Chapter 3
NASTY LITTLE THING
ELLIOT
“Here to see Madam Lyrie?” Vera asks.
The council’s attendant is the dreariest person I’ve ever met.
She’s the same age as I am, but she acts older than my mama.
Her hair splays over her shoulders in perfect blonde ringlets, and she peers up at me through large, round glasses.
Why she wouldn’t fix her eyesight with magic is beyond me. She certainly has the skill to do so.
Perhaps the glasses are another way to age herself. To pretend she’s mature and worldly, rather than a stale overachiever.
Most people in the council building call Mama by her given name, especially when talking to me. Not Vera though. It’s always Madam Lyrie to her. And similarly…
“Mister Elliot?” she presses. “Are you here to see Madam Lyrie or—”
“Yes,” I say. I can’t keep the exasperation out of my voice. “As has been the case every time I come, I am here to see my mama.”
If my sarcasm hurts Vera’s feelings, she doesn’t show it. She only offers a prim nod before rising from her desk.
“Let me see if she’s available,” she says before disappearing around the corner.
I don’t point out that I could see if Mama’s available myself. Over the past few years, I’ve learned it’s easier to appease Vera’s quirks than to argue.
Minutes later, I am led to Mama’s office.
Upon entering, I’m hit with the overwhelming scent of black tea and an undertone of lemon.
It’s rare for Mama to be without her black tea, and though I don’t like the taste, the smell eases something in my chest. This place smells like comfort, like home, and for most of my life, Mama has spent more time here than anywhere else.
“Elliot,” she says warmly. She places a well-read copy of our family’s grimoire on her desk. The spine is so worn the cover splays over her pale wood desk like melting ice.
Mama’s office is both overstuffed and organized.
It’s exactly how I imagine the inside of her head to be.
Bookshelves line the walls, overflowing with ancient texts and an assortment of herbs and ingredients.
Beneath each item, a dot of paint categorizes its purpose.
Mama explained the system to me once—in agonizing detail—but I’ve long forgotten how it works.
Some things, like Mama’s brain, are easier to admire than to understand.
“Hi, Mama,” I say. I cross the room, dodging the small ritual set up on her rug. It’s a location spell, and from the charred edges of the three herbs, it’s already been completed. “Looking for someone?”
“Yes,” she says. Her expression plummets as she glares at the location spell. She pushes from her desk and squeezes between two lopsided stacks of books, pulling me into a tight hug. “How was the surgery?”
“Fine,” I say. It’s the truth, but it’d still be my answer, even if it wasn’t. The last thing I want is Mama worrying over it—over me. Despite being twenty-eight and a reputable healer, she still looks at me like I’m a gangly teenager.
Mama pulls back, hands on my shoulders. Her eyes narrow as she looks over me. She won’t find anything. These are fresh clothes, free of wayward blood or potion spills.
“I changed,” I assure her, rolling my eyes. “You really think I’d risk bringing a deadly infection to the council building?”
“Of course not,” Mama says. She pats at my clothes, as if brushing them off. I think she’s still unconvinced, but then she says, “You’re too thin, Elliot. You work too much.”
“And you worry too much,” I say. I pull back, sliding past her to sit in the chair opposite her high-backed one.
Despite being the most prestigious member of the autumnal coven, Mama always makes time for her people.
She allows them to enter her office every Monday morning and complain over whatever menial thing is bothering them.
That said, she chose the world’s most uncomfortable chair for them to sit.
To move them along, she’d once told me with a wink.
“So, who are you looking for?” I ask, jerking my chin toward the ritual. “Sebastian again? Or the Pruce woman?”
“No.” Mama shakes her head. She purses her lips, as if debating whether to tell me.
“Is something going on?” I ask, straightening.
Sebastian Vulce and his clan of vampires attacked us not long ago. They’d stolen one of our prisoners and left over a dozen witches dead. Mama and the council have been uneasy ever since. Though they haven’t announced anything, I suspect they have retaliation in the works.
“Sebastian’s little witch visited last night,” she says finally.
“Ah,” is my only response. It doesn’t surprise me that the vampires are scheming too. That’s how everyone is in this godsforsaken world. They all dream of power, of wealth, and the destruction of those who stand in their way.
