Chapter 26
THE SHARPEST OF GLASS
ELLIOT
By the time I step off the tram, it’s nearly noon. Mama won’t be expecting me, but she’ll have to make time. I won’t be able to make our planned visit tomorrow. I’ll be too busy trying to single-handedly save her life.
“Here to see Madam Lyrie?”
I blink, bringing Vera into focus. As usual, she’s sitting at her primly organized desk, staring up at me from behind her large glasses. Her curly hair is shorter than usual. It makes her look older, more proper. I’m sure it’s exactly what she was hoping for.
“Yes,” I say. My voice cracks, and I try to disguise it with a cough. I’m certain I don’t succeed.
“Let me see if she’s available,” Vera says. She pushes from her seat, swishing past me with a flare of her knee length skirt.
Despite wanting to shove past her and lead myself into Mama’s office, I force myself to be patient. The less frantic, the less emotional I seem, the more likely Mama will listen to what I say. She sees emotion as a weakness, and considering what I’m about to ask her, maybe she’s right.
“Right this way, Mister Elliot,” Vera says, coming back into view. She leads me down the narrow twist of hallways, stopping in front of Mama’s closed door. With a sharp nod, she leaves me there, returning to her desk.
When I enter Mama’s office, I’m hit with the familiar scent of old books and heavy black tea.
It’s a darker variety than normal. T’mavy, maybe.
A cup of it sits on Mama’s desk, surrounded by stacks of loose parchment.
A precarious stack of weathered books sits on one corner, and the other is cluttered with candles burnt to the wick.
At the center of the chaos, Mama sits with her typical sharp posture. Despite her body being destroyed from the outside in, much of my mama remains the same. Her astute gaze studies every detail of my appearance. She may not be a vampire, but I wouldn’t doubt she can sense a difference in me.
Do I look happier? Fuller? Do I seem more whole than I ever have, despite the fear that wreaks through me? When I passed my reflection in the neutral territory, I thought so. Even facing my greatest fear, I feel stronger than I ever have.
“Henry said you’ve been ill,” Mama says. She stares at me for a beat too long, and I work hard not to fidget.
“I’m better now,” I say. My mouth feels dry. I may be nearing thirty, but my body still rebels at lying to her. It’s been years since I felt like I needed to. These days, I lie to Mama more often than I tell the truth.
This lie, at least, feels harmless. For now, I can’t tell her the truth.
I promised Secora three times before leaving the manor I wouldn’t say a word about us to her.
Not yet, anyway. Whether Secora likes it or not, I do plan on confessing the truth to Mama and all of the Day Realm.
It’s important to me that they understand who the true villain is in our history.
It’s not Secora. It might not even be me, though I’m happy to carry that judgment.
More than anything, I need people to know Harrison was a monster, not someone to be mourned.
“I’ve brought your treatment,” I say, finally moving into the room.
The floor creaks gently under my feet as I cross to the chair.
It’s as uncomfortable as ever, the rungs pressing into my back.
I balance my bag on my lap, quickly taking out my concoction of blood and pungent herbs.
“I won’t be able to make tomorrow’s session. ”
“I’m surprised you didn't send Henry yesterday,” Mama says. She arches an eyebrow in challenge, but she rolls her sleeves all the same, placing her grey skin on display.
“I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone, and I haven’t,” I say. I bite down on my tongue at the lie, letting the taste of blood fill my mouth.
Just for now, I remind myself. I’ll tell her eventually.
First, I need to get other things in order. The sunwalker spell, for one. The Mother’s forgiveness for another.
The blood concoction is in a black vial, dark enough it’s hard to see what’s inside.
I add a few more herbs, swirling gently before setting it to the side.
While the flavor infuses, I take Mama’s hand, gently tracing my finger up the inside of her wrist. The skin feels brittle enough to break.
I could, I think. I could dig my nail against her arm and cut straight to the bone.
“It’s getting worse,” I say. I place her arm back on the desk, not bothering to check the other. I don’t need to check it to know: “You’re dying, Mama.”
Mama only sighs. She rolls her sleeves back to her wrist, hesitating briefly before unwrapping the scarf at her neck. She’s wearing thick clothing today. A buttoned yellow sweater. A floor-length skirt. A bright orange scarf, made of thick wool. I knew why she was carefully covered.
Seeing it is different.
With her scarf on the desk between us, Mama undoes the top two buttons of her sweater.
It’s not necessary. Even with her sweater buttoned, I could see the hazy grey of her skin.
It disappears beneath her shirt and stretches up toward her neck.
It won’t be long before the grey touches her face, her hands, her everything.
Even if we increase her treatment to three, four, five times a week. We’re playing a losing game.
“Mama—”
“I know, Elliot,” she says softly. She fusses with the parchments, and I get the distinct impression it’s to avoid looking at me. “I know, sweetheart.”
“Mama,” I say again, voice cracking. “If the Mother is punishing you, it means she doesn’t approve. She doesn’t approve of the curse, and so long as it’s in place, this is only going to get worse.”
Her expression smooths, and she finally looks at me. I have no idea what she’s thinking, but when she sighs, I know I won’t like it.
“I told you, I have made my peace.” She buttons her shirt and replaces her scarf as she speaks, still avoiding my gaze.
“Well, I haven’t,” I say. “We already know the vampires have started making sunwalker spells. Perhaps, if we ease the curse, the Mother will—”
“She won’t,” Mama says calmly. “The Mother has decided.”
“So what?” I ask, voice harsh. “You’re giving up? You think you know, so you won’t bother trying?”
