by Mia Marshall
“I need to see her. I need to know she’s...” My words drifted off, because nothing sounded quite right. I knew my mother wasn’t okay. I doubted I’d instantly spot a way to save her. I wasn’t sure I could do much of anything, other than be there, but I still had to do that one small thing.
Sera took the turnoff for Will’s house without another word.
The only car in the driveway was Eleanor’s Jeep. No one answered when we knocked, so we let ourselves in. The house was eerily silent. The downstairs was empty. The only sound was the stairs creaking as we headed to the second floor.
James’s door was open a few inches, and we peeked inside. He was sleeping, but no aura of peace surrounded him. His breathing was ragged and uneven, and his feet twitched frantically. I’d seen animals do that many times during chase dreams. Wherever James’s mind was, it wasn’t anywhere human.
Celeste sat in the corner, watching every movement her son made. When I opened the door slightly she met my eyes, and tilted her head slightly to indicate the room next door. Though her eyes were dull and bleary, a more volatile expression lurked just below the surface, one loaded with anger and despair and several other emotions too complicated for a single word. It was the face of a mother in pain.
I nodded silently, acknowledging her presence and her grief, and left the room, closing the door behind me.
The guest room was next, and that door was wide open. I stepped inside, though Sera remained in the hallway, allowing me a moment of privacy. My mother slept in the queen-sized bed, a soft pillow beneath her head and a cheery yellow comforter pulled up to her shoulders.
Sleep was the wrong word. Sleep implied peacefulness and rest, a temporary state from which one could easily emerge. Sleep left your spirit intact, and my mother was no longer whole. Her cheeks, a delicate pink even in the depths of winter, were now pale and waxy, frozen in a lax expression. Her fingers did not twitch, nor her eyelids flutter. I was used to her economy of movement—my mother was not prone to large, exuberant gestures—but even when she was still, life flowed from every pore. The woman before me had the same features as my mother, and yet I barely recognized her.
Tentatively, I sent my water magic looking for hers and was shocked to find nothing but empty space. It wasn’t just that her magic was weaker, or hard to recognize. It didn’t exist. The magic I so identified with my mother that I could use it to find her in a darkened room had simply vanished. She might as well have been human.
She must have found whatever was blocking James. If her magic had touched it, if she’d wrapped it around the blockage and tried to pull it toward herself in an effort to heal the boy, that could have been enough to steal her own power.
I had no idea what happened to elementals who lost their magic. I’d never heard of it happening before. As far as I knew, it wasn’t even possible, no more than it was possible for shifters to lose theirs.
Brian hadn’t known it, but he might have invented a weapon capable of destroying the magical races—and we still had no idea who controlled it.
I stared at her, fighting the sudden panic that rushed through me. I had absolutely no idea what to do.
For most of my life—the first fifty years of it, in fact—this had been the woman who fixed things. She was the one that held the family together, the rock among her flightier sisters. She could be demanding and manipulative, but find me an old one who wasn’t that way on occasion. Most of the time, she’d simply been my mother, the woman whose quiet, competent presence gave me hope that everything would be okay.
I’d been so angry at her for one error of judgment that I’d forgotten all the rest. And while it may have been one whopping error in judgment, I knew she’d done it for the reason she’d done everything else over the course of my life: to protect me. She was my mommy, after all, and without her here to tell me what I should do, I had absolutely no idea how to make this better. I didn’t know how to fix a single damn thing.
“She’s stable.” I looked up sharply, surprised to hear another voice. Eleanor sat by my mother’s side, holding her hand lightly. I’d been so fixed on my mother when I entered the room that I hadn’t even seen her. “Will’s meeting with a shifter doctor at the hospital, arranging for another IV and respirator, just in case she doesn’t come out in a day or two.”
I nodded my head, acknowledging that I heard, though there seemed to be no response I could make. I wasn’t sure how to deal with the wave of panic coursing through me, and I thought shutting down might be the best option.
