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Decomposing flowers.
The same scent I smelled at the Grundelier village before my first vision. The same sickly sweet aroma I encountered at the council meeting when I tried to ask about the prophecy and no words would come out.
Old magic.
I inhale deeply, but as quickly as it came, the scent is gone. But I know I didn’t imagine it. Whoever these people are, they led me to the building where Bethany Grundelier gave birth and showed me the vision. They stopped me from bringing up the prophecy at the meeting, and now they’re trying to stop me from searching for answers, completely.
“Who are you?” I ask, the words slow and measured and filled with menace like I can somehow intimidate them into telling me the truth.
“Just know that we’re people who care about you, Eden. Who want to keep you safe. That’s all we’ve ever wanted,” the man says, and a shiver runs down my spine as I detect a familiar timbre in his voice.
“Please, let me go,” the woman says, and I snatch my hand away as if burned.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
I completely forgot I was squeezing her wrist, and I’m sure my vampire-strength grip was painful. She shakes her hand out to solidify my assumption, and I shake my head to clear the guilt.
I need to focus.
“I’m not going to stop searching for answers,” I say. “If you really want to help me, then you’ll tell me everything you know.”
“They’re getting closer,” the man mumbles under his breath, once again looking to his left.
“Who’s getting closer?” I ask, desperately searching the crowd for any hint of a threat.
“Eden,” the woman says, and my gaze snaps back to her. “Just put your search on hold for a few days, okay? We’ll figure out a way to meet you again, where it’s safer, and we’ll tell you what we can. I promise.”
That last bit has the man’s gaze snapping to her, his eyes wide with disbelief mixed with a little fear. But she remains firm, her eyes locked on me and her expression filled with determination.
I breathe in, preparing to reluctantly agree, then freeze as a different, yet equally recognizable scent fills my nostrils. My eyes flare wide as my brain analyzes the scent.
Sunny and fresh with hints of jasmine and sandalwood.
Ghost arms circle around me, making me feel loved and protected as soft whispers of adoration echo in my ears.
“You’re our little miracle, Eden. The daughter we waited so long for. The answer to our prayers, and the love of our lives.”
My eyes burn as my mouth falls open in a silent scream. The woman’s face starts to blur, her auburn hair lightening into a softer shade of white-streaked blonde. Her eyes morph, too, the startling blue shifting to hazel. Her face is changing, the long chin shrinking into a softer, rounder form as her plump lips thin to a more natural shape.
She takes a step back from me, fear etched across her features, and the façade she wore when she got here snaps back into place.
But it’s too late.
I’ve seen the truth, and as shocking as it is, I feel the rightness of it in my very bones.
Taking a small step toward her, I try to control the quivering in my chin as I open my mouth to speak. A choked noise comes out, so I clear my throat and try again.
“M-Mom?”
43
WINDOWS TO THE SOUL
The woman’s eyes flare wide as I stammer the question. She swallows thickly as her head swivels from left to right, looking to see if anyone heard me. I keep my gaze locked on her, but I don’t need to look to know we’re still hidden from the people milling around us.
The man moves closer, stepping partially in front of her as if protecting her from the truth. My truth. Because she may be wearing a different face, but I know what I saw. What I felt.
My mother.
