose to down more of it.
Finn didn’t stop glowering until I’d gotten halfway through the foul concoction and handed the cup off to Wanda.
Only then did he settle in front of the television and switch the channel to a Spongebob marathon.
My eyelids drooped, unbearably heavy after only a few seconds. I sank lower into the cushions, smiling vaguely when Wanda patted the wad of blankets where my feet should have been.
“Don’t worry about anything. We’ve got this.”
I wasn’t sure what I might have said to that, because a second later my eyelids clanged shut like steel shutters. Her words blurred into soft incomprehensibility and I slid quietly, unwillingly into sleep.
***
“That is your last countertop,” Maverick said warningly, glowering at me over the lip of a glass measuring cup. “Scrub another one, and I’m going to hex you.”
I paused, glancing sideways at him. He was kidding about the hex. I was... um... around sixty percent sure he was kidding.
“They’re messy,” I said, sweeping up the last trail of breadcrumbs. Someone hadn’t cleaned up after their midnight snacks again.
I suspected a certain High Witch had shirked chores again, too lethargic to tidy up.
I was beginning to worry about her. The perpetual night shift was sapping her color and etching shadows beneath her eyes.
She put on a good facade, but I knew she was exhausted.
Living under vampire siege would do that to a person.
And here I was, being more of a hindrance than a help.
Without my potions, my magical arsenal was vanishingly small.
I still didn’t know how or even if I could use this new, frightening power on the dragon culprit.
So I’d cleaned. Scrubbed. Scoured. Baked.
Whipped around the coven house like a small, domestic tornado.
I couldn’t do anything about my shop. No further incidents had occurred at the house.
A week had passed, and my shop remained closed.
My son was having nightmares. And I couldn’t fix it.
I couldn’t change it. So I wanted to feel useful, damn it.
“And the house will not spontaneously combust if you sit still for five minutes,” he countered. “You’re a guest, not a damn maid.”
“Language,” I said, shooting a glance at the kitchen table. Finn had taken up a spot near the head of the table, head bent over his science homework.
“Did you really just lecture me over the word ‘damn’, Poppy?” Maverick demanded.
“Damn is not a swear word, Mom,” Finn groused. “You should hear the words the kids at school use—way worse.”
“Well, that doesn’t mean you should.”
“I didn’t—Maverick did.”
I looked at Maverick. “The point still stands.” But I couldn’t hide my smile. “Don’t make me set up a swear jar around here.”
“Okay, Pollyanna.”
Hmm, maybe a swear jar wasn’t such a bad idea. I’d be independently wealthy within weeks if I could strong-arm the coven into following the rules. Wanda alone would make up half my income. Maverick snorted but didn’t correct me. I doubted I could have pried a cent from him anyway.
“But he’s still not wrong, Mom,” Finn said gently, turning in his seat to face me.
His eyes were bleary with fatigue, and I ached to tuck him into his bed.
He was growing up. Dealing with grown up fears.
Grown up nightmares. In some ways, he wasn’t a kid anymore.
He was a young man now. And part of me was terrified of admitting it, even if it was obviously true.
“About what?” I hedged, glancing away from his insistent stare.
There was a lot to look at. Wanda seemed to be constantly in the process of ordering renovations of the coven house.
Lorcan didn’t seem to mind her zealous adherence to aesthetics one bit.
The counters were marble. The floors were darkly stained hardwood.
The range stove was my secret envy—just too perfect for brewing.
Maverick and I used to compete to see who got custody of the stove whenever we were brewing.
Until this. Until my power had gone out of control. Before my magic was dangerous.
“That you don’t have to clean up after everybody all the time,” Finn answered
“No one is asking you to,” Maverick put in.
“Yeah, you should be resting, not scrubbing the countertops,” Finn finished.
“I want to help,” I said weakly.
“No, you want to punish yourself,” Finn continued. “Because you’ve got this stupid idea that you’re hurting us. That you’re scary. Well, Mom, if you’re scary, I must be scary.”
“What are you talking about?” I started.
He looked at me. “Because I’m not normal, am I?”
“Of course you are!”
“Look at all these things I can do. That’s not normal! Or the fact that it’s easy for magicians to go bad—why wouldn’t you be scared of me? I’m scared of me!”
“I would never be afraid of you,” I managed.
“Well, I would never be afraid of you either,” he answered. “That was sort of my point.”
“I, for one, am so glad I just got to witness this after-school-special moment,” Maverick grumbled.
But my attention was on Finn, who now had his head bowed low over his workbook, though his pencil had stilled. His fine hair hung forward, a curtain between him and me.
“Finn,” I said gently.
He didn’t answer, only pressed his eraser hard into the paper, scrubbing out his answer. He wouldn’t look up at me.
I crossed the room and rested a hand on the back of his chair. “Hey Buddy, look at me.”
“Mom,” he protested.
“Finn. Please look at me.”
He shook his head, still not meeting my eyes. His jaw was tight, his knuckles white around the pencil.
I could feel Maverick’s smug ‘I told you sos’ from here. It took everything I had not to wince. He’d been right. Finn was feeling insecure, and it was my fault.
For a long moment, Finn stayed frozen, lips pressed into a thin line. “I can’t.”
The night was quiet, the only sound the clinking and splashing of Maverick’s brewing in the background.
My hands had formed restless knots around the dish rag.
Part of me wanted to run in the opposite direction.
I didn’t want to confront this issue now.
But the longer I waited, the worse things would become.
“Why not?” I asked, voice tight. I would not cry, damn it.
“Because,” he said, voice barely audible. “I know this worries you. I can see that. And I can feel it when you lie to me… I know you’re scared of me.”
The words landed like a blow to my chest. I reached for him, cupping his face in my hands, forcing him to look up at me. My throat felt tight, but I pushed the words out anyway.
“Oh, Finn. I’m not scared of you. I’m scared for you.
There’s a difference. Your power doesn’t make you a monster—it makes you you.
And maybe I don’t always know how to handle that.
Maybe I’ll get it wrong sometimes. But I will never, ever stop being proud of you.
” I paused, trying to force the tears aside but they were welling up.
“And I would never, in a million years, be afraid of you.”
Finn’s shoulders trembled, and for the first time in a long while, he leaned against me, letting me wrap my arms around him.
He let out a long breath, leaning into my side. Then he reached down, pulled the rag from my hands, and set it gingerly on the table.
“Then…” he hesitated. “Do you want to hear what I’ve learned? Everything I can do?”
“I’d love that more than anything.”
His eyes brightened, a flicker of pride breaking through the uncertainty. “Okay. It’s a lot,” he warned, but the smile tugging at his mouth was boyish again.
He wasn’t a kid anymore, but he’d always be my kid. My Finn.
“I don’t mind that at all.”