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“None of which happens if… if what? If I do what?”
“You’ll know, like I said, Quinn. It’s a journey, not a sprint. A hundred or a thousand decisions that lead you to one that changes it all. At that point you’ll take on your mantle and be the Destroyer. You’ll either destroy the realms of magic or you’ll destroy this world. One or the other.”
“I don’t want to destroy anything.”
I’m choking on my words. I’ve never been violent in my life. I’ve barely played video games that require killing. Minecraft was the limit for me. How can I be the one to choose, knowing I’m going to destroy one or the other?
“I know. It’s why I like you, Quinn. You’re nice. Sweet. Hopefully that will work out for you.”
“Gee, thanks. That’s so helpful.”
She drops her head, and her red ringlets fall, hiding her face. The world shimmers and I see her, what I think might be the real her, for an instant again. The old woman, worn and tired. Her hair dull and lacking vibrancy. Her skin wrinkled and worn. When she looks up, she’s her young self again and she smiles, but its grim and serious.
“I wish I could help more. You should go home. See your dad and your mom. They need you, Quinn.”
As if on cue my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see my mom’s number but when I swipe it doesn’t respond because of the broken screen. When I look up from the phone, Moira’s gone. The laughter of the playing children echoes in my head as I turn and walk towards home.
ChapterTwenty-Eight
Tighteningmy grip on the phone, I swipe my finger rapidly over it again and again.
“Damn it,” I mutter, hurrying down the street.
I keep trying, hoping against the odds that it will somehow work, one more time. A rush of energy zips out of my core and coalesces around my finger and I swipe one last time. The phone buzzes and responds, answering.
“Mom? I’m almost home, Mom.”
“I don’t know who you are, but you need to get out of my house!”
My dad yells in the background, then something crashes. The sound of shattering glass causes me to break into a run.
“Hurry, Quinn,” Mom says, her voice tight and strained.
“Put me on speaker.”
“Okay, Quinn,” she says, and I know by the echo of her voice she’s done it.
“Dad?”
“Quinn? Is that you?”
“It’s me, Dad. I’m almost home. You need to be calm. Let Mom take care of you.”
“No. No. No.”
“Dad, listen.”
“No. No. This is not your mother. This, this, this thing is not her. I don’t know what it is. She’s old. Wrinkled. Gray skinned. Quinn, she has no teeth!”
I squeeze my eyes shut as I struggle to control my anger and frustration. This is so unfair. If I’ve got all this power, how do I use it to help my dad?
“Dad, you’re being mean,” I say, opening my eyes and running faster.
“No, Quinn,” he pleads. “Listen. You’ve got to listen. This. Is. Not. Your. Mom. I know my wife. We were married for twenty years. This isn’t her.”
“Dad, it’s Mom. She’s been taking care of you. I’m almost there, I’ll help.”
“Quinn, she looks like your mom, unless you use your peripheral vision,” he whispers. I stop in my tracks, a cold chill spreading through my stomach.
