by L. A. Boruff
"As soon as Will gets back, I'll tell him. Maybe he knows where she tends to go in a situation like this."
"Okay. If she comes back, I'll call again." He sounds relieved.
"Take care, Dad. Give my love to Mom."
I pull a pad of paper out of the desk and add Will’s mom’s name to the list, then set it down, staring at the long list with an ache in my chest that I don’t like. My gaze jerks from the list to the many other items on the desk, all items of mine. Ever since Callie let me take over her desk a few weeks ago, I’ve had more space to work on my electronics, but I also started taking notes. And after a time, the desk had actually started to feel like my own back at my apartment.
My gaze goes back to the list, and I rub the back of my neck, trying to erase the tension there, but it lingers. I don’t honestly know why I started the list; it doesn't help anything. Maybe to keep me focused and centered, reading the names of the people I'd grown up with, visited, shopped with. Familiar names. Neighbors, acquaintances, and friends.
All gone.
And now Will’s mom.
The tension in my neck grows, and my stomach does a weird flip I try to ignore. Missing doesn’t mean dead, but it’s hard to try to imagine anything the King would do that would be good.
Don’t think of that. You can’t think about that.
Picking up the phone again, I shoot a text out to my group chat. They each have phones spelled to be untraceable. If anyone picks up the phone with ill will toward the owner, the phone will wipe itself back to factory settings.
I love technology.
Replies chime in seconds, all promising to keep their eyes peeled for Will's mom. But still, I don’t feel any better. It’s something to do, but it hasn’t made a difference so far.
I've sent this same text for every person missing. At least with Lola, there's a chance she's done this to herself and she'll turn back up soon.
I can hope, especially for Will’s sake. My best friend likes to act like he’s so big and tough, but he’s been taking care of his mom like she’s his child since we were kids. If he thought she was in danger, he’d torture himself. And all we’d be able to do is watch.
Stretching, I peek out the front window and see James, Callie, and Will appear through the wards. They'd been invisible until in the protection of our spells. That’s something to be grateful for at least... that they’re safe.
Now, I just have to tell Will about his mom. That tension in my neck increases, and I rub at the damn muscles, cursing to myself. I’d always thought I was good at handling stress... apparently not.
As I head out of the bedroom, my phone rings again. Freezing, I turn back and look at it, sitting on the desk vibrating.
Another call so soon. My heart beats harder. Damn it.
"Hello?"
"Son!" Dad's voice is loud through the earpiece. "She's gone!"
"I know, Dad. You just called me."
"No, I'm talking about your mother." And there’s a horrified panic in his voice. "She was out of the caves, getting some sun. It's warmer today than it's been in ages. I went to tell her I called you and she wasn't there."
"She probably went looking for Lola, Dad, don't panic."
"No, she wouldn't have. She was terrified of going out of our wards." With Fran's help, they'd created wards like ours around the home they're hiding in. I don't even know where they are. Only they and Fran know.
Shit! He’s right! Mom wouldn’t have taken off!
"Dad, do not leave those wards. We'll come get you."
“Hank—”
“It won’t help anyone if you’re both lost.”
The phone goes silent for a long minute. “I know... but it’s your mother,” and he sounds so damn scared. More scared than I’ve ever heard him in my life.
My heart races. “Everything is going to be okay. I promise. We’ll get you, and then we’ll get mom.”
“What if he took her?”
Ice moves down my spine. “Then, we’ll kill him and get her back.”
And I mean what I say.
More silence. “Okay, but hurry.”
The line goes dead. I hope like hell that mom thought of a place Lola might be and just decided to look for her, without thinking. But some instinct inside of me tells me that’s just wishful thinking.
And as much as I want to be consumed with worry for my mom, if the King’s men took her from near the safe house, it means the whole place is compromised. We’d have to figure out how to hide everyone else. Someplace new.
This is a disaster.
Please just let mom show up safe and sound.
A text comes in seconds later, and I give a silent prayer that it’s about my mom being safe and sound. Opening it on my cell phone, I read the words:
If I didn't know better, I'd say I just saw your mom sitting in the back of a van driving into the King's garage.
I don't reply as tears fill my eyes. No, this isn’t possible. This can’t be happening.
The King has my mother. The King. The man who tortures and kills people.
And if she went into his garage, she's deep in his dungeon by now. Out of reach of our help. My mom. The woman who held me close whenever I was sick, stroking my hair. The woman who sung me songs when I couldn’t sleep.
My mom...
I sink on the bed as Callie's voice floats up the stairs. "Hank? Theresa? We're back!"
How can I tell Will his mom is missing, probably at the castle beside mine?
I bury my face in my hands and try not to cry.
I want my mother back. And even though the thought reminds me of a young child, it rings deeply in my soul.
Chapter Twelve
Callie
Sitting in the foyer, I pull my feet up under me and relax back against the chair. James is telling Theresa about our meeting with Benedict, while Will let’s his hand graze my thigh with slow touches that make me want to melt.
