by Angel Payne
Finally, after exhorting us to stop, they chuckle and straighten their matching V-neck sweaters. I’m positive they picked out the garments from some high-end catalogue in which the color was listed as “Serious Squash” or “Hunter Rust” rather than simply “orange.” It fits right in with their quirky schtick.
“Well, good afternoon, sir.” The man gives Reece a hearty handshake. “We were happy to see some life over in this quadrant of the neighborhood and thought we’d roll on by with the welcome wagon. Left the ol’ gray mare at home, though. Oh, wait a second”—he wraps his opposite arm around his woman—“she’s right here!”
“Oh, Mel.” The woman’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She bats the center of his chest with a hand adorned by three egg-sized diamonds and a wrist accented with three pearl bracelets. She steps toward me and extends the bejeweled hand. “Hi there. Maddie Makra.”
I grit out a smile while clutching my new curls with a free hand. “Nice to meet you. Em—errmmm—Sophie. Sophie Sarsgard.”
“And I’m Dr. Sarsgard.” Reece shakes the woman’s hand, flashing a smile that matches the façade of mine. Not that Maddie notices. Or perhaps doesn’t care. Her stare oozes I-want-to-climb-you-like-a-spider-monkey intent, and I have to stab my gaze to the foyer floor at once to hide my rush of jealousy. Hopefully the expression comes off as shyness and don’t-even-think-of-touching-my-husband-ness. We’ve already given the Makras tons to relay about the “new eccentrics” on the block. Adding a girl fight to their “juicy details” is pouring on one idiosyncrasy too many.
“Nice to meet you, doctor.” Thankfully, the woman is cordially respectful. “Stephen and Sophie,” she repeats, as if mimicking one of the YouTube courses Mom used to play about effectively remembering peoples’ names. “Now isn’t that fun? Your initials together are ssssssss.” She makes a snake-worthy torso wiggle. “And ours are mmmmmm!” And then some slinky moves that might be an attempt at a sexy cat. Or a dying jellyfish.
Kill. Me. Now.
“That and fifteen bucks will get you a cupcake at the new bakery up on Orchid, dear.”
On the other hand, maybe I’ll just kill him now.
Reece ropes a hand around my waist and then squeezes at the top of my hip—a silent warning that my solar “magic” is in danger of showing. I plaster on a smile, channeling as much of my fake-it-till-you-make-it prowess from the tennis club days. Shocking how all this shit-shooting is like riding a bike. A few pedal strokes in, and I’m already back to the rhythm of pretending that fifteen-dollar cupcakes are the most exciting thing in my day.
“So you two live…where?” As Reece smoothly changes up the subject and the mood, I notice that he’s also modulated nasal overtones in his voice. I curl a hand into the back of his vest to keep from giggling. But hilarious or not, the idea of a slight vocal change isn’t a bad idea. I’ll never be able to pull off his tribute to Napoleon Dynamite, but borrowing from the summer ’Dia and I went through our British obsession might just come in handy a bit.
“Oh, we’re just two doors down, Doc,” Mel says smoothly. “But we’re usually out and about in the neighborhood a couple of times a day. You’ll be seeing plenty of us.”
Oh, goodie.
“I have to say, everyone’s pretty excited,” Maddie injects with enthusiasm. Imagine that… Local gossip is right in the woman’s wheelhouse. “You two are already pretty big news—and just look; it’s soon going to be three, yes?”
I obey instinct and flatten a hand over my belly. “Oh, yes. Soon.”
Mel swings a sound punch into Reece’s shoulder. “Nice work, Doc!”
Reece smiles from his lips but glares from his eyes. “It…was a team effort.”
“You’d be the one to know, bro,” the guy finishes, clearly preening as if he reinvented poetry with the rhyme.
Maddie executes a little pivot to mask her pivot away from him—and closer to me. “So, errrmmm…when are you due?” she queries.
“By Christmas,” I answer.
“A few months,” Reece says at the same time.
