by LJ Rivers
Tears had already gathered in my eyes and I couldn’t blink them all away. Soon, small rivers flowed down my cheeks. I lay back on the bed and prompted Kit to jump onto my chest. The little ball of fur wiggled his way close to my face, tickling my skin, almost burying itself under my long red hair.
“Sorry, little one,” I whispered, a small laugh forming in my throat. “I’m not ready to accept any men right now, even one as cute as you.”
I checked my phone briefly. There were several hearts and a few replies attached to my posts about Kit, but no one claimed him as theirs. Three soft knocks on the door made me sit up, and I pocketed the phone again.
“Ru, honey?”
“Leave me alone!” I called.
“Come on. Let’s talk, all right?”
The door opened slowly, and Mum inserted her head, strawberry-blonde curls falling over her face. “About all and nothing?”
I sighed. “Fine.”
Mum sat on the chair by my old oak desk. She let her finger run down a picture of me and my dad. Swallowing visibly, she looked back at me.
“I’m just so scared, love. If anything were to happen to you, I would never forgive myself.”
“You can’t protect me all my life. That’s not a life I want.”
“Of course I can protect you.” Mum sat beside me, her warmth nearly tangible in the air as she folded her hand over mine. The little kitten bounced to his feet and started to climb the newcomer. “I just can’t hold your hand all the time. I know that. Still, letting go is hard.”
“As it should be. But you have to let me find my own way. Make my own mistakes.”
Mum tilted her head and her blue eyes widened. A small spark, reminiscent of starbursts, appeared in her irises. “Like slapping your boss?”
I gasped. “You—you know?”
“Just because I never practice magic in public, and never intend to, doesn’t mean I can’t. A mother must be allowed to have a tiny peek into her daughter’s heart now and again. Can you forgive me?”
Mum had intruded on my thoughts. However much I wanted to be upset about that, I understood why she had done it. A part of me was even glad, as it prevented me from having to say the words out loud.
“He was—he wanted to—”
Mum held her hand up and nodded. “I didn’t read your mind, love. I just saw that slap, and maybe something about your ring?” She smiled and poked me in the ribs.
“Stop it,” I said and laughed.
She wiped the remaining tears from my cheek.
“But yes, Dad would have loved it if I scratched that moron’s face with it.”
“That’s not why he gave it to you,” Mum started. “Still, I think you’re right. Dennis would not have let it pass. He would probably be halfway to Blacon Press as we speak to deal with that misogynistic creep.” She drew her breath, held it for a few seconds and slowly let it out. “And I think you’re right about Dad letting you go to university, too,” she said.
“I know I am,” I whispered.
“Here,” said Mum, putting her palm up on the bed next to me.
I took it, and an immediate rush of magic coursed through my veins that was not my own. Colours of red, blue and yellow danced before my eyes, even though I had unwittingly closed them. The colours started forming into the shape of something—a human? And then he stood there, right in front of me. Tears threatened to spill out all over again. He looked as real as if he was there. Dad!
“I agree with your dad,” my mum’s voice sang in my head. Only, she didn’t say the words as much as convey them to me. Dad smiled at her and nodded before the vision of him evaporated and Mum let go of my hand.
“Let’s go sign that letter.”
“What was that?” I said, marvelling at her as I opened my eyes.
“As I said, a mother is allowed a few tricks. We are Fae, after all.” Mum stood, holding her arms out. “So, shall we?”
I beamed with joy and leapt from the bed, throwing my arms around her. “Thank you, Mum. Thank you!”
I sent off a silent thank you to Dad as well, reminding him that one day I would find out the truth about his death.
Chapter Five
Although I hadn’t been dancing on top of any cars or stumbling out of any bars lately—or ever, really—I was belting out the words together with my childhood heroes. Who would have thought I’d be singing alongside the Jonas Brothers again? They weren’t nearly as cute now as ten-year-old me had thought when they ruled the Disney Channel, though. Kit had climbed onto the kitchen top and stared at me in disbelief.
