Bloodstone d-3

by Nancy Holzner

  “Right. You helped me out a lot.”

  Maria smiled at that. “Can you show me how to do the dream phone?”

  “If your mom says it’s okay.” At this point, there wasn’t really anything Gwen could do to prevent Maria from experimenting with the dream phone, but I wasn’t going to encourage it behind Gwen’s back, either. “Speaking of your mom, I think we should call her now, don’t you?”

  Maria bit her lip, thinking, then nodded. “I guess so. She’ll be worried when I don’t get off the school bus.”

  Except try making a call when you don’t have a mobile phone. Maria was supposed to carry one of those kids’ cell phones for emergencies, but she’d left it home because she didn’t want to turn it on and find it filled with frantic messages from Gwen.

  I was the one who’d have the pleasure of talking with a frantic Gwen. But I could handle my sister.

  I asked the waitress if there was a pay phone nearby. She scratched her head, as if trying to remember what a pay phone was, and then she said I could use the restaurant’s phone if it was a local call and I was quick.

  I was glad about the “quick” part when Gwen’s voice exploded over the line. “Where are you? Where’s Maria?”

  “We’re in an ice cream shop near Downtown Crossing. Everything’s fine, Gwen.”

  “Put her on.” Gwen’s voice thrummed with anger. It seemed like a good idea to let her calm down before she spoke with Maria.

  “She’s on the other side of the room. It’s okay, I can see her. But I’m using the restaurant’s phone and I promised to keep this short.”

  “Her school called this morning to report that she was absent. I’ve been sick with worry ever since. Do you hear me? Sick!” Gwen voice kept creeping up the scale. It was a full octave higher than when she’d answered the phone. “When I called your apartment to see whether you’d heard from her, do you know who answered?”

  “Gwen—”

  “You tell that old bitch she is not to go anywhere near my daughter. Not in dreams, and not in the waking world. Got that?”

  “We can talk about that later. Right now—”

  “Do. You. Understand?”

  “Yes. Yes, Gwen, I do. Now, let’s figure out how to get Maria home.”

  “Wait for me at South Station. I’ll be on the next train. No, damn it, I have to be here when Zack gets home from kindergarten. All right, I’ll pick him up and then drive in—”

  “Listen, there’s no need to haul the boys into town. It might be easiest if I drop her off at Nick��s office.”

  “He’s not there. He’s at a training seminar all afternoon.”

  “Okay, then how about I bring her out there? You and I need to talk, anyway. Let’s do it at your house instead of in the middle of Boston.” I didn’t have the proper permit to go all the way to Needham, but I didn’t care.

  “You’re right, we do need to talk. Again.” Gwen’s voice barely contained her anger. “All right, are you driving or taking the train?”

  I hadn’t picked up my Jag from the shop yet, so I told her we’d take the train.

  Working out the details calmed Gwen down. Before we hung up, she said, “You should’ve called me earlier. But thanks for taking care of Maria. Tell her I love her.”

  “I will.”

  And I did. Maria rolled her eyes like she’d been practicing for just such an occasion, but she also looked pleased and a little relieved. And very, very ready to go home.

  20

  AS THE TRAIN PULLED INTO NEEDHAM HEIGHTS STATION, Gwen stood tiptoe on the platform, scanning the passing windows. Maria and I both waved, and as the train screeched to a stop, Gwen came over to our car.

  Maria went down the steps a little hesitantly, but when Gwen opened her arms wide she flew to her mom. Gwen folded her into a hug as if she’d never, ever let go again. I waited, standing off to the side, giving them their moment.

  Gwen stepped back, her hands on Maria’s shoulders, and scrutinized her daughter’s face as she held her at arm’s length. “Don’t ever, ever run away like that again. I don’t care what the problem is, we can talk about it. Okay?”

  “Okay, Mom.” Maria looked at her tennis shoes but kept a hand on her mother’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

  Gwen hugged her daughter again, pulling her close, both of them crying and laughing at the same time. Gwen buried her face in Maria’s hair. They stood that way for several minutes. Then Gwen kissed the top of the girl’s head and looked over at me. “Thanks for bringing her home.”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice to make it past the lump in my throat.