“I’ve made my peace,” she says firmly. It’s as close as she’s come to raising her voice since I walked in here. “You need to do the same.”
I swallow. My throat feels thick, scratchy. I’m undoubtedly allergic to the horrid words she’s saying.
“No,” I say. Command. “We at least need to try. If the sunwalker spell could be the difference, we’ll at least try.”
“And undo the peace we’ve claimed?” she asks. “Listen to yourself, Elliot. I stand by everything I did for that curse. It doesn’t need to be eased. If anything, it needs to be strengthened.”
“What?” My brain lags at her words, unable to make sense of them. “Strengthened? What does that even mean?”
Mama sighs. She plucks a few parchments from her desk, stacking them together before offering them to me.
“I will be informing the council of my illness at tomorrow’s meeting,” she says as I take them. “I do not have much time left, but take comfort, my son. My death will not be wasted.”
I flick through the parchments, and my stomach sinks further with each word I read. Mama has years of information here, documenting finances and budgets, potential threats and species-specific curses. It’s her life work, broken into digestible segments.
When I reach the final parchment, I only read a few lines before dropping them all on her desk.
“You’re going to kill them all,” I whisper. I can’t hide the horror in my voice, and I’m not sure I would if I could. “They’ll all die.”
“Yes,” Mama says. She tidies the parchments I’ve just strewn over her desk, focusing on them rather than me.
“I believe my death can expand the curse, as I’m the one who made it.
The vampires will burn in the sun, and they will burn in moonlight.
They’ll burn, Elliot, and they’ll never terrorize this world again. ”
“Mama.” I say her name like a curse, like an unforgivable sin. “You can’t.”
“I have already decided,” she says. “If this is the last gift I offer the world, I will rest easy in death.”
“Gift?” I repeat. “You’re going to kill them. They’re people, Mama.”
“They are monsters,” she snarls.
I grab more parchments off the desk, flicking through them as Mama watches me with visceral disappointment.
Tomorrow. She’s planning to announce this tomorrow, after which, our realm will inevitably fall into chaos. The council will be frothing at the mouth to sacrifice Mama, the same way they were to sacrifice Grace’s father for the original curse.
“You need to push this back,” I say, throwing the parchments back to her desk. I lean on both palms, staring hard at Mama. “The annual meeting. Postpone it. At least give me a few weeks. We can figure something out.”
Something to stop your death. To make you rational. To stop everything I love from collapsing at once.
“That wouldn’t change anything,” Mama says sternly. She straightens the mess of papers on her desk, but her attention flickers back to me.
“A week,” I beg. “At least give me a week. Let me work through this before everyone else knows.”
A week is nothing, and I’m sure she’ll agree, if only to placate me. It’s not much time, but it’s enough. I’ll be able to work out a plan with Secora. Mama will agree. She has to.
Instead, she shakes her head. She pauses her organizing to cover my hand with her own. Though it still holds her natural color, I swear her skin feels different. Softer, more fragile than ever.
“I can’t.”
“Why?” I ask, my voice cracking. “Please, Mama. Just give me a few more days.”
“The augurs leave for their retreat the day after tomorrow,” she says softly. “They won’t be back for a month. We both know I don’t have that long.”
The world halts. For all the horror I’ve just absorbed, none of it compares to this. Everything I’ve known staggers in this moment, erupting in a way I didn’t know was possible.
After what happened with Harrison, I should know not to be surprised by the people I thought I knew best.
I reel out of Mama’s touch, staring at her as if she’s a stranger.
Maybe she is. She must be, because I’ve realized something I should have before.
Something so obvious I can’t help wondering if I knew, subconsciously.
If I protected myself, buried the realization, just like Secora did with my memories.
“The augurs’ retreat,” I say. The words feel numb falling from my lips. I clench the arms of my chair, staring at Mama as she looks back in pure confusion. My mind is reeling, and I don’t know how to make it stop.
The augurs go on a retreat every year for an entire month. They travel from village to village, looking for promising witches. Mama Iyle goes every year. She was gone when Harrison raped Secora. And she was gone when I killed her son.
That means she was gone when Harrison evaded punishment. That means it wasn’t her who got him out of trouble. It was the council. And if it was the council…
“Mama,” I say. My heart is shattering, slicing through my internal organs like the sharpest of glass. I am being destroyed from the inside, and it’s happening too quickly for me to process, for me to school my expression.
Mama knew.
She knew what happened to Secora. She knew Harrison raped her, and she covered it up. And suddenly, I realize what I would have if I hadn’t hidden from the truth.
Mama would have been the first on scene at Harrison’s murder.
She would have seen the way his blood was drained from his body.
She would have known Secora—an infamously dangerous mind witch—wouldn’t have killed him like that.
She wouldn’t have needed to bleed him dry.
But I…that’s exactly how I would have done it.
She knew I killed him. She knew, and she blamed Secora. She let her go to prison. She called for her death, knowing she was innocent. That she was the only innocent.
“Mama,” I say again.
My body goes slack in the chair.
Did you know I loved her? I want to ask, but I can’t.
I promised Secora I wouldn’t say a word, and right now, that’s the only thing sparing Mama from my wrath.
Did you know she was mine when you destroyed her? When you ruined her life?
It doesn’t matter, of course. Whether or not Secora was mine, she was innocent. She was pure. She needed Mama’s help, and Mama, the council…they denied her. For me, for Harrison.
Because it was easier.
“I’ve made peace with it,” Mama says.
“I haven’t,” I say. I swallow thickly as I look in her eyes, silently telling her everything I can’t yet say. “But I promise, I will.”
“Elliot—”
I’m out the door before I have to hear another word.