by Amade, Melle
“Promise,” I say, but the future is looking bleak.
At the moment, that’s the one thing everyone seems to be in agreement on, well everyone except me. I’ve been somewhat prepared to leave town with my family, but now I’m expected to go on my own, and… if Henry turns out to have the same blood as me, Passief blood, I’ll have to take him with me to protect him from Murtagh and the Order.
The beater rattles and shakes its way into the Topanga strip mall parking lot. A couple of 20-somethings with multi-colored shirts and hair are sitting outside the café. The horse that overlooks the square is decked out in some ridiculous purple and pink spiral-designed smock. It tugs at my heart.
I’m going to miss this idiosyncratic place.
“You won’t consider what Zaragoza says at all, will you?” Roman asks.
“About fighting the good fight?” I ask. “No.”
“Good. It’s - it’s not us I’m worried about.”
“I know.” I touch his arm. “I get it. I’m the only known Passief in the world, there’s no way Zaragoza can protect me.” He couldn’t even protect his wife.
“I don’t think any of us can protect you,” he says. “We would be liabilities. More people to track.”
I nod, even though the fissure of loneliness inside me is split wide open and swallowing my world whole. I’m really going to be on my own.
I push away the gnawing question. Will I be able to protect Henry if he has to come with me?
“Do you think there are other Passiefs?” I ask.
“Anything is possible,” shrugs Roman. “But, shifters are hard to find; and Passiefs? They’ve been unheard of for hundreds of years.”
I nod, as if I can handle that truth.
At least I’ve gone through the Bloedhart. I won’t have to live like Mom, in constant fear of rage. But, I’ll have to hide… like she does.
I’m supposed to get out of the car right now, but it’s hard.
“You can’t say anything,” says Roman.
“I know. You told me like a hundred and fifty times.”
“Once,” he says. “That was twice.”
“It’s enough,” I say. “I just want to look in her eyes one time knowing that she knows, knowing I’m one of them, and knowing that she is, too, and that everything in her life was just because she was never able to shift.”
“You have to be careful, Shae,” he says.
“I know!” Ice cold anger descends in seconds from the crown of my head, crackles down my face and squeezes my neck. I yank the door open and gulp in the warm autumn air.
“Are you okay?” Roman leans towards me.
“Yeah,” I mutter.
“What just happened?”
“I’m okay,” I say. “Just - so frustrated, I guess.”
He stares at me, his brow furrowed. “You looked - for a minute - you looked like - like -”
“Like nothing.” I step out of the car. I don’t want to ask the question that is biting at my lips. Wasn’t the rage supposed to go away? Wasn’t it supposed to be released by the Bloedhart? Shouldn’t I be able to control my anger?
“Shae?” Roman jumps out of the car and trails me up to Mom’s yoga studio. “This probably isn’t a good idea. Let’s just go get blood from Henry and go to the Sanctuary.”
“I need to see my mom.” I keep my eyes trained on the ground so Roman can’t see my confusion. My hand presses against the studio’s glass door, but it doesn’t budge. My body slams into it. “What the -?” I push back off the glass.
“It’s closed?” Roman asks.
There’s a note on the door in Mom’s tiny, meticulous handwriting.
“Class is cancelled.”
I grab my phone and hit Mom’s speed dial, but the phone goes straight to voicemail. I don’t know if she’s shut her phone off or if she’s talking to someone else.
“Mom has never cancelled a class in my entire life.” I rush to the car. “You’ve got to get me home.”
Roman nods and throws the car into gear. “Where’s your dad?”
“No cell phone,” I say, hitting Mom’s speed dial again. This time it rings but she doesn’t answer.
Mom’s car is in the driveway when we pull up at my house. But, a large black SUV is blocking her in.
“Stop,” Roman grabs my wrist as I open the door. “It’s Murtagh.”
I jerk my arm free and jump out. In seconds I’m through the construction zone of our living room and standing in our fluorescent green kitchen. The clutter is gone to make way for repairs. The dining area feels barren. The scent of musty feathers mingles with lavender, lemon grass, and clove.
Murtagh and Mom sit at the table as if he always pops over for an afternoon tea.
“What’s he doing here?” I blurt.
Murtagh looks up and smiles with a slight nod. “We were just discussing your school performance, Shae,” he says.
Mom’s hands are pressed hard against the table. “Where have you been?”
“At Zan’s house,” I say. The lie comes naturally even though it couldn’t be farther from the truth. Murtagh’s gaze narrows, like he can see right through me.
Mom looks perturbed, but gives me a ‘we’ll talk about that later’ look. “Mr. Murtagh says you were having trouble in class this week,” she says.
“I was being badgered,” I say. Roman presses his hand into the small of my back.
Hard.
I take a deep breath. I need to be careful about what I say here. A mask slides over my face. I can’t show Murtagh I know anything.