In Mama’s defense, the vampires have ruined her life every chance they get.
They killed her husband—my father—while she was pregnant, leaving her to raise me alone.
And years later, when she agreed to a peace treaty with them, Mama was publicly attacked by Sebastian.
They deserved her wrath, her curse. And still, I wish more than anything this would all end.
As it is, we’re in a constant state of alert, just waiting for the next rebellion.
Mama’s expression grows tighter. Her hair is almost entirely grey now, and her wrinkles look heavier than usual. She had me late in life, when most her age had teenagers. She’s always been older than my friends’ parents, and yet…She looks so much older than she did even last year.
“Secora Reed?” I ask. Mentioning the Day Realm’s most notorious criminal—and our greatest traitor—does something strange to my stomach. Like Mama hates the vampires, I have more than enough reasons to hate Secora.
She’s a violent criminal. An escaped murderer. A woman who once killed the closest friend I’ve ever had—and avoided persecution.
I have every reason to hate Secora Reed, but for some reason, I don’t.
I can’t explain why. Maybe it’s because, before she was a monster, she was just the lonely girl in my class.
Forced to wear black, ostracized by everyone around her.
She was the adopted sister of a close friend. Of Harrison’s close friend.
Simply thinking of him sours my stomach. I clear my throat, forcing the feeling away.
“Yes, Secora Reed,” Mama says with a sneer. “Nasty little thing can’t seem to stop meddling. She was here last night.”
My pulse spikes, but I don’t let myself react.
“In Ochre?”
Mama nods as she returns to her chair. She takes a long drink of tea, eyes watching mine carefully.
“The augur house,” she says. “She approached Virginia and demanded her cooperation.”
I blow out a breath and lean back in my chair. The wooden rungs dig against my spine.
“Cooperation for what?”
“Unclear,” Mama says. Deep wrinkles bracket her frown. “Virginia was too rattled to ask. Anyway, Secora is back in the Night Realm now, but she’s clearly after something. I just don’t know what…”
Mama trails off on another sigh. Takes a drink of tea.
“She’s going to be a problem,” she says. “I imagine she’ll appear here at some point. We need to have a plan. A way to uncover her motives without her realizing.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for her,” I say. “Maybe ask if any of the other healers—”
“Don’t,” Mama cuts me off sharply. “She’s dangerous, Elliot. Stay away from her, you understand?”
“Well I wasn’t planning to get drinks with her,” I say, teasing. Mama’s posture doesn’t ease in the least, and I can’t resist rolling my eyes. “She’s an escaped murderer. Obviously, I’m going to be careful—”
“You’re going to stay away,” she repeats. “Say you understand.”
This time, I do resist rolling my eyes, but only barely.
“All right, Mama,” I say. “If I happen to see her, I’ll stay away.”
“And you’ll tell me immediately.”
I arch an eyebrow, as if to say, obviously.
“Good. Enough about that horrid woman.” Mama swishes her wrist, as if flicking Secora Reed away. “Tell me about the surgery.”
It’s over an hour before I stand to leave Mama’s office. I’d only planned to stop for a short chat, but time got away from us. It’s rare we go this long without being disrupted by Vera for one reason or another.
“You’ll be at the council meeting?” Mama asks as I pull on my coat. She rises too, crossing to stand before me. “I think it’d be nice for you to—”
“It’s not a good fit,” I interrupt.
Mama flinches, just like she does every time I tell her.
I wish I had an ounce of her passion for politics, but I don’t.
Ever since I was a kid, my mind has been fascinated by the biological.
I can’t fathom sitting in an office like this.
I don’t belong in meeting halls or on stages.
I belong at the healing center, undoing nasty curses and healing wounds.
Not causing them.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask. I pull her into a hug, if only so I don’t have to see that stricken, disappointed look on her face. I keep telling myself she’ll get over my refusal to join the council, but it’s been years now. Maybe this will always be an awkward divide between us.
“Of course,” she says. “You can come over for dinner. I’ll make your favorite. You really are getting too thin.”
“I promise I’m eating, Mama,” I say, chuckling.
She laughs too, pulling back to look at me. She says something, but I don’t process it. I’m too busy staring at her wrist. The yellow fabric of her long-sleeved shirt has fallen toward her elbow, exposing dull grey skin.