“I’m a sucker for you,” I sang, grabbing him and holding him up to my face. “Yes, I am, sweetie. I’m such a sucker for you.” I buried my nose in his fur, his purring vibrating against my skin.
Mum peeked through the kitchen door. “How’s it going?”
“Mum! Get out! I’m not done yet.”
I hurled a tiny force field at the door, pushing it shut. Kit wiggled himself free and scurried under the table as Mum’s screaming laughter faded. This was going to be a great night, albeit a sad one as well, as it was our last together before I left for London and uni.
In the oven, the baby carrots and broccolini stems had got that shiny caramelisation I was aiming for. I’d give them a couple more minutes. Just enough time to finish the dipping sauce. I cracked an egg in a bowl, making quite a mess of it. My hands were covered with egg yolk, but I didn’t care as I danced across the floor to the fridge to get the Dijon mustard. A splash of lemon juice joined the egg, mustard and a clove of garlic, and I poured it all into the blender.
I heard a tiny clink, but it didn’t register in my brain until it was too late. My plan was to drizzle the olive oil ever so slowly into the egg mix until it emulsified into a creamy garlic mayonnaise. Or aioli, as the guy in the YouTube video on my phone had called it.
“What the—?” A loud rattling told me something was wrong down in the mix. I let go of the button and stared at my hand.
“No, no, no!” This could not be happening!
My fingers must have been greased by the egg yolk, causing my ring to slip into the mix. I swallowed hard and grabbed a fork from the drawer. Carefully, I managed to fish the most precious memory I had of my dad out of the bowl. Please don’t be broken, I prayed. The Jonas Brothers claimed to be “a sucker for me”, but I was the one who felt like a sucker.
I rinsed the ring under the tap and dried it on my apron—blowing at it to get every drop of water off. Through a steadily thickening veil of tears, I tried to examine it, but couldn’t see it clearly. I wiped my eyes and turned the ring back and forth.
“Please be ok,” I moaned while Kit rubbed against my legs, meowing and purring.
“Ruby?” Mum said, knocking at the door. “Are you ok in there? Need any help?”
“Everything’s under control,” I lied. “Finishing touches now.”
She sounded anxious to help, as I knew she wanted to. Cooking was not my strong suit, but I wanted to make this last meal special.
Last winter, we had spent almost an entire Saturday mounting ceiling lights in the kitchen, laughing and swearing but determined to show the world—or ourselves, at least—that we could manage. Now, I stood on one of the kitchen chairs, holding the ring up to the flush LED light. The red ruby acted as a prism, sending rays of all colours out of it, and the metal seemed to have maintained its shape. Thank the Lady!
“Five minutes,” I shouted as I jumped off the chair. “Open the wine.”
“Yeah, right,” I heard Mum mutter.
I breathed out a silent, thankful sigh and slid the ring back on my finger. A cramping sensation in my stomach slowly let go.
“I think I dodged a bullet there,” I whispered to Kit.
What was that smell? The vegetables! I rushed to the oven, and without thinking pulled the baking tray with the carrots and broccolini straight out and threw it on the kitchen top. I turned them just as frantically as I had the ring seconds earlier,
and although the crisis was way less of a crisis, I was very happy to see that they were not burnt. Dark, yes, but not burnt. I hoped.
Slowly, it dawned on me. I turned my palm, expecting to see a black or red line on it. The scorching hot tray had to have left a burn mark.
But no, my hand was unharmed. Wow, I thought. I must have acted so fast, it didn’t register. “Fastest hands in the west,” I said to Kit, who tilted his head at the crazy Fae.
Seven minutes later, I carried the plates out on the grass, where we had put the patio table and chairs.
Mum smiled. “It smells delicious. What is it?”