“I’m here to help you improve your performance.” Murtagh’s eyes are scrutinizing every muscle on my face.
“Shouldn’t that be during school hours?” I ask.
“Don’t be rude, Shae,” Mom says.
Chill ice starts to crack down my face. It’s overpowering me. Murtagh watches me closely. It’s like being in class, but now he’s in my house, and I’m losing it.
And, he knows it.
Breathe in the flowers. Blow out the candles.
My throat constricts as the rage strangles me.
Roman’s hand presses hot into the small of my back. I focus on his heat and try to let it grow and help combat the anger crashing over me.
Breathe in the flowers. Blow out the candles.
I thought the Bloedhart would change this, but it hasn’t. I don’t feel any different than before the ceremony. Except now, I want to stab Murtagh’s eyes out with my beak and scrape my talons against his flesh.
Rip at him.
“I was informed by Van Arend you might have a tile here that belongs to one of his mosaics,” Murtagh says. My eyes widen and my fingers slip into my pocket pressing into the rough edges of the tile. “I see the stain on the wall, but it seems the tile is missing.”
Mom glances over at the barren wall where the original wallpaper shines like a patch of truth in the faded room. “It probably got thrown out with everything else, when we started fixing up this pile of a house,” she shrugs and stands up, picking up the cups even though Murtagh’s is still half full. Murtagh takes the hint and stands up.
“So, you don’t happen to have the tile?” Murtagh looms over me, his eyes tracking my hand as it fidgets in my pocket. I freeze.
“No,” I mutter. My gaze falls on the rifle, which is back up on the shelf. It would be futile to wield it against Murtagh, but I’m tempted. Ice crackles off me.
“Shae,” Roman warns.
Mom steps between us, “Thank you for letting me know about Shae’s performance at school today,” she says. “Her father and I will discuss it with her tonight.”
“We’re all interested in Shae’s development,” Murtagh says. “Roman, you can walk me out, and perhaps tell me what you’re doing here.”
“Zan asked me to give Shae a lift,” he shrugs. But, as he drops his glasses over his eyes, he throws me a worried look. Roman never looks worried. But, I know what he’s worried about. I can feel it in my blood. Som
ething didn’t work right in the Bloedhart. The rage, the cold blanket of anger that makes me lose control, was supposed to be gone, completely gone.
But, it’s so not.
Roman squeezes my hand warmly as he follows Murtagh out.
“I can’t believe you let him in our house!” I whirl on Mom.
“What is wrong with you?” Mom asks. “Murtagh is not someone to mess with!”
“I know!” I exclaim. Ice flares in my head as we stare each other down all the unspoken truths pressing between us. The barrier between us is about to break.
She breathes in slowly. “Calm down.”
Her phone rings. She turns away from me and answers it. “Hello.”
I rip it out of her hands and throw it through the open window. It rattles across the deck and then plummets into the canyon.
“Shae!” she yells.
“Put your damn phone down for one lousy minute!” I scream. My head has erupted in frost and it’s tumbling down my body. The force of my anger presses Mom back against the wall. She’s breathing slowly, head bowed, but the ice is freezing my heart.
“I am so sick and tired of this!” I scream. “Why does everything in this house revolve around you and your agenda?”
“Just breathe.” My mom says through gritted teeth.
“Don’t tell me what to do!” I yell at her. “You have no idea what’s really going on here! You put our whole family in this situation!”
Mom’s head is bowed she’s breathing slowly and deeply, but I don’t care. “I’ve done my best,” she presses out through clenched teeth.
“Really?” I ask. “It’s all lies. Why don’t you tell me exactly why you want to move? It’s because you knew what would happen and you did nothing my entire life to prepare me! I had to stumble upon it myself.”
Mom’s eyes are wide, brimming with pain. “No…” she chokes out. “You were never supposed to know. I was trying to protect you.”
“You’ve done a lousy job!” I stab the words at her, but it’s not enough to stop the ice cracking every molecule of my body, freezing me, suffocating me, blinding me.
“I’m sorry, Shae.” My mother pleads with me. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
I want to stop the words coming out of her mouth, they’re breaking something inside me, ripping at a memory that I have shoved deep inside a crevice of my heart.
***
We’re hot and tired.
Been at the zoo all day for my fifth birthday.
Dirt’s all over me.
Mom wants me to have a bath. I don’t mind, I like baths.
But, she’s annoyed cuz Dad won’t do it. He has to fix something on the car and it’s getting dark outside and the light in the yard wasn’t working so he has to do it now. So, Mom has to do it, she has to do everything, even though she doesn’t want to.
My wrist burns in her grip as she drags me up the stairs. I can barely keep up. I knock my shins on the steps.
“Ouch!” I cry out, but she doesn’t respond.