  “Do you have time to come back to the house?” Gwen asked. “We really need to have that talk.” There was no anger in her voice now. Just oceans of relief.

  I nodded again. Before catching the train, I’d phoned Mab from South Station. She told me that Axel had called to say Juliet was still unconscious. No call from Daniel. I didn’t have much time—and was fast running out of the little I did have—but with no way to find the Old Ones and no idea where to start looking, there wasn’t much I could do about that.

  Besides, this was family. I’d make time.

  Maria threw her backpack into her mom’s van and climbed into a middle seat. “Where are Zack and Justin?”

  “Playing at the Henleys’.” Gwen glanced at me as she buckled up and started the car. “They’re our neighbors a couple of doors down. They have a boy Zack’s age.”

  During the short drive from the train station to Gwen’s house, the van was quiet. Maria stared out her window. Gwen turned on the radio, listened to two sentences of a news story about the zombie march, and turned it off again.

  In the driveway, Maria jumped out with her backpack, slammed the door, and started toward the house.

  “Maria,” Gwen said, “go to the Henleys’ and keep an eye on your brothers.”

  “But Mom . . .” Maria looked to me for backup. Her appeal wasn’t lost on Gwen.

  And there I was, stuck in a position I never wanted, wedged between my sister and her child. But I said what I thought was right. “I think she should stay, Gwen. This conversation concerns her.”

  Gwen gave each of us a long stare, as if trying to assess how much we were in league against her. Not at all! I wanted to shout. You’re her mom. But until we played this out, my sister would see me as a rival.

  “All right,” she said, but in a voice that suggested we’d be sorry. “She may stay.”

  We went through the garage and took the side door into the kitchen. Gwen pointed at a chair, and Maria sat in it. My sister, ignoring her usual hostess instinct, didn’t even offer a glass of water.

  She sat at the head of the table and folded her hands, looking like a CEO ready to announce bad news at a shareholders’ meeting. “So here’s the situation as I see it. At this point, I think it’s safe to say that Maria is developing Cerddorion tendencies. We have to plan for dealing with that.” She turned to me. “You need to tell Kane to get started on the legal side of things. We have some time, but courts and government agencies move slowly, so we can’t delay.”

  “He’s, um, away right now, but I’ll call his office and see what they can do. I’ll fill Kane in as soon as he’s back.” If I ever got him back. The full moon still seemed a long way off, and after the failure of Roxana’s ritual, I worried that even the moon wouldn’t be enough.

  “If Kane can help, fine. That would be our preference. But Nick and I agree we also need to have a plan B in place. If it looks like the courts may try to remove Maria from our home, we’re moving to Canada. Nick says he can get a transfer to his firm’s Toronto office.”

  Maria stood up. “But Mom—”

  Gwen silenced Maria with a look, and the girl sat down again. She slumped in her chair and stared at the table.

  I felt the same as Maria. Toronto was a long way from Boston. If they moved, I’d see Gwen and her family maybe once or twice a year. How was I supposed to help Maria get accustomed to shapes
hifting if they moved so far away? Gwen’s stony face brooked no arguments. All right, we’d figure it out. When Maria needed me, maybe I could take some time off and go up there to help her get through the first few months.

  It felt like everything was moving way too fast.

  “We do have time, Gwen, like you said. Maybe a year or longer.”

  “Yes. But I also said we need to have a plan in place. I’m not going to wait until the authorities come knocking on my door.”

  Maria scrunched down farther in her chair. As the grown-ups talked, she’d made herself so small that she now appeared to be little more than a scared face hovering above the table.

  “Okay, so we’ve covered plans and possible consequences,” I said. “But we haven’t discussed what’s in store for Maria, what it’s like to become a shapeshifter. Can I tell her what to expect?”

  Gwen’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded.

  Maria sat up a little as I spoke. “Nothing is going to change right away. You’ll keep having dreams like the ones you’ve been having, like the ones you told me about right here at this table.”

  “Will they get scary?” she asked in a tiny voice.

  “No, because you’re in charge. If a dream starts to feel scary or uncomfortable, just remind yourself, ‘This is my dream; I’m in control.’ When you do that, you can take the dream in whatever direction you want.”

