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My mother leaned in close, her dark, glassy eyes threatening to draw me in as she hissed, “Now, you listen to me. I’ve put up with your spoiled little arse for years, and now it’s time for me to collect my due. Get out to the car right quick, before I give you something to fuss over. You’d think I was trying to bloody kidnap you, the way you’re carrying on. I’m only doing what’s best for you. Now move it.” And with that, she grabbed me by the shoulders and shoved me toward the door, hard.
“No. No. NO. NO. NO!” I screamed, so loudly I felt something in my throat tear. An enormous pressure squeezed my temples, and all I could think was that I wanted that pressure out of my head. I felt a snap between my eyebrows. The lightbulbs in the fixtures above my mom’s head flickered and burst, pelting her with shards of glass.
Mom’s face went paper-white, and she scrambled back away from me, against the wall. I stared back at her—she looked like a little mouse cowering in front of a snake—wondering if I could make that pressure build back up somehow. And then an angry red flush crept up my mother’s neck. She grabbed at me, nearly closing her grasping, clawlike fingers around my wrists before my dad swept me behind him.
“Get away,” he growled. “Don’t touch her. Leave, and don’t ever come back. I’m not going to let you do this to us anymore, do you hear me, Anna? Don’t come back again.”
Mom snarled at us both, her face twisted and ugly like some awful Halloween mask, and shoved past him to the front door. She slammed it behind her, and both of us let loose breaths we hadn’t realized we were holding. With my mother gone, my brain could finally process the bits of broken glass scattered around our feet, the faint smell of ozone, the small cut on my father’s cheek, presumably from the bulbs exploding over his head.
“I’m so sorry, Daddy.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”
“But what about the lights? And your face?” I sniffled. “How did that happen?”
“It’s all right, honey,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulders. “It’s all right.”
I never made it to Allie’s sleepover. We moved to a different neighborhood a few weeks later. My mother wasn’t able to find our home address, and it was years before I saw her again.
That summer, Dad made more of an effort to contact my mother’s family. We flew to Ireland to meet them just before my fourteenth birthday, and I formed a special bond with Nana Fee. We flew home, and two months later, my dad was dead, the victim of a heart attack at forty-four. Nana Fee took me in and raised me, which was fortunate, considering that the number of bizarre lightbulb explosions only increased, what with teen hormonal changes and my damaged emotional state.
I was grateful to be completely immersed in the McGavocks’ loud, loving madness. I’d wanted so badly just to disappear into the family, to blend in, so no one would see me as the Yank cousin brought home to foster. It seemed easier to forget that I had a life before Kilcairy. But Nana Fee had insisted on saving a few of my father’s things when she and Aunt Penny had flown over to help me settle his affairs. It hurt so much to see his Red Sox cap, the bottle of his aftershave, and his wallet. Nana Fee had hidden these things away for me in her hope chest, for when I was ready. I’d only found them after she died.
Nana did her best to teach me to control what I could do. And I loved her for it, but I wanted no part of it. I shut myself up in logic, what I could see and control. I only accepted my natural ability because I had no choice. After seeing what my mother had become after years of practicing witchcraft, desperate and bitter, greedy for what she couldn’t have—from money to youth to power—I could live without magic.
9
Negotiation is a very important process to some supernatural creatures, such as gnomes, trolls, fairies, and brownies. The intricacies of this process are likely beyond the capabilities of the average human and should not be attempted. Yes, this means you.
—From Fangs to Fairy Folk:
Unusual Creatures of Midwestern North America
I woke up with stiff, sticky eyes, which was fairly typical after nights spent thinking of dear old Mum. I walked into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. I looked like hell, with dark circles under the aforementioned eyes and an unhappy slant to my mouth. It was a disturbingly familiar arrangement of features that I blotted out with some blush and wide “buying these after binge drinking seemed like a good idea” sunglasses.
My magic was bottled up and restless. Considering the timing—so close to a dream of my own blessed mother—I was beginning to suspect that the binding was less a result of Penny’s actions and increasingly because of my own emotional instability. I could feel the magic itching below the surface like a phantom limb. I was completely drained of energy, listless, practically hungover from the lack of magical spark. I couldn’t so much as stir the air at the moment. And I had no idea what sort of situation I was heading into and how long this magical constipation would last.
What a wonderful time for a road trip.
I pulled my dark hair into a sloppy twist. I threw on jeans and a red tank top with some cute sandals. I grabbed my mobile and overnight bag and trudged down the stairs. I had about two hours before I had to leave town, and I was extremely curious to know how Jane and Dick planned to get my depressive arse down to Georgia.
Just as I’d reached the landing, there was a loud pounding on my door. I opened it to find Jed, wearing faded jeans, a short-sleeved button-down plaid shirt, and a contrite expression, while holding out a travel cup of coffee as if it was a shield.
“I was told keeping you caffeinated would be an important part of my survival,” he said, pressing the cup into my hand and stepping away quickly. I knew I shouldn’t have told Jane that story about punching Uncle Seamus in the throat when he tried to wake me during a fire drill at the clinic.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, sipping the coffee and willing the caffeine to flood my brain with sense and energy.
“Andrea Cheney called me late last night and said you needed someone to drive to Georgia with you. And unlike your car, my truck has a good chance of makin’ it past the town limits without the engine fallin’ out.”
“Why would you agree to this?” I asked. “Don’t you have better things to do with your Saturday?
Jed shrugged. “Why not? I like to drive. I think Andrea liked the idea of you having someone around to keep Zeb’s family in line if things got rough. And when my landlord asks a favor of me, I hop to.”
“How rough could his family be?” I scoffed.
“I saw the video from the Lavelle twins’ christening. Don’t even joke about it.”
* * *
