Page 6 of Immortal Game

She startled at the sound of her mother’s voice. Kara dropped into the seat across from her, glamorous and frazzled in a khaki green raincoat. In the booth beside her, she placed an umbrella; on the table, a paper coffee cup with a marigold taped to the side. Well, that explained the lateness. She’d gone to another coffee shop first. It took some effort, but Shea refrained from comment. She only said, “Hey.”

“Have you been here long?”

Shea glanced at her phone. “Like thirty minutes.”

“No trouble getting here?”

“Nope.”

“Well, lucky you.” Kara shrugged off her coat, then peered into the rain-streaked window to fuss with her hair. Beyond her reflection, Wayfolk was a watercolor smear of gray and orange: the dull glow of the streetlamp and headlights bleeding into the fog, the autumn-bright leaves dashed against wet concrete. “I would’ve been on time—you know how much I hate being late—but you wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had.”

“Did something happen?”

This, clearly, was the question Kara had been waiting for. She smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. “The press seems to be under the impression that you still live at my house.”

Shea frowned. “Oh.”

“Yes.Oh,” Kara replied, her irritation evident now. “I had to beat them back as I walked out the door. They all wanted to speak to Wayfolk’s chess whiz. I told them to fuck off. The nerve of them, really. It’s an invasion of privacy. Hasn’t our family given them enough already?”

Before Shea was born, her mother was something of a local celebrity. The reporters liked to cast her as either a joke or a cautionary tale, depending on their mood. Kara had been the darling of Wayfolk: a Catholic schoolgirl with an impressive résumé and college dreams. Then, she’d gotten pregnant at sixteen. Only, she insisted that she was a virgin.

Shea had found some of the interviews online. Her mother spoke with the air of a saint, all dignified suffering and quiet conviction. She wore modest blue dresses and pearls. She chose every word carefully. But Shea could see the overwhelm and terror behind the poised façade. Kara had been kicked off the varsity lacrosse team. Her friends pulled away. Her perfect grades plummeted. Despite her best efforts, Wayfolk turned against her.

The press had complicated things, sure. But as far as Shea was concerned, Kara’s anger was misplaced. It was the fae who had changed the course of Kara’s life—and no one would ever know why or how.

“Sorry,” Shea said. She did mean it. “There’s a big tournament coming up. I didn’t realize people would care so much.”

“Maybe it’s for the best they missed you.” Kara eyed her. “You look exhausted. And you’re soaked.”

“Thanks,” Shea said dryly. “I don’t have an umbrella. And I was up late studying.”

“You’re in school again?”

“No. I was looking at the Rossolimo line of the Sicilian.”

“Oh. You meant chess.” Kara had packed an astonishing amount of condescension into only three words. Fortunately, the waiter chose the exact right moment to appear beside their table.

“Well,” he said, “if it isn’t my favorite sisters.”

He winked, and Kara smiled beatifically. Shea did her best not to roll her eyes. The joke got a little old after the thousandth time—not just from him, but fromeveryone. Her mother was forty, but she hardly looked it. Everything about her—from the cut of her jeans to the style of her makeup to the way she parted her hair—was tailored to a young fashion influencer’s exacting specifications. To be fair, the two of them looked more like sisters than Shea and Aideen ever had. Looking at her mother was like staring into a funhouse mirror, one that presented her an image of her older, more feminine self. They had the same green eyes, the same aquiline nose, the same dirty-blond hair.

Once they put in their order, Kara said, “So. What’s new?”

The question made dread rise up within her. Since Shea moved out last year, thingshadimproved between them. Still, Shea couldn’t let down her guard. It could be genuine interest, or it could be the beginning of one of Kara’s games. Shea had gotten quite good at them over the years. The rules were simple. Kara would try to find something to hurt you, and you had to hide it from her. Anything could and would be used againstyou: hopes, dreams, an insecurity, an achievement, something you said—or didn’t…

Unfortunately, Shea couldn’t be too evasive today. They would have to broach the topic of Midir’s tournament one way or another. Still, there was no sense ruining brunch before they’d even gotten their meals. Shea shrugged. “Same old.”

“Playing games all day?”

“I mean, that’s my job.”

“Must be nice.”

They lapsed into silence. Shea poured another packet of sugar in her coffee, just to have something to do with her hands. “What about you?”

Kara heaved a sigh. “Things haven’t been going great lately. A few things came up. I told you I’m taking those online classes, right? The textbooks were more expensive than I expected. And now that it’s getting colder and the heater isn’t working so well…”

Shea understood now why this brunch invitation had materialized. By now, she was accustomed to these sorts of appeals. The better she played, the more high profile her tournament invitations became. The life of an elite chess player was comfortable. Kara’s was not. Shea had been quietly depositing money into her mother’s bank account since she was fourteen years old. She saw no need for the song and dance at this point. “How much do you need?”