From the doorway, Sera asked, “What happened?”
Things like that still mattered, didn’t they? I had places to go, people to save. I had to delay my nervous breakdown for a more convenient time. I thought of my mother, the most emotionally controlled full water I’d ever met, and knew that’s what she would do. That’s how she’d begin fixing things.
It took a colossal effort of will, but I drew myself back from the brink. I still felt the panic and desperation creeping around the edges of my mind, calling to me. Those emotions weren’t going anywhere, not while my mother was in this state and Mac was missing, but I erected a firm barrier, letting them know they weren’t welcome right now.
I suspected that if I couldn’t save my mom and Mac, I’d be letting those feelings in for a very long party, but I wasn’t there yet.
With that, my focus returned, laser sharp and determined. I’d missed the first part of Eleanor’s explanation, but snapped to attention for the rest. “Based on what she’d learned from Pamela, she wanted to see if James had the same altered neurology. No one was in the room with her, so we don’t know what happened. Celeste and I were downstairs, and the first we knew something was wrong was when we heard her body hit the floor. She’s been out ever since. That’s all I know.” She looked at me, apologetic, but I had no interest. If she wasn’t of use to me, if she wasn’t able to help, she might as well not exist. Laser focus may not be the way to make friends, but it damn sure got the job done.
“How long was she with James?”
“An hour, tops.” Eleanor’s tone suggested that wasn’t long, but I knew better. If she’d been replicating the procedure she’d done on Pamela and Carmen, she should have been in and out in ten minutes. The earlier procedure had barely taken twenty, and she’d known what she was looking for the second time. Something had gone wrong.
“And no one was with her?” I heard my own voice, sharp and accusatory, but I couldn’t be bothered to temper my anger.
“It’s not like we could help,” she said. “We had no idea what she was doing.”
“He’s your nephew. Celeste’s son.” I bit the words off. “I thought you might be interested in seeing if she was successful.” No, I definitely wasn’t making friends this day.
She didn’t fight me, but neither did she meet my eyes. I realized that, for all her efforts to escape her life and build a new one, Eleanor was weak. I’d been around so many strong-willed people lately that I’d forgotten that many people preferred for others to be in charge. My mother had told her she could handle it, and the two women had let her. End of story, almost. “Where was Will?”
She continued to stare at a spot on the bed, and I had the distinct sense she was eager for this conversation to end. “He wasn’t here. I don’t know where he was, honestly. It was something to do with Mac. He only showed up a few minutes after...” Her voice slipped away, unwilling to finish that sentence. After my mother had slipped into a coma.
“Will you call me if anything changes?”
Eleanor nodded. “Of course. Leave your number with me.”
We only stayed for a few more minutes. There was nothing I could do. Three more times, I reached out to my mother, looking for even the smallest residue of magic, but each time I found nothing. She looked so still, so pitifully small and weak. I brushed her hair back and tucked it behind her delicate ears, then kissed her forehead. I held the kiss for a long time, feeling her unnaturally cool skin beneath my lips.
“You better come back,” I told her. “You always wanted the best for me, and while I don’t always agree with your methods, forcing me to live thousands of years without the chance to forgive you doesn’t qualify as ‘best.’ So don’t you dare think of calling it quits.”
I walked out of the room and down the stairs without a backwards glance. I heard Sera behind me, walking quickly to keep up as I headed directly to the front door. Will was just turning off his engine, and I shook my head at him. “Don’t even unbuckle the seat belt.” I spoke loud enough to be heard through the glass. “You’re driving us to Carmen’s.”
He and Sera both looked surprised, but they didn’t argue. I swung myself into the passenger seat of the Explorer as Sera crawled into the back. Earlier, I’d planned on talking to Dana in a calm, thoughtful manner, the sort of conversation that wouldn’t trigger any pyromaniac impulses.