  Maria looked dubious.

  “Honest,” I said. “These dreams are happening because your mind is starting to explore the idea of taking on other shapes. When you dream that you’re flying or swimming underwater, what does it feel like?”

  “Like it’s me but not me.”

  “Exactly. When you get that ‘me but not me’ feeling, you know you’re dreaming. So use that feeling to take control of your dream.”

  “It’s called lucid dreaming,” Gwen said. “I don’t change shape like Vicky does, but I do control my dreams.”

  “You do it?”

  Gwen smiled, a little ruefully, in my direction. “She used to think her mom could do anything.” She cupped Maria’s face in her hand. “If I didn’t, worrying about you kids would give me nightmares, and I’d never get enough sleep to keep up with you all during the day.”

  Maria rolled her eyes, but she smiled.

  “Try it the next time you have a flying dream,” I said. “Pick a place to fly to, and see how easy it is to go there. Or switch: Go from flying to galloping or swimming. You don’t have to wait for a dream to feel bad before you take control of it. You’re always in control if you want to be.”

  “But if you do have a bad dream,” Gwen added, “come and wake me up. I’ll sit with you until you fall asleep again, like I did when you were little.”

  “Can I call you on that dream-phone thing?”

  Something crossed Gwen’s face, an expression like she’d caught an unpleasant smell. She scowled at me.

  “She’s already experienced the dream phone,” I said. “She was curious about it, and I figured it was better not to keep her in the dark.”

  Gwen sighed. “I guess you’re right.” She turned to Maria. “Well, if you have a bad dream it’ll probably wake you up, and you can’t call on the dream phone when you’re awake. But yes, you can talk to me that way. Vicky, too, if she’s willing.”

  “Sure,” I agreed, “we can chat about whatever you like. But I might be at work sometimes while you’re asleep, so don’t get frustrated or think you’re doing it wrong if I don’t answer.”

  “Start with me,” Gwen said. “I’ll teach you how. My colors are rose and gold. Vicky’s are green and silver.”

  “What are mine?”

  I let my eyes go out of focus and looked at the space just above Maria’s head. Her aura shimmered into view. It spread around her, the size and balance of colors indicating she was healthy and generally happy, although some excess yellow showed she was prone to worry. Threaded through the aura, her Cerddorion colors were just beginning to show.

  “A beautiful sky blue,” I reported, “and . . . well, the other color is kind of pink now, but I think that’ll deepen into a ruby red. Don’t you, Gwen?”

  Gwen, who’d also been reading Maria’s aura, blinked. I couldn’t imagine what she was feeling, getting her first glimpse of her daughter’s Cerddorion colors. Her baby was growing up—and into something Gwen feared. She nodded, blinking some more. “Pink and blue. The colors we used for the nursery when you were born.” She cleared her throat. “But Vicky’s right. They’re the base colors, and they’ll take on your specific shades as you . . . as you grow.”

  “Are those good colors?”

  “They’re yours,” I said. “Colors aren’t good or bad, just like a fingerprint isn’t good or bad. But they’re part of what makes you, you.” I touched the tip of her nose. “So, yeah, I’d say they’re pretty terrific.”

  A bread knife lay on the table. Maria picked it up and peered into its shiny surface, tilting the blade this way and that, trying to glimpse her colors for herself.

  Gwen closed her hand around Maria’s and lowered it to the table. “Okay, we need to lay down some ground rules. First, you can use the dream phone only on the weekends. No calls on school nights. I remember how tired I used to get when Vicky and I stayed up talking for half the night.”

  “But you were asleep,” Maria objected.

  “It’s a different kind of sleep. The kind you can wake up tired from.”

  “Oh.” Maria seemed puzzled, but she shrugged. “Okay.”

  “Second—and this is important—you may answer a dream-phone call only if it’s from Vicky or me. Green and silver or rose and gold. No other colors. Understand?”

  “But what about the blue-and-silver lady? Vicky said she was my aunt.”

  Gwen looked so angry, for a moment I thought she would hit me. But she took a visibly deep breath, then another, and shook her head. “Just Vicky or me. If I find out you’ve been talking to anyone else, you’ll be grounded.”