I’ve been a healer my entire adult life, and I’m a damned good one. I specialize in the rare, in the difficult, in the deadly. And still, I’ve never seen anything quite like this.
Mama tracks my stare and attempts to step away, but I don’t let her.
“What in the Mother is that?” I demand.
I grab Mama’s arm, shoving the fabric fully past her elbow.
Pale grey skin stretches from just above her wrist, all the way up her arm, disappearing beneath her shirt.
Despite knowing better, despite the possibility this could be infectious, I touch her forearm.
Her skin is brittle and rough, like ancient parchment. No, rougher, like crushed eggshells.
I expect Mama to deflect. To get angry. To tell me it’s none of my concern and to leave her be.
Instead, her shoulders deflate. When I look up from her arm, there are tears in her eyes.
“I was going to tell you,” she says, voice cracking.
“Tell me what, exactly?” I can’t keep the horror from my voice.
It looks like my mother is dying, like this part of her might already be dead.
“It started with the girl’s death,” she whispers. She pulls her hand away, tugging the sleeve back into place. “Ever since the Pruce descendant died and became a vampire, it started happening.”
“Where?” I ask. I’m mentally tracking the days. Sebastian turned Grace Pruce into a vampire a month ago. An entire month ago. Part of me wants to berate her for neglecting to tell me. I will, someday, but not right now. Not when I’m already a month behind whatever the hells is happening to her.
“My chest,” Mama says. She rests her hand over her heart, closing her eyes. “Right here. Then down. Then my arms. My legs are the newest—”
“The woman’s cell was warded,” I interrupt. My thoughts are whirring too quickly, and my mind isn’t processing this as fast as I need it to. There has to be an explanation. Once we have it, I’ll figure out the solution. “Maybe when she died, some part of the ward latched onto you. Or maybe—”
“No,” Mama says. The word is final, and I realize she already knows. She knows what’s wrong and she still didn’t tell me.
“Tell me,” I say. I’m close to falling on my knees in front of her, terrified she’ll deny me. “I can fix it, Mama. I’ll fix it.”
“You can’t,” she says. A lone tear escapes, tracking down her cheek. “It’s the sun curse, Elliot. The Mother is punishing me for my part in it.”
My entire body feels cold, and a rough shiver courses through me.
Twenty years ago, the vampires had gotten out of control. Mama did what she had to to protect our kind—and all of the Echo. She cursed the vampires to burn in sunlight, and for the first time in centuries, the Echo knew peace. But even the best intentions have a cost.
Mama’s predecessor sacrificed his life to seal the curse, and she always feared the Mother would punish us for it. The Mother doesn’t want her children to die, especially not by their own hand.
“I’ll fix it,” I say again. My eyes drop to Mama’s sleeve, to the plague hidden beneath it. With a swallow, I force my attention back to her face. “I have questions, Mama. I’ll need you to answer all of them. And please, please don’t fight me on this.”
“This cannot be cured,” Mama says vehemently. Now she’s the one looking at her arm. “It’s the Mother’s will, and her vision is greater—”
“Fuck her vision,” I interrupt. My eyes burn with unshed tears, but I refuse to accept this. Mama isn’t going to die. Mama can’t die. She’s all I have in this world.
Her eyes flash. She grabs me by the upper arms, rougher than she’s ever been.
“Don’t you ever speak ill of the Mother,” she says. It comes out between her teeth, more a hiss than a whisper. “You understand me, Elliot?”
For a moment, I am a child again.
“Yes, Mama,” I tell her. I swallow the knot in my throat, letting out a breath once her grip loosens.
Speaking carefully, I try again. “Let me try to heal it. If it’s the Mother’s will that you die, then you will die.
But maybe it’s her will that I save you.
Maybe if we find the woman’s brother, it can be fixed. Let me try.”
Mama doesn’t respond right away. She takes a steady breath through her nose, palms coming to cup the sides of my face. I’ve been taller than her since I was a teenager, and yet, she’s never seemed so small. So vulnerable.
“Ask your questions, Elliot,” she says softly. “Do what you can. But please, know that I have made peace with the Mother’s decision.”