That was before I’d seen my mother and realized everything awful right now was the fault of one person we desperately needed to find. Pamela and James’s inability to shift. The kidnapped shifter children. Mac going missing. And now my mother, in a coma and missing the very magic that defined her. I was done messing around, and Dana was our only link to this bastard.
I smiled. “Let’s go terrorize a teenager.”
By the time we arrived, full night had fallen over Tahoe, the stars still obscured by the clouds coating the night sky. The snow had ceased falling, though a quiet stillness lingered over the neighborhood, a sense of people curled up in their warm living rooms, enjoying this last wintry night before spring reasserted itself.
Carmen’s house was silent. No cars sat in the driveway, and there was no visible movement in any of the front rooms. The illusion of stillness was shattered the moment we rang the doorbell and the resident canine sounded the alarm, letting everyone know he was ready and willing to defend his people, even if his people did have the poor sense to turn into cats.
The voice urging the dog to shush was gentle and soft. Not Carmen, then. The door opened slowly, and Dana’s face stared out at us. She took in the three of us, and her eyes grew round and scared when she saw Will standing behind us. She knew Will, and she should have known she had nothing to fear from him if she was entirely innocent. Something else caused that look of panic.
Surprisingly, her expression quickly gave way to relief.
“I know why you’re here,” she said, opening the door wider. We stepped inside, causing the corgi to shake and sneeze with joy at the possible new playmates. He dashed from the room and returned with a toy clenched firmly in his jaws. The poor thing really couldn’t read the mood of the room. “Or maybe you’re here for something else. It doesn’t matter. There’s something you need to know.”
“I don’t understand, Dana.” She met my gaze directly. Tears hovered on her lashes, but they remained unshed. She wasn’t about to descend into useless sobbing or otherwise avoid my questions. I felt my first glimmer of hope that we might actually get our answers without sending a teenage girl into years of therapy. “If you knew something, anything, why didn’t you speak up?”
When I’d first met Dana, I’d seen the woman she would someday become, once she settled into her adult skin and found the barest measure of confidence. Now, I saw the child she’d once been. Her emotions caused her cheeks to turn pinker, and her lips were soft and loose. Whatever she’d done, I couldn’t believe it had been malicious.
“I did it. It’s my fault.” Then again, I’d been wrong before.
I knew Will would be happy to dismember whoever had hurt his son, but he looked at Dana with more confusion than actual rage. He took her elbow and led her to the living room, urging her onto the sofa. She didn’t fight him, but sank deeply into the overstuffed couch, as if happy to drown herself in the yards of brown leather. The small dog sat quietly at her feet, having reluctantly admitted we weren’t there to play with him, though still hopeful we’d change our minds at some point.
This was my second time in Carmen’s living room, but I hadn’t paid close attention before. When I took a second look, I saw no evidence of Carmen’s personality or history anywhere in the room. No throw pillows or well-maintained family heirlooms, no crocheted afghans or framed family photos. Rather, it looked like she’d walked into a mid-range furniture store during their President’s Day sale and bought whatever set would fit in the room. It was bland and forgettable, the furniture of someone who really didn’t care what her home looked like. I recognized the decorative artwork and various knick-knacks from a recent trip to a big box store, seemingly bought to fill an empty wall rather than imbue the house with a sense of its owner’s personality.
“This isn’t her home,” said Dana, following my train of thought. Her voice was matter of fact and utterly lacking in self-pity. “Not really. She stays here most nights, but her home is out there.” She waved one hand toward the window, where the lush greenery of the Tahoe National Forest was visible, the thick growth of trees extending for miles.
I wasn’t sure how to respond to a daughter admitting that her mother lived a completely separate life. I had plenty of issues with my own mother, but lack of attention had never been one of them. Hell, I’d needed to move a thousand miles away to get some freedom. I suspected Dana rarely had to go further than her own bedroom.
I tried to hide my pity, but wasn’t successful. “It’s not that bad,” she said. “Mom and Pamela have their thing, but I’m daddy’s girl. I still get to see him most weekends.” I didn’t think she was trying to convince me. It sounded like she needed to convince herself.