  “But why can’t I talk to her?”

  Gwen picked up the bread knife and toyed with it, her knuckles white. “Because many years ago, when I was a little older than you, I saw that woman do a terrible thing.”

  “What?”

  “Gwen, it’s been almost twenty years. Surely after all this time you can let go of whatever Mab did to upset you.”

  Gwen slapped the bread knife on the table, making Maria jump. “Let go of it? That woman should be in prison, not swanning around her fancy house in Wales. Not pushing her way into my little girl’s dreams.” Gwen shoved her chair back and went to the sink. She poured herself a glass of water and drank it in three gulps. She slammed the empty glass on the counter, fury seething in her eyes. “But I never could get anyone to believe what I saw. Not Dad, not the police—no one.”

  She pointed to the side door. “Maria, go outside. Go to the Henleys’ house, ride your bike, do something. I need to talk to Vicky alone.”

  “But, Mom, you said I could stay. You said this conversation concerned me.”

  “You’re right, it does. But you’re still too young to hear what I have to say. Maybe later, when you’re older, I’ll explain.”

  “But—”

  “No!”

  Maria knew when she was beat. She slid from her chair and trudged across the kitchen. At the door, she turned around and said reproachfully, “I’m growing up, you know. You can’t treat me like a little kid forever.” She tossed her head and went out into the garage.

  Gwen’s laugh had an hysterical edge to it. “She sounds exactly like I did at that age—do you remember? If only I’d known then how good ‘little kids’ have it. I had to grow up way too fast, and I wasn’t ready for it. Thanks to your precious aunt Mab.”

  “Gwen, what happened?”

  “That’s why I never told you, you know,” she said, ignoring my question. “Christ, you were younger than Maria when it happened. I wanted to protect you, protect your innocence. And then later, you w
ere so crazy about Mab and demon fighting and Wales that you wouldn’t have believed me.” She glared at me accusingly. “You won’t believe me now, either.”

  “Try me. I promise I’ll listen, at least.”

  Gwen didn’t sit down. She didn’t look at me as she spoke. She stood by the kitchen sink, staring at a spot on the far wall, seeing into the distant past.

  “Thirteen. I was only thirteen years old. A child. That summer in Wales, I was so terrified of Mab I felt more like her prisoner than her apprentice. I used to imagine that I was Gretel and she was the witch, getting ready to eat me alive. I was so unhappy. I’d take long walks whenever I could escape from the house, and on one of those walks I met a boy from the village. Eric.” Her eyes softened. “I thought he was the handsomest boy I’d ever seen—black hair, dark eyes, and black eyelashes so long and thick I wished mine were like that.

  “Eric was fifteen, and I knew Mab would never approve of him. So I’d sneak out at night and we’d meet. I thought I was being careful, but one night Mab must have followed me. I met Eric at our usual place, a stone wall where we’d sit and talk. It was all so harmless, so innocent. That night, he put his arm around me and said he wanted to kiss me.

  “My heart was thumping like mad. I closed my eyes and waited for the feel of his lips against mine. Instead, something warm splashed onto my face. I opened my eyes. Eric clutched his neck, blood spurting from between his fingers. His throat had been slashed wide open. Mab stood behind him, holding a bloody dagger.”

  Here eyes locked onto mine like laser beams. “She killed him in cold blood, Vicky. A fifteen-year-old boy. And all because he tried to kiss me.”

  21

  THERE HAD TO BE ANOTHER SIDE TO THE STORY. GWEN wasn’t interested in speculating about what it might be. As far as she was concerned, our aunt was a brutal killer who’d murdered a young girl’s first love. The set of Gwen’s jaw, the absolute certainty in her voice—her mind held zero doubt about that night.

  No, I thought, sitting on the train back to Boston, there must be more to it. I knew my aunt. Gwen’s picture of her as a cruel butcher killing for spite simply wasn’t her. Mab had once reminded me that I didn’t know everything about her. But one thing I did know: She’d never do what Gwen accused her of. Mab was loved and respected by the villagers of Rhydgoch. She didn’t go around slaughtering them.