“Nothing like a little synchronicity.” Mel flashes another I’m-the-funniest smirk, even before adding, “And that was nothing like a little synchronicity.” He narrows his eyes at Reece. “You are a doctor, aren’t you?”
“Not medical.” Reece’s answering drone is so spot-on with the nasal overlay, I’m sure he’s already practiced this part. “I hold several PhDs. Astronomy, Astrobiology, and Earth and Spaces.”
“Oh.” Mel blinks. Then again. “And…what does all that mean, exactly?”
“I study aliens. And UFOs.” He doesn’t let on that “Steve” has an entire room full of them in plastic and plush form, and with any luck, we’ll keep it that way—though I’m pretty sure the Makras couldn’t wear worse gawks than they do this second.
Thank God for Bean. I have the perfect excuse to change the subject. Or in this case, get back to it. “We’re both…uhhh…just really excited,” I offer. “He’s our first baby, and keeping up with the details…” I jerk a convincing shrug. Hopefully. “It all seems to be going by in a big blur.”
That part’s definitely believable because it’s not really a lie—though I certainly can’t share that our last “prenatal checkup,” barely over twenty-four hours ago, ended with the baby daddy returning from hunting bad guys in Barcelona and then dropping into a dead faint.
I’m pulled from the memories by the abrupt change in Maddie’s demeanor. I watch, semi-fascinated, as the energy glow around the woman’s head changes from dark amber to midnight blue. Rarely have I witnessed such a fast switch, which matches the drastic change across her face. From perky cheer to misty melancholy inside five seconds. “Well, enjoy the big whirl,” she murmurs. “Before you know it, they’re off all day at soccer practice, tap class, ballet technique, or sewing social club.”
“Sewing social club?” I try to lighten her mood with genuine curiosity about that one.
“Our oldest is into ‘cosplay.’” Mel surrounds the last word with air quotes and a disapproving grimace.
“Now, honey.”
“Don’t ‘now honey’ me, Madeline,” he spews, though I instantly want to hug Maddie for firming her stance and standing up for her child.
“It’s just another form of theater,” she declares. “In which she participated before all this—and you were perfectly okay with.”
The assjerk—why not, because he’s well on his way to earning the assignation—harrumphs. “There’s a difference between shoo-bopping as Sandy and trouncing around with a bloody spear as Warrior Queen of the Shadow Valley.”
“Certainly is,” Maddie counters. “One turned herself into a skank for a man, and the other eviscerates races who want to subjugate her people.”
“Sounds perfect.” I add a sincere grin, which is mirrored by Maddie.
“She goes to events and masquerades with her friends from college,” she adds. “And sometimes they even get paid to promote upcoming movies or books featuring the characters they portray. They’re even thinking of forming their own little company, with an LLC and everything. They all have several costumes. Everything from cats and unicorns to warriors and superheroes.”
Reece digs in his fingertips at my hip, though the only thing that changes about his outward manner is the tumble of hair against his forehead, blown by the increasing twilight wind. “Superheroes?” He conveys nothing but nerdy eagerness. “You don’t say.”
“Oh, but I do.” Maddie lifts her head higher, clearly beaming with pride. “I’ll have to show you some of her latest creations sometime, especially the beautiful Bolt leathers she designed for her boyfriend.”
If the seaside breeze turned into a polar gale force, I’d be fighting less to keep my composure. But even if I had full freedom to express myself, I’m not sure what I’d pick: a bemused gape or a happy grin. Maybe it’s a good thing I’m forced to focus on my façade of suburban pleasantry. “Bolt leathers.” A quizzical look, praying I’ve g
ot the right mix of inquisition and interest. “What’s that all about?”
“Oh, he’s all the rage with the kids.” She pushes up her hands in wide, sweeping fans. “You do know who I’m talking about, right? The Bolt? The Hero of Los Angeles? The one leading the charge against those lunatic terrorist scientists? The Consortium?”
Reece shifts his weight and ducks his head, camouflaging his choke into something more like a rough throat clearing. “Yes. We’re, uh, familiar with the general details.”