I look up when I hear footsteps on the stairs. It’s Hank. Instantly, I know something is wrong. He doesn’t say a word. He just stands still, his soft brown hair disheveled and his eyes wild.
“Hank?” I say his name, and worry laces the word. My gut churns. I’ve never seen him this scared.
He looks up slowly. "We need to talk."
Hank walks into the living room and sits on the empty couch. I rush over and sit beside him, taking his hand in mine. "What is it?"
Theresa’s guys were standing in the doorway to the kitchen, but at Hank’s words they come in and sit behind Theresa’s chair, watching us all with cautious expressions.
Hank meets Will's eyes. "It's about your mother."
Will tenses. "Did he get them?"
"Not exactly. I was told she left sometime last night."
Will's eyes sharpen and narrow. "On her own?"
Hank nods, his tone gentle. "Yeah. But she never came back."
Will blinks several times, but otherwise shows no response. "Okay."
"Okay?" Hank repeats.
Will looks resigned. Not worried. "Man, she's disappointed me my entire life. I'm not surprised this time.”
I lean forward and touch his hand. "It's okay to be disappointed.”
Will crosses his arms over his chest, and I can feel him shutting down. “Is everyone else okay?”
Hank goes quiet for a long moment. “We’ll do everything in our power to find your mom.”
Will gives a sharp nod.
Hank takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll give you some time.”
Another nod.
After a minute, Hank continues. “My mom is also missing.”
Will's jaw hardens. "Your mom?"
Hank sighs. "We have a report of her being seen in a van heading into the king’s house.”
“Shit,” Will says, and something changes in his face. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Hank tells him, but he doesn’t sound okay.
Will gets up and sits by his friend, pulling him into half a
hug.
Hank hugs him back, and mumbles something under his breath.
Will squeezes him tighter for a minute, then releases him. “So, what’s the plan?”
Hank looks like he’s trying really hard to keep it together. “We can't do anything for her until we defeat the King. We are in no position to storm the castle, no more than we were before she was taken."
He looks like he's about to break. The room is silent, respectful of the grief he's feeling. "She's not particularly powerful," he continues. "So at least I can feel pretty good that they won't try to use her for the blood sacrifice."
The tears I've been trying to hold back spill over.
Will reaches over and takes my hand, drawing it into Hank’s lap, and we just sit there for a minute in silence, trying to get a hold of ourselves.
“I’m sorry,” Eric, one of Theresa’s lovers says, and the big blond looks away from us.
“This whole thing is tragic, but we’ll figure it out.” Theresa sounds so damn confident.
Her guys all nod as one.
And it is tragic. All of this. No one should live in a world where they can be dragged off the streets in broad daylight.
My mind moves over all the many places where people have to fear such cruelty, and then my mind just stops. I can’t save the world. But I can save this little town.
I sit back and take a deep breath. "I'm going to claim the throne. Soon. Maybe even tonight. And then I'm going to abolish this antiquated, outdated system. The magic should be able to choose any eligible witch to be the catalyst."
"It's not that easy," Fran says. "You can't just claim it and it's yours. First, you have to be of the King's bloodline. Of your mother's bloodline."
"We've established I'm that," I say with a laugh.
"The throne itself isn't important. You could call the Catalyst anything. If you want, you could declare yourself Goddess of the Nine Realms or Priestess of the Pink Unicorn Club. What matters is that the magic chooses you to funnel the power that most of the coven uses."
"I understand that part. It's more than a kingdom. It's a supernatural energy source, right?" Does she think I don't get it?
"Yes, but it's not easy to transfer power to a new bloodline." Fran stands from her perch on the far arm of the couch and paces. "First of all, most witches don't want to be the catalyst of a coven. There are always those that are power hungry, of course, but being a catalyst is exhausting and usually comes with all the other complications of being a leader. Government running, so to speak."
Nodding, I watch her move. I know this already. "There are always those after power."
She waves off my concern. "Of course, but most of the current coven would do anything to protect you even if you were the last of your bloodline."
"But I'm not. My cousin, the little baby, he has a claim as well. The magic doesn't care who is older, right?"
"Right. When your mother died and you weren't presented to be chosen as catalyst, then your grandfather died, the only option was Robert. And once he's catalyst, he's catalyst until he dies. The magic chooses the bloodline and then that's it. Until that bloodline is gone, that's who is in power."
The information sinks in. "We can't present multiple people."
She shakes her head. "Nope."
"It's me, or the baby. Period." Every head in the room whips back and forth between me and Fran.
"Yep." She pauses. "Well, unless another close blood relative, a first cousin for example, presents themselves."
"If my Uncle or Mom had another baby."
"It seems unlikely." She smiles cheerfully. "So that's something, right?"
Sure. Yeah. That's something.
Chapter Thirteen
Will
Running my hands through my hair, I hang my head and sit on Callie’s bed for a long minute. I’m dressed. I’m protected. So why the hell don’t I feel ready?
Because I’m scared my mom is so far gone that she risked her life for a drink?
Or because I think she didn’t, and that she’s somewhere out there, hurt or possibly dead?
