Chapter 9
STAY FAR AWAY
ELLIOT
Idon’t tell Mama about the vampire blood.
I know it’s wrong, but so was hiding her illness.
This is my way of buying time, and as soon as I figure out the cure, I won’t ever do it again.
For now, I’ve mixed the blood with enough herbs and Lake Astoria water to dilute the taste.
Mama drinks it with a crinkled nose, but she doesn’t put it down until the vial is clear.
“You’re good at this,” she says, wiping delicately at her mouth. She pulls her sleeve up, displaying her grey, diseased flesh. It hasn’t spread, but it’s certainly not disappearing.
“I wish I were better,” I admit. Still, her praise warms something in my chest. Mama has always been stern and demanding of the people around her. Council members, friends, the townspeople she’s sworn to protect. Never me though. She has only ever been warm and welcoming.
“This is the first thing to slow the progression,” she says.
“You should have come to me,” I say. I can’t help myself, but as soon as the words are out, I feel a pang of guilt. I glance sheepishly at her. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re right,” she says. She gives me a thin smile, eyes watering. “I didn’t…I didn’t want to worry you.”
She blinks the tears away before straightening.
She doesn’t look at me, even as I stare at her, searching uselessly for words.
Mama tugs her sleeve back into place, hiding the grey skin.
She focuses on the grimoire before her, fingers shaking as they trail over her scrawled writing.
She’s added annotations in every blank space on the page.
I can only see the headings, but it’s clearly information on dark magic and its consequences.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say. “I’ll look into some options at work, and if you can come in—”
“No,” she says. She closes her book with a sharp snap. “No one can know.”
“We wouldn’t announce it,” I say gently. “We could come up with an excuse so no one knows. It will—”
“I said no, Elliot.” Her eyes, a lighter version of my own, flash with all too familiar determination. Once Mama’s made up her mind, there’s little point in trying to change it.
“Fine,” I say. I lift my hands in surrender. “I’ll find another option.”
“I have a meeting soon,” she says. Her eyes are back on her grimoire, hands tapping the well-worn cover. It’s been passed down for generations, and it’s strange to imagine that someday it will be mine.
I’d like to put that day off for as long as possible.
“I’ll see you later,” I say. I collect my jacket and messenger bag from the chair. Though I don’t tell Mama, it contains my last batch of medicine. After the next treatment, I’ll be out of vampire blood—and out of ways to keep her disease from spreading.
“Goodbye, Elliot,” she says. She smiles at me, lips pressed together. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I say. I start for the door, only to pause.
I’ve considered asking Mama about Secora Reed since I made it back to the Day Realm.
I don’t know what stops me. There’s an uneasy clench in my gut though, an undeniable urge to keep that interaction to myself.
Mama warned me to stay away from Secora, and even though I didn’t seek her out on purpose, it feels wrong to hide the interaction.
Telling her feels even worse.
“Say it,” Mama commands, startling me.
“How do you do that?” I ask as I turn from the door. I can’t keep the guilty smile from my face. “There’s no way—”
“I’m your mother, Elliot,” she says. She returns the smile, and her previously cold eyes spark with mischief. “Just ask. If it’s about my disease or its curability, I can tell you I don’t know. But if it’s about—”
“Secora Reed,” I blurt.
Mama’s smile evaporates, and her lips twist into something unrecognizable. I’ve rarely seen Mama angry. She’s always been too controlled, too calculating to lose her temper. Even when Sebastian Vulce attacked her onstage, she didn’t let her fear or fury show. She kept it all close to her chest.
I wait for Mama to speak, but she doesn’t. She only stares at me, and any plan to tell her the truth withers on my tongue.
“I don’t remember her,” I say. “You mentioned her the other day, and I realized…I feel like I should remember—”
“She murdered your best friend,” Mama interrupts. Though her voice softens, her posture doesn’t. “It’s normal to want to forget.”
I fix my teeth together, resisting the urge to say more. I can tell by her expression this was a mistake. Mama wouldn’t understand anyway. I’m not sure I would, had my path not collided with Secora’s. The moment I saw her face, I knew something was wrong.
Something is missing, and there’s nothing normal about it.
This woman had been my classmate for years. She’d been a spare child of my friend’s family. I should have memories of her. I should remember seeing her on the playground. I should remember her voice. I should know what magic she practiced. I should remember her.