“Well, my Bethany outfitted her Ash in an amazing ensemble for an early Halloween bash last Friday. He even had battery-operated lights in his hands, simulating lightning bolts. Just like the real thing, if you ask me.”
“Except that he wasn’t chained down and tortured first,” Reece growls for my ears alone.
“Pardon me?”
My husband’s dorky grin falls back into place. “I was just saying…what a change from the days when we dressed up in plastic costumes or old bed sheets for the holiday.”
“So true!” The woman glosses over Reece’s bumbling—or his epic save, depending on the perspective—as if he’s spouted the wisdom of Obi-Wan Kenobi. I know I should leap on this prime opportunity to change the subject, but I can’t help myself from asking my next question, mostly because I actually can.
“So have you seen the real thing?” I query Maddie. “Bolt, I mean.”
“Oh, gosh no.” She giggles and swipes a dismissive hand. “I mean, wouldn’t that be something, though? Several of my friends were at the party up at Pelican, when he outted himself to the world.”
“Seriously?” Reece is bold and brash about his perplexity over that, but Maddie goes on as if he hasn’t spoken.
“The only other place I’ve seen him is in some personal pictures.”
“Personal pictures?” Now I’m on the astonishment bandwagon—until realizing I’ve clearly played right into the woman’s narrative.
“Family pictures.” The woman inserts a smug nod. “One of my dearest friends has them proudly displayed in her home. You probably saw her in some of those craaaazy leaked videos from the couple’s wedding, yes? Her name is—”
“Laurel.”
At first, my husband’s spurt has me whipping a what-the-hell stare up at him.
But only until I see that his expression has trumped mine for sheer shock.
“How’d you know?” Maddie returns—during the last moment my system gets to enjoy its last fragments of normalcy. And my guts get to know something besides complete chaos. And my mind gives my body at least an illusion of balance.
Because the second I follow the route of Reece’s stare, past Mel and Maddie’s shoulders and out to the middle of the front walkway, every shred of that familiarity and that stability are stolen from me.
Just like Faline seized my mother from the middle of my wedding reception.
And to this day—to this moment—never really brought her back.
Because even though the woman is physically standing eight feet away from me now, donned in Balenciaga ankle boots, leather leggings, and a flowy silk top with an equally stylish scarf, she’s only Laurel Crist on the surface. Two seconds into this catastrophe, and I can already tell. There’s that surreal gleam in her brilliant blue gaze. That eager slant of her beyond-bleached smile. That restless bounce in her stance, as if she’s waiting to get up and do the Macarena any second.
My mother hates the Macarena.
My mother used to hate the Macarena.
I have no damn idea who this person is, and I haven’t since she and Faline disappeared for those insane hours during our wedding night. To this moment, no amount of questioning the woman—and everyone on our team has tried over the last three weeks, Lydia and myself included—yields any answers but similar phrasings of what Mom first relayed after Faline mysteriously threw her back at us. It was a wondrous place. I was shown all the magic, and now I believe in all the magic. Only the strongest will survive to see magic happen again in our realm.
What’s the best way to say that your own mother is a total stranger to you?
And worse, that you pray you’ll be as much a stranger to her?
“Hey hey hey!” she calls out in that sing-song voice I should be used to by now but will never fully accept. That’s the voice she’s had since my wedding day. The voice Faline Garand gave to her.
“Well, speak of the devil!” Maddie croons before welcoming her “dearest friend” with darting hugs and fast air kisses. “But I see the devil can still read. Glad you got the note on the door, early bird.”
“And good thing I did too,” Mom volleys. “You said you were down here to meet the new neighbors?”
“Certainly did. Certainly are.”
Maddie’s sally corresponds with Mom’s smooth swivel, at last exposing Reece and me to her full scrutiny.
Crap.
Ohhh, crap, crap, crap.
I’m so damn glad that Maddie starts in with the social jabber again, making it possible for me to audibly hitch my breath without worries. “Laurel Crist, please meet our newest arrivals to the neighborhood. This is Dr. and Mrs. Stephen Sarsgard.”
