My throat is tight and painful as I nod and sit on the purple corduroy sofa, hugging a pillow to my chest.
What am I supposed to do if Mabel never comes home? She didn’t prepare me for this.
In the back of my mind, I can’t help wondering if she knew this would happen. She sees the future every once in a while, and asked me to be more involved in coven affairs the last few months. Her warnings that I not put too much importance on my upcoming wedding, that it was foolish to link my life to a mortal, echo in my mind.
What if she asked me to learn the ropes because she knew she wouldn’t be around for much longer? What if I lost my only shot at asking her all the questions that have been haunting me for years?
I can’t let myself dwell on such scary, soul-destroying thoughts—that I lost my adopted mother and will never see her again. I can’t let myself believe that. I have to believe she’s just stuck in some safe house or another, one of the many places she keeps, and that she can’t use her magic to keep from giving anyone a chance to track her.
A terrible migraine throbs at the back of my skull, and I rub my neck, trying to will it away. “This sucks. I’m stuck here, doing nothing but worrying about how Mabel will get back. I don’t even know where she went or what she was doing. All I can do is wait and hope she decides to show up.”
“Yes, she’s very opaque. And stubborn,” E adds.
I nod. I can’t spend the day watching TV or reading. I have to dosomething.
“Today, you and I, we’re going to dig for answers,” I announce, the itch at the back of my neck taking on a life of its own.
“You want us to go through Mabel’s things?” E asks.
Great minds think alike. “You can pass through walls, right?”
“Yes.”
A wicked, genius idea worms its way into my brain, and I discard the pillow to the side, sitting on the edge of the sofa. “Then you’re going to help me break into the attic.”
The attic has always been off-limits. When Nick tried to sneak in as a teenager, Mabel gave him a scolding worthy of Ragnarok. It’s about time I figured out exactly what she’s keeping up there, and why she doesn’t want us to know.
“How am I supposed to help? I can’t touch anything, not these days,” E says, a muted edge of apprehension—or perhaps regret—shining through.
“Aren’t you tired of being kept in the dark? About who you are, about what led you here?” I ask.
I only meant to leverage his help, but the words come out heavier than I intended.
“Yes,” he shoots back, no hesitation.
“Me, too.”
“What is Mabel hiding from you?” he asks.
I open my mouth, ready to serve him the rehearsed story of how Mabel adopted me, but stop. For the first time in a long, long while, I don’t have to lie.
“Onlyeverything.” I huff a humorless laugh. “When my brother and I first moved in, it made sense for Mabs to shield us from the truth. Follow the rules, she said. Don’t do anything that could help the Reds find us. We grew up in fear, always lookingover our shoulders, in case some slag with a katana stalked out of a mirror to kill us. But as adults, the answers never came.”
No wonder I want to marry a mortal and live a normal life.
“Mabel took you in when you were young?”
“Yes. Mabel found us in a pantry, severely dehydrated, two days after our mother was murdered.” Her head was cut clean off her neck, I almost add, but that detail always freaks people out. “We were twelve.”
There’s a pause, solemn and muted. “I’m sorry.”
I shrug, more habit than indifference. “Don’t worry, it was a long time ago.”
“Time doesn’t heal all wounds,” he shoots back, and my heart gives a forlorn squeeze.
He’s right about that.
I rise to my feet and check on the poultice, the paste cool enough now to use. I scoop a couple of spoonfuls onto a butter knife and grab fresh bandages from the first-aid kit.