A tremble moves through my body. A thousand moments move through my mind of when I was a child and my mom wouldn’t come home. Things were easier in so many ways. I didn’t have to be worried she’d fall and hurt herself. I didn’t have to worry that she’d drowned in her own throw up if I wasn’t there to roll her over. I could just take a deep breath, make dinner, watch a show, and climb into bed, with only myself to worry about.
But then in the dark in my room I’d start to wonder terrible things, like, “what if she doesn’t come home this time” “What if she’s been hurt? What if she’s been taken?”
I don’t want to feel like that helpless boy anymore. I’m a man, and this time I can do something about this terrible feeling. So why doesn’t that make me feel better?
Standing, frustration makes my nerves crawl, and I head for the stairs. The thing is, I shouldn’t have had to take care of my mom like that when I was a kid, and I sure as hell shouldn’t be having to take care of her now.
But I would.
Because I love her.
When I reach the living room, Callie waits by the door. She looks so damn small and vulnerable in these moments when she thinks no one is looking. It makes me long to drag her away from this all. To keep her safe in a way I can never keep my mom safe.
Which is a sobering thought.
Her gaze moves to me, and her shoulders draw back, as if she wasn’t just feeling overwhelmed by her new world. I let a mask of indifference fall over my face. The last thing she needs is to worry about me too, and then I head straight for her, keeping my head held high.
"I've got a glamour. I've got the protection spell and this watch Hank made. I'll be fine. I'm going to go check some of the places she tends to go when she's drinking."
Callie wraps her arms around my waist. "I know you have to go look for her, I'm just worried about you and your mom."
I take her by the shoulders and peer down into her eyes. "Go comfort Hank. There's really not anything we can do for his mom, so he’s the one who needs you."
Callie's face crinkles with emotion. "In an odd way, her alcoholism might have saved her."
“Imagine that,” I say, and hate the anger in my voice.
Callie leans up and kisses me really gently. “I can’t imagine how hard it is to have a parent who struggles with alcoholism.”
I nod tightly, no she can’t. Most people can’t.
“But I do know that I’m here for you, whatever you need.”
This time, I kiss her. It’s supposed to be a soft kiss, but it changes in an instant. And I know, even if she doesn’t, that I’m holding her so tightly because she feels like the only thing not slipping away in my life.
When I release her, she’s breathing hard. “Be safe.”
“I—” I almost say I love her. “You be safe too.”
The door closes behind me with a soft click. There are only a few places mom likes to go when she drinks. Her favorite is the local bar, but I’m going to hope she’s not that dumb. She’s not a witch. She can’t just glamour herself, and the whole damn place is probably crawling with the king’s thugs.
So, I’m going to the next logical place instead.
It takes a while to walk there, but it’d be too dangerous to take one of our cars. Too likely that someone would spot the recognizable vehicles. So, I walk, taking the paths I know are less travelled and looking over my shoulder every step of the way.
When I reach our house, I only pause for a moment to take in the silent structure. It’s dark, and I have the instinct deep inside that she isn’t here, but I take my key and go in, just in case.
It's probably dangerous coming here, but the first place I would've expected her to go is home. Nostalgia crowds my emotions as I walk through each room. If I thought this place was rundown as a kid, it’s nothing in comparison to how it is down. I’d convinced myself that she was doing okay, because when
I visited the living room and kitchen were decently clean and she had food, but the rest of the house screams of neglect.
When I get to my room, it’s exactly the same as when I was a teen. The same damn rock band posters on the walls. The same flannel blanket on the bed. The only difference? A very undisturbed layer of dust.
I close the door and check her room. It’s filthy, clothes strewn everywhere, and bottles of booze in every damn corner. For some reason, I’m angry at myself when I turn around and leave.
After the house turns up nothing, I head for the liquor store. She had to buy her alcohol somewhere, and this is the only place that sold her favorite drink.
Going into the store, I don’t pause as I weave through the shelves.
“Welcome in,” Frank greets, studying me closely.
Does he suspect I wear a glamour? Or is suspicious of all new faces?
I meet the older man’s gaze and try not to react, even though I’m a little surprised. He hasn’t aged well since I was a boy. My mom would haul me in here with her, and he’d take her money for her booze, casting me guilty looks. Sometimes he’d chat with me. Or give me a snack from the counter.
But a part of me always hated him, even though none of this was or is his fault.
“What can I get for you?” he asks, his gaze still too keen.
Even though he knows my mom and I well, I also know the glamour I wear keeps me concealed, so I try to play my part. Opening my phone, I pull up a picture of her. “Have you seen this woman?”
"Yeah, son." Frank looks ashamed. "She was in last night right before close. Got a couple bottles of her usual and took off."
Thank goodness, at least that means she wasn’t taken!
I thank him and head toward the door.
His voice stops me. "I know you don't look like you right now, and I hope you're spelled to high heavens. But you should know I stand with you. I support the Princess."
I freeze without turning and nod my head, then head out the door. If I acknowledge more than that, I open myself up to him possibly lying and turning me over to the King, or to him being hurt because someone figured out he said that.