She certainly seems to remember me.
“Don’t bring up that horrid girl’s name again,” Mama says. She rubs her sternum, as if I’ve caused her physical pain.
And maybe I have. Secora Reed is one of two people to ever escape her council’s punishment.
“Mama—”
“I have a meeting,” she interrupts. This time, there’s no warmth in her tone. She looks pointedly at the door.
“‘Bye, Mama,” I say. This time, I actually go.
“I don’t know, man,” Henry says.
He sits across from me in the employee lounge of Lyrie Healing Center.
Like all employees here—myself included—he wears a simple white shirt, grey pants, and black shoes.
Only his pale violet blazer sets him apart.
Most healers here are autumnal; some are vernal.
Of our two hundred employees, only a handful are estival or hibernal.
Henry is one of them.
We met as new students at the Neutral Territory University and shared a fascination with rare and biologically complex ailments. When I’d pitched the idea of opening a new medical center, Henry was eager to join.
Now, he’s one of our top surgeons. He’s as obsessed with decoding mysteries as I am, which is why we’re here late into the evening. His shift ended in the early afternoon. Mine ended over an hour ago.
We’re only here because I can’t drag him away from his tomes. He’s surrounded by ancient books and newer research alike, the parchments cluttering the elongated grey couch. Its decorative orange and yellow pillows are on the floor to make room.
“It doesn’t make sense,” I continue. Henry is looking far more absorbed in his work than my personal crises. As his boss, I’m thrilled. As his friend, I’m irritated. I thrum my fingers across the oversized round table.
“Trauma does peculiar things to the mind,” he says distractedly. He spins his pen between his fingers, splattering his skin with black ink. As it dries, the color reminds me of Mama’s arms.
A sharp chill licks up my spine. Much as I try to ignore it, I can’t get the thought of Mama dying out of my head. There’s only one thing capable of distracting me, and it’s as much of a mystery as her illness.
“I know it does,” I say. And it’s true. I’ve seen a number of cases where the patient’s traumatic background infested their body, creating their own personal disease. Difficult to treat, strong enough to kill. “It’s just…”
Henry pauses his writing to look at me. Without lowering his pen, he runs his hand through his hair.
A droplet of ink stains his hair. Normally, I’d laugh.
Now, I just stare at the black drop, wondering how long it will be before Mama’s overtaken by disease entirely.
Will it radiate over everything? Her face, her hair, her nails?
“She killed my best friend,” I say, my voice cracking pathetically.
Henry already knows this. Everyone in the Day Realm and beyond knows about the murder of Harrison Iyle. A prominent augur’s son, slaughtered in cold blood by a fellow student. Motive, unknown.
“She killed my best friend,” I repeat, strengthening my voice. “She was our friend’s spare sister. She was around. I should…I should remember things about her.”
Henry studies me with a watchful expression. Finally, he sets down his pen.
“Why are you worrying over this now?” he asks. His face blanches the longer he looks at me. “Are you…are you thinking of seeking vengeance?”
I stop tapping the table, looking at Henry with both brows raised. We hold eye contact for a long moment before dissolving into laughter. I laugh so hard I start to cough, folding over against the table.
“For the Mother, Henry.” I choke down a breath, trying but struggling to get a hold of myself. “No, I’m not thinking of seeking vengeance.”
I try to imagine it, me storming into Sebastian’s manor and killing this woman I barely remember.
She’s evil. She’d deserve it. But I’m no killer, and though I hate to admit it, I wouldn’t stand a chance. I’d be dead before I chose a spell.
“So,” Henry says once we’ve gotten a hold of ourselves. “What is it then?”
“I saw her,” I admit. I look away from Henry, if only to avoid the expression on his face.
Past him, through the wide set of windows, the sky is starting to darken.
If we delay much longer, we’ll have to take the tunnel back to town.
“When I went to the Night Realm for the blood, I ran into trouble. She, uh, helped get me out of it.”
“Why would she do that?” Henry asks. He finally closes the grimoire, settling it on top of the scattered parchments.
“Exactly,” I say. I run a hand through my hair, fingers tense. “I can’t figure it out. All I know is that she helped me, and that when I looked at her, I felt…”
My words trail, and Henry waits patiently while I search for the right ones. The problem is, I don’t know how to explain. My mouth grows dry as I stare out the windows, heart thrumming in rhythm with my racing thoughts.