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“Do you want a ride over to your mother’s place?”
“Nah, I can walk that.” I hefted the bag I’d brought with me out of the back of Seth’s pick-up truck. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to this visit either. It’d be even worse if she started complaining in front of him.
But even if I was frustrated with Mom, I wanted her safe. The painting I had in this bag should be one step toward that. Not enough, but I knew Rose was doing everything she could.
The muscles in my arms were starting to ache by the time I’d carried the heavy painting through the streets to my mother’s house. After my conversation with Seth, I was even more aware of the occasional figure by a drawn curtain, noting my passing. Although maybe any gossip about me now would be more along the lines of, “The poor Lyang boy, did you hear about his art gallery?” with plenty of hand-wringing on the side.
I’d rather that than them discussing my love life.
I knocked on the screen door of my parents’ house and then walked right in. I’d texted Mom, so she knew to expect me. “I’m here,” I said. “And I brought something for you.”
Mom emerged from the living room. Her smile looked a bit strained. “Jin,” she said, “I don’t need presents.”
“I think you’ll appreciate this,” I said in my breeziest tone. “You were worried about my creative growth being stunted. Well, now you have definitive proof that I’m still making art.”
I carried the bagged painting into the living room and glanced around. Rose had said the magic would work best where it could draw on the energy of sunlight as well. She’d adjusted the spell to try to increase its protective power that way. I’d already known the perfect spot for it.
“Can I take that down?” I said, motioning to the impressionist landscape she had hanging over the couch. “If you decide you don’t like mine, we can switch them back.”
“All right,” Mom said, but she fidgeted with her hands as I stepped onto the couch to unhook the painting from where it was mounted. “You know, producing one painting doesn’t change the point I was trying to make. It’s about the whole artistic spirit, the creative drive. I think there’s a reason so many artists are pretty much married to their work. That’s what’s best for the art. If you turn all that devotion onto a person instead, you just don’t have the emotional energy you need.”
Oh Lord, I’d hoped she wouldn’t start in on this right away. “Mom,” I said. “Can we not talk about that right now? I’m trying to do something nice for you here. And Iamstill devoted to my art. You really don’t have to worry.”
“I have to say something. You don’t think it’s awfully strange that while she’s distracting you from your work, your gallery mysteriously catches fire? Do you think she really wants to compete with a passion like—”
I set the painting down with a louder thump than I’d intended and spun around. “Are you seriously suggesting thatRosemight have arranged for my gallery to be burned down because she’s jealous of my art?”
“Well, I…” Mom faltered a little at the sharpness of my voice, but I could tell from the flash of her eyes that she had meant exactly that. “How well do you really know her, Jin?”
“More than well enough,” I said. “And you should know her better than that too. Just stop, okay. Let me get this up.” And then I’d probably be leaving again, because I sure as hell wasn’t sitting through more of this conversation. For fuck’s sake, didn’t she remember how Rose had come here just a couple months ago offering everything she could to make up for how her dad had abruptly fired Mom?
I tugged the bag off my painting and lifted it to set it in place on the wall.
“I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s not about what you want,” Mom started in again. “It’s about—”
The painting tapped against the wall and settled into place. My mother’s voice faded. She looked at it, and at the sun streaming through the window, and rubbed her forehead. Her expression clouded. “What was I saying?” she said. “There was something important, but it just escaped me.”
I stepped down from the couch and studied her. “Are you okay, Mom? You were talking about my art, and Rose.”
“Oh. Yes.” She paused, still looking bewildered. Her gaze went back to the painting. A smile crossed her face. “That’s lovely, Jin. Thank you. Are you sure you don’t want it for when you get a new gallery set up?”
Her sudden change in demeanor was unnerving. I kept watching her warily. “No, I made this specially for you. Actually, Rose helped a little.” In magical rather than artistic ways.
Mom’s face brightened more. “Did she? I’m so glad you’ve found someone as supportive as she obviously is.”
What the hell was going on? Had someone just replaced my mother’s brain?
I looked around the room, and it hit me. Maybe someone had—but not right now. This was how I’d have expected Mom to talk before she’d started getting all strange about Rose.
What if those thoughts hadn’t really come from her head? What if some magic had been stirring up paranoia and distrust? A magic the protective spell on the painting had just disrupted.
My heart started to thud faster. The Frankfords had been acting against us in ways so subtle I hadn’t even realized. What might they have been doing to the other guys and their families? To the whole town, for all we knew?
I had to get back to the manor. Rose needed to know this—everyone needed to know.
But first I had to say one more thing to Mom, for the parts of her that paranoia had fed on.
“Sit down for a second,” I said. “I’ve got to go, but there’s something I want to talk about with you first.”