“Errrrmmm, Sophie.” I’m stunned at how ably I interject it. I even manage to hold back from overdoing the accent, while following up with an extended hand, “Very nice to meet you.”
“Lovely to meet you too, Sophie.” Mom’s cordial about taking my hand, not even pausing when I use the tips of my fingers to return her clasp. I hope she’ll write it off as a quirky British thing, though my true goal is as little contact between her skin and mine. Anything to avoid even a schism of recognition.
Though as the seconds tick by, my nerves knot from the fact that there really aren’t any.
Not a single befuddled blink.
Not the tiniest puzzled tilt of her head or intensity of her stare.
Nothing more than the casual interest of a complete stranger.
So a new hair color, a tent dress, some glasses, and a makeup-less face are all it takes for my own mother not to recognize me.
As I vacillate between being relieved and perturbed, especially as Mom displays the exact same reaction to Reece, Maddie is the conversational savior once more. “Your timing is rather remarkable, Lau.” She’s oblivious to Mom’s wince at the nickname, which even Dad isn’t allowed to use. “We were just talking about your exceptional son-in-law.”
Mom forgets the grimace in favor of her moment in the suburban neighborhood sun. “And isn’t he just? Exceptional, I mean. And now, my daughter too, you know. Not Lydia. I mean, she’s a love, and the tennis is going well for her. But my Emmalina. Can you even with my incredible Emmalina?”
I plunge my hand against Reece’s, clenching with pressure that would surely snap the digits off a lesser man’s body. In this moment, my only intent is to pulse all the pressure of my emotion through the contact of our skin, praying I can keep the visible flare of my emotions away from the air.
So many damn emotions…
Stupefaction at hearing my mother speak of me with pride again. Indignation at how she’s blithely written off Lydia like that. Fury that she only sees my power as beautiful because of her strange field trip with Faline. Even more outrage because of the bitch’s continuing hold on her. So much confusion because of the questions that brings.
What the hell did Faline do with my mother during those hours after they vanished? Where did they go? And why has the mental honeymoon for my mother not waned at all since then? Though she didn’t return from the trip with powers or abilities of her own, has she been permanently changed into Faline Garand’s minion for the rest of her days? If so, how does this affect everything from my day-to-day reality with her, which includes telling her she’s going to be a grandmother?
Ohhhh, crap—the completely horrified sequel.
Instantly, I battle to shut my mind down. To stave my system’s reaction to that query, slamming so hard and fast I even shove away from Reece because of it.
Damn it. Damn it.
My distress permeates even Bean’s safe bubble. He kicks at my insides in protest. Despite that, I can’t halt the horror. I can’t unsee the nightmare my brain has just supplied.
The scene of my mother standing next to Faline—and proudly showing off her infant grandson to the witch.
Meanwhile, back at the corner of Ocean Boulevard and Torment Lane, the two women on the front stoop are going on as if my world hasn’t just been permanently, horridly altered.
“So the videos from the reception were real?” Maddie is prodding Mom with wide eyes. “Emmalina has superpowers too?”
Mom firms her stare. “Not ‘superpowers,’ darling. That’s the way the world chooses to trivialize them. As my friend Faline explained it—”
“Of course.” Maddie’s lips are flat with the interruption. I watch the glow around her head turn as crimson as blood. “Faline. Your friend.” And there’s the explanation for her vampiric aura. “The friend we have yet to meet, hmmmm?”
Mom quickly flaps a hand. “As I have repeatedly informed you, dear, Faline is an important individual. She doesn’t have three hours to stroll through Fashion Island or even a spare moment to just grab lunch.”
“Yes,” Maddie snips. “As you have also informed us.”
“Madeline.” Mel’s terse murmur hooks enough of his wife’s attention for him to fling an explicit look. Don’t provoke the crazy lady.
Maddie wriggles through a delicate hmmmppph. “Well.” Purses her bow-shaped mouth. “It certainly looked like Emma had superpowers to me.”
The moment she takes to add another huff is all Reece and I need to trade a what-the-hell glance. I’m not even sure we’ve disguised it as anything else. I’m sure neither of us cares.