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, stoppingin 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 theroom. 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. Itwon’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.
