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Still holding her nose with one hand, she fishes in her pocket with the other until she produces a scrap of paper. Her fingers tremble as she hands it over.
My stomach drops.
Spill any more of their blood, and I spill hers.
Attached is a picture of my mother hunched in a dimly lit dungeon cell.
“When did—”
“A few hours ago. In my dorm room. He’s going to kill her,” she whispers, her chin wobbling.
“Hey, slow down.” I swing my legs over the side of the bed, turning the note over in my hands. Magic tingles on my fingertips as I do.
Taking this to Auclair won’t change anything. This wouldn’t stop him from launching another attack. He won’t care.
And maybe I shouldn’t either. I shouldn’t feel anything at all when I look at my mother anymore, but she looks so small in the picture. Curled into a ball in the corner of the bare room like she’s huddling into herself for warmth. This woman who punished and reprimanded and tormented me my entire life.
This woman who saved me, probably even more than I realize.
“Please don’t let her die,” Adrienne whispers. “If you’re going to do something, it has to be now. The attacks are never going to end unless we stop Westcott for good. So are you going to use that book or not?”
“Just…” I look from her to the note, a knife twisting in the center of my chest every time the picture catches the corner of my eye, so I turn it over. “We have to be smart about this.”
“There’s no time! There’s no telling what Auclair and the others will do! They’ve already killed thousands of them without batting an eye. They could make some impulsive plan and attack any second—”
“Just give me the night to think about it, okay?”
“What’s there to think about? I know you hate her, but she’s my mom too. If you won’t do it for her, do it for me.”
“I don’t hate her,” I say quietly.
“If it’s the sacrifice part of the spell you’re so hung up on, just take that guy from the dungeon!” I balk, but she widens her eyes and shrugs. “What? He’s going to die anyway! And he’s a predatory douchebag! And this is—this isMom.” Her voice hitches, and she turns to the side, her nose scrunching the way it does when she’s trying not to cry.
I smooth the wrinkles out of the paper in my hands, willing myself to feel surprise—disgust—at the suggestion, but the words land as if I’ve already thought them before, even if not consciously.
“Valerie,” she pleads.
She doesn’t understand my hesitation. It’s not that I disagree with her. It’s how easily I know I could justify it to myself. How easily I can imagine myself doing it. But crossing that line, I don’t know if I’ll come back from it.
“Your friends listen to you,” she continues. “God, I wish I could do it, but I can’t set this up alone—”
“You are getting nowhere near that spell,” I snap.
“Thenhelp me. You’re the only one who can pull this off. Valerie, please. I never ask you for anything. Please.”
When I don’t respond right away, her face tightens, and she shakes her head, already taking a step away from me.
“Adrienne—”
“Hello?” someone calls as they knock gently on the door.
Adrienne and I exchange a look, and the door cracks open.
Quinn pokes her head inside with an unsure smile. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting.”
“No, no. Come on in, Quinn,” I say. It isn’t until I take in the serious look on her face that it occurs to mewhyshe might be knocking at my door. “Oh, did you—”
She quickly shakes her head, her hand flying to something in her pocket. “I just came by to check on you. See how you’re doing.”
