But I don’t have time for that.
I take a seat on one of the hard, silver-plated stools at the island, and she slides three perfectly shaped golden pancakes onto my plate, followed by three strips of crispy bacon. She lovingly pours the artisanal maple syrup on top while rounding behind me and humming something chirpy fromSnow White, completing her pose as Mother of the Year. Then she takes the stool opposite of me, and rests her chin on steepled fingers, doe eyes wide with anticipation of me taking my first bite.
You see, I hate sweet breakfasts. And she knows it.
But I need to play my part here, so I shove in a large mouthful. “Mmm. Yummy,” I say with zero enthusiasm.
She winks at me. “It always was your favorite.”
You might ask why she even bothers with this low-rent form of torture. But then you don’t know my mother. The chance to savor someone else’s pain is literally why she wakes up in the morning. And she’s made an art of walking up to the line without crossing it.
Collin is in the room with us. He’s leaning against the stainless-steel SubZero fridge, lips pursed, looking like he wants to be anywhere else. (I feel you, bro.)
“So,” she continues. “What could be more interesting than your very first car crash?”
“Mm,” I say, taking another bite. (In fairness, the pancakes are spectacularly made—gently crispy on theoutside, light and fluffy inside, just a hint of vanilla—and I am actually legit hungry. It just makes it all the more frustrating.) “Well, I was actually running from someone at the time. So, that’s kinda interesting.”
Her eyes narrow, her blithe expression sobering. (Good. Looks like I’ve got her attention.) “Running fromwhom?”
“An elf,” I say, as casually as I can. “Elven royalty, in fact. Shining armor. Magic sword. The whole deal.”
Her face darkens further, which is not exactly the eager, give-me-the-deets look I’d been expecting from a woman desperate for entertainment at my expense. But at least she’s engaged. “And what did he want?”
“That’s a long story. But it started yesterday, with him putting me under an Obligation to steal something.”
I choose to lead with the part of my story most likely to piss her off: me making a deal with a fae. My hope is that she’ll be so eager to hear the rest of my little tale, we’ll be able to move past that pretty quickly. Still, I figured I’d at least get a brief lecture about how stupid I am, how I need to listen to her, etc. etc.
But I don’t. She just gets even more serious, sucking in a breath. “And did you get it?”
I glance over at Collin, who folds his arms and glances meaningfully in the direction of the elevator. My mother’s odd reaction doesn’t seem wholly unexpected to him. And he really wants us to go.
But now I can’t. Because she’s acting like she knows something about this. And I need to know what she knows. (Without tipping her off that she has any leverage on me!)
“I did,” I say, cooly. “That’s why I’m here.”
She realizes. “You didn’t give it to him…” A smile slices up the side of her teenage-dream face. “Cleverboy.” She holds out her palm. “Can I see it?”
I cock my head to the side, willing my expression to appear neutral despite a growing sense of danger. “It sounds like you might already know what it is, Mom. Why would that be?”
“Because I’m your mother, and I know everything,” she non-answers. Her fingers twitch. “Now,can I see it?”
“That depends,” I say. “I’m still under the Obligation, and I need a way to get out of it without giving the elf what he wants and without dying. Is that something you can help me with or not?”
The old Alvin would never have dared to engage his mother in an actual negotiation. (I mean, the old Alvin wouldn’t have willingly stepped into her Martha Stewart lair for anything.) But it’s been a whole day of firsts. And the glimmer in her eyes lets me know that she’s actually digging myquid pro quo, for whatever reason.
“Yes, sweetheart,” she coos. “I’m more than certain I can help you with that.”
I glance over to Collin, who huffs. “I can’t read her mind. But based on what I’m getting from her vitals, I’m fairly sure she believes what she’s telling you. That doesn’t mean it’ll be worth the price.”
For whatever reason, the claws of the Obligation choose this moment to bite hard into my arteries. It’s like the worst heartburn ever. I purse my lips to hide the pain, but right now, there’sa lotI’d pay to be free of it.
“If I let you look at it, youwillhelp me?”
“Yes,” she says, agreeing much more quickly than I expected, and not moving her hand from the cold stone countertop.
I reach into my back pocket, all my senses on full alert for treachery. “To be clear, I’m notgivingit to you, Mom. I’m just letting you examine it briefly.”
Her smile broadens. “Now,that’smy boy,” she says. “It’s taken you long enough to finally grow up. Don’t worry, I’m just going to look at it.”