Sera studied a small cat figurine sitting on the mantle. “Where’s Carmen now?” She walked around the room, excess energy pouring from her. She casually picked up one object after another, setting them all down in a slightly different place. Candles, remote controls, magazines, all found themselves moved a couple inches for absolutely no reason other than Sera’s inability to sit still.
“She’s with Pamela. She’s hoping that being in the forest will remind her who she is and convince her to shift.” The words were layered, filled with a depth of emotion I struggled to identify. Concern dominated, but threaded through her fear was resentment and guilt.
It was a volatile emotional stew, and it reminded me that despite her seeming softness and gentle spirit, this was a teenage girl sitting before me. I might have spent my own teen years on an isolated island, but if pop culture and its slew of teen movies had taught me anything, it was that teen girls were capable of just about anything.
Sera seemed to have the same thought. She stopped pacing directly in front of Dana, her jittery movements ceasing immediately.
Dana recognized the moment the getting-to-know-you portion of the proceedings ended. “What do you need to know?”
Will sat beside her, effectively blocking her in, but somehow his large, warm presence calmed the girl, offering comfort and security. I wondered if that gene ran in the family. Mac always had the same effect on me.
“Just tell us what you did, Dana. It’s okay. We’ve all made mistakes.” He even had the same warm, gentle voice. If this was a family trait, maybe there was hope for Brandon yet.
Dana met his eyes. Hers were also brown, though not the golden tone of her mother and sister. They were a dark brown, nearly the same shade as Will’s, and they latched onto his eagerly.
As she spoke, she watched Will carefully, looking for any sign of anger or recrimination. He offered neither, but he also didn’t offer forgiveness. Once I heard her story, I wasn’t sure she deserved it.
“I didn’t know, not at first. She said she wanted to go back to work, and she was interested in a local nursing program, so I should ask Aunt Diane about the hospital where she works. Just general stuff, you know. What it was like, how busy, how crowded, that sort of thing. I told her I could introduce her, and she could ask the questions herself, but she said she didn’t want to be a bother.”
None of us missed her consistent use of vague pr
onouns. Sera raised one sharp eyebrow. “Nothing about that seemed odd to you? An adult asking a teenager to do her research for her?”
Dana’s eyes slid toward Sera, hearing the dubious tone in her voice. “Maybe. I don’t know. It just felt good to be useful. To be wanted for something.” Again, she spoke in that direct, even tone, like her belief in her mother’s neglect was a fact of life rather than a wound that cut to her core.
“Go on,” urged Will. He brought her gaze back to his. Sera flopped down on one of the armchairs, expelling her breath in a heavy sigh. This interrogation obviously wasn’t moving fast enough for her.
“Patience, grasshopper,” I muttered, a quiet aside, and was rewarded by one expressive finger. It might have been completely inappropriate to rib each other at that moment, but sometimes it seemed such behavior was coded in our DNA.
“Aunt Diane gave me all the information. I think she was just happy someone in the family was interested. She’s kind of like me. More guns, sure, but she grew up like I did.”
“You mean she was human in a family of shifters,” I clarified.
She nodded. “She gets it. Maybe she thought I wanted to follow in her footsteps or something. Make a career of being useful, of being wanted.” That time a note of bitterness definitely crept in.
I thought back to Carmen’s intense protective instincts. It might be easier for Carmen to relate to her shifter child, but I couldn’t believe she loved Dana any less. I suspected this family was in desperate need of some family counseling—not that anyone in the Brook-Blais clan was in any position to offer advice on family drama.
I tried to let Dana tell the story in her own way, giving her the time to explain her actions, if not justify them, but she seemed in no hurry to get to the point. I was beginning to feel every bit as antsy as Sera and knew I needed to speed things up. I couldn’t have a repeat of what happened in Reno. “When did the questions turn to medical techniques for scrambling shifters’ brains, Dana?”