“Tonight, madame,” I said, doing my best French chef impression, “we ’ave a filet mignon with duchess potatoes and spiced butter, served with oven-roasted vegetables and Mediterranean aioli.”
Mum clapped enthusiastically. “That’s amazing, Ruby.”
“’Oo is diz Ruby, madame? I am Chef Bouillabaisse.”
“But of course,” Mum said, suppressing a laugh.
We dug into the meal with great enthusiasm. The food was good. Not great, but way better than anything I’d ever made before. Mum loved it, although I suspected she lay a bit more praise on it than necessary. Still, the night was every bit as nice as I’d hoped for. We talked and laughed, Mum sharing a few stories from my childhood. None that I hadn’t heard dozens of times before, but I had no intention of stopping her. Besides, I loved to hear them, as they usually involved Dad. I basked in the glory of it all as the light in the sky dimmed and the stars came out, casting glimmering reflections on the pond behind our house. I was excited to leave, but I was going to miss it.
As I stood to clear the table, Mum lay her hand on mine. “Leave it. We’re not quite done celebrating yet.”
“We’re not?”
“We’re just getting started. Stay here.” Mum darted back into the house, returning moments later with a basket full of who knew what. “Here. One for you and one for me.” She handed me a pen and a notebook.
“We’re writing travel plans? Poetry perhaps?” I teased.
Mum took my free hand and guided me to the edge of the pond, where we sat on the grass. She put her pen and notebook next to her, then brought up four thick white candles. She lit them and placed each inside its own candle house, before arranging them by the edge of the pond. The light shimmered on the water, dancing alongside the reflection of the stars. A swarm of fireflies joined in, gliding soundlessly just above the surface. Humans might not have magic, but this came pretty close.
“Now,” Mum said. “I want you to write down three wishes. And not any wishes. They have to be genuine and true, and they have to be personal.”
“Why?” I asked.
“It’s an ancient Fae tradition.” Mum smiled solemnly. “It dates back to before our time here on Earth, all the way to Avalonian times.”
“Avalon,” I murmured. I loved hearing about it, but I never pushed. Mum rarely spoke about the world where Magicals descended from. I think it made her sad to know that it was lost while reminding her of all the pain and suffering Magical beings had endured over the centuries we had been on Earth.
“My mum did this with me when I left home to go to Liverpool, where I met your dad.”
I wrinkled my nose at her. “You mean the mother who then shunned you for, how did she say, breeding with a worthless human?”
“That’s the one. You have to understand, darling. My parents are Pure Fae, and strong believers of keeping our bloodline pure as well. My dad has it in his head that if we stay pure, then perhaps one day we might find our way back to Avalon. Humans have mistreated Magicals for so long, and my parents have not had the best of experiences dealing with them. Whenever magic was discovered, humanity’s first instinct was always fear. These days, with almost everything out in the open, it’s more evident than ever before. And fear is not a long way from hate.”
“But you’re their daughter.” I could never understand how my grandparents could shut their daughter out of their lives completely. Then again, I had never met them.
“And I always will be.”
My arms were crossed tightly over my chest. “We don’t choose who to love.”
“We don’t, but we do make choices on how to act.” She waved her pen in my face. “Now, wipe that frown off, and forget about those old Fae folk. Let’s celebrate instead.”
I lowered my shoulders and nodded, then brought my pen up and tapped it against Mum’s in a toast. “So, madame, three wishes, no?”
“Yes, Chef Bouillabaisse. Exactly so.”
I pursed my lips in thought. What did I wish for? World peace? The end of hunger and sickness? I did, but it didn’t seem like those were the kinds of wishes Mum intended me to make. So, then what?
I lifted my eyes from the blank paper to watch my mum scribbling away. At least someone was in touch with their inner wishes. Returning my attention to the task at hand, I tried to dig deep. I wanted Mum to be happy without me, to find her true purpose. Yes, that would be my first wish. Then, what else? I wanted to become a renowned journalist, I guess, but I dismissed the thought instantly. It wasn’t the right kind of wish either, so what was?
I wanted to have friends. That was a real wish, something I had wanted for a long time. Not that I’d never had friends, but I never had true friends, the kind I could share everything with, the kind that didn’t judge me for what I was. That would be my second wish. Now for my third wish. I shook my head as I came up empty-handed.
“I can’t think of a third, Mum.”
“Search your heart, darling, and stop analysing. Clear your mind and picture what you want in life.” She gave me a tilt of the head. “It will come to you.”
I took a deep breath and tried to let go of all my concerns and worries for the future. What did I want? It came to me then, and I scribbled it down in bold letters on the page.
“Done.”
“Perfect.” Mum tore out the piece of paper she had written her wishes on. “Now, follow my lead.”
With my own piece of paper in my hands, I watched and repeated her moves, folding the papers together into the smallest square we could manage. We joined our wishes and formed a force field around them before carefully pushing it out into the water. It floated into the centre of the pond, dipping gently on the surface.
The notes from a song I had heard a thousand times over began trickling out of my mum. Her voice was as always pitch-perfect, but tonight it was filled with raw emotion and it sounded nothing short of divine. She nodded at me, and I reluctantly joined in. My voice was fine, though compared to hers, I might as well have been a crow. Still, I made my best effort, the words imprinted deep in my memories. It was a song about the Fae, about Avalon—a land far from this one. All in all, it was mostly a prayer to the Lady of the Lake.
As we sang, the water began spiralling around the circular force field, water washing softly outwards and over the edges, spilling onto the grass. The light intensified as it was joined by glimmering shafts of gold and ruby colours.
I took my mum’s hand and she squeezed it gently. Around us, the crickets provided us with their natural instruments, and though the birds should have been asleep, a choir of chirps became our backup singers. The light flooded out into the night, illuminating the entire garden, shifting beams flowing onto the trees. The ringlets of water grew before the contents of the lake shot up and cascaded out like a fountain, raining over our wishes, which were now levitating in the air. The water then fell over the force field, swallowing the wishes into its embrace. The shimmering orb evaporated in a flash of light before the water rushed back down into the pond, gushing back in a downward spiral before it levelled out. The song ended with the last splash, and both the crickets, the birds, and the water went back to being as still as it had been before we sang.
“We thank you,” Mum whispered to the pond.
I wrapped my arms around her. “Our wishes are gone.”
She laughed softly into my ear. “Not
gone. They are with the Lady of the Lake.”
“Not really, though,” I said quietly.
She leaned back, eyeing me. “We may not be able to travel back and forth between here and the magical island of Avalon. But She, She transcends worlds. I know in my heart that She has heard our call.”
Mum sounded like she somehow believed there was still a doorway back to Avalon. But she couldn’t possibly think that. She had said herself that Avalon was lost. Staring at her, I realised that Mum meant every word, and I wasn’t about to argue, so instead I fell back into the hug.
Tomorrow, I would leave. If I were to believe my mum, and she was usually right, then maybe the Lady of the Lake had heard us. It gave me comfort to think that Mum would find her purpose without me, whatever that would be. And perhaps I would find my purpose, too.
Chapter Six
The large iron gates were wrought into willow branches at the top, with the university motto underneath. Scientia, amicitia et virtus—knowledge, friendship and virtue. I hoped those words would come true.
I took a deep breath, adjusted my backpack and tightened my grip on the handle of the chequered wheeled suitcase before striding onto White Willow University campus. It was as if I had tumbled down the rabbit hole into another world. It was so different from the busy streets I had seen from the bus on my way from the tube station. I remembered the campus from the pictures on the website, but seeing it with my own eyes was entirely different. It didn’t quite look like it belonged in London.
The scent of lilacs tickled my nose, almost covering the smell of the countless number of pints being consumed outside the pub nearby and on the lawn beyond, which spread over the size of several football fields, surrounding a lake.