She turns on the water and strips my clothes roughly off me. “Get in,” she says. I rub my ear where my shirt almost ripped it off.
“I want a bubble bath,” I say.
“Get in,” she says.
“I want a bubble bath,” I repeat. I think it’s going to take away the pain.
“No,” she says.
“Toys?” I say.
“Get in the bath!” She yells at me, which pricks at my eyes. They’re going to start watering. My face screws up, but I don’t want to cry. It doesn’t help. She doesn’t care when I cry. Maybe she just doesn’t want to get the bubbles and my toys. “5-4-3,” she doesn’t pause in her count down.
“Stop it!” I yell, but I throw myself over the side of the bath and get in before she gets to one. There is no way I’m getting a spanking. No way.
“Now get yourself clean,” she says. She leaves the door open and I hear her slamming things around in her bedroom. She’s talking to herself, but I can’t hear her words.
I’m glad. I don’t want to.
I sit in the bath and click my fingernails together. The water is kinda cold. I mess with the knob to warm the water up and run my hands under the faucet.
Wish I had my toys.
Wish I had bubbles.
I look over at the cupboard. They’re all there. Under the sink. If I’m super quiet, she won’t hear me.
I’m deep under the sink and I’ve found almost everything. The bubbles. Dressy, my mermaid. Singsong, the dolphin. Even the tiny, little green frog that I love so much.
And I’ve done it super quiet.
I just need to find my goggles.
I press my foot against something and push in deeper under the sink. Whatever I’m pushing against falls over, crashes and breaks.
Mom is in the bathroom in seconds.
“Damn it, Shae! What have you done?!” she screams at me.
I slam my head and hit a pipe.
“Ahhhhhh!” I yell.
“Get out from under there!” she says.
But, she doesn’t have to tell me twice. I don’t even wait for her to count. There’s a sharp pain in my foot as I push off the ground and propel myself into the bath. I leave a footprint of blood on the floor, but we both ignore it.
I got the bubble soap! Time to dump it under the running water.
Mom is on her hands and knees picking up glass, sweeping up bath salts. “I can’t leave you alone for one damn minute,” she says. “Your dad should be watching you. What the hell was I thinking when I had you? I told him it was a bad idea. I never wanted kids. It was such a mistake.”
My heart goes black.
But… it can’t be true.
How could she not want me?
I totally want her. I love her sooooooo much.
Maybe she just needs to relax. Maybe she needs to smile. I put bubbles on my face and make a beard.
“Look, Mom,” I say. “Ho ho ho!”
But, she doesn’t look.
She’s still cleaning up the mess. “Mom!” I yell. “Look!”
Maybe she can’t hear me.
I splash some water at her. “Mom!”
She flies at me; her lips blaze ice blue. “Shut up!” She screams.
I scream back as loud as I can, but her hands grab my throat and then the world goes silent.
I’m underwater. She’s shaking me back and forth. Back and forth.
I can’t breathe.
I need to breathe.
Can’t get her fingers off my neck! They’re squeezing tight. She - she doesn’t want me to breathe. She doesn’t want me to exist!
I’m sorry, Mom!
I didn’t mean to do it!
I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry
My head buzzes. I have to breathe.
But, I’m not a fish.
I kick and thrash and open my eyes and the bubbles move away. Through the water and light and bubbles is Mom.
Her face is concentrated, disconnected.
“MOM!!” I scream but it floats up in bubbles. She doesn’t hear. Her eyes are so black, narrow. They pierce the water and into me. She’s waiting for me to die, to disappear. I close my eyes.
Must.
Breathe.
I open my mouth underwater.
I inhale -
Air!
I breathe air!
Dad has one big hand under my armpit. Mom thuds against the wall and slides down it, face in hands screaming big chunks of noise as if she’s a dying crow.
Dad’s voice booms at her. “Breathe in the flowers! Blow out the candles!”
I collapse on the bathmat as Dad lifts Mom out of the room, her face buried in her hands.
The closet door slams and he locks it.
I lay on the floor breathing in big chunks of air like a drowning fish when he swoops me up in his arms, wraps me in a towel and carries me towards the stairs.
As we pass the closet her fingernails tap against t
he door. “Shae,” she wails. “I’m sorry. I’m sooooo sorry.”
But, I made the mess. I splashed her.
It’s all my fault.
Dad carries me downstairs like I’m a little baby, rocking me gently. I bury my head in his chest and sob.
***
“Enough!” Dad grabs my shoulder, pulling me off Mom. My hands are around her throat. I drop them like she’s burning metal. We’re still in the kitchen. Mom stares at me with black lines of shame etched in her face.
“You tried to kill me,” I murmur.
Henry’s behind Dad shaking and scared. Even with the pustules trying to swell his eyes shut, he saw that.
I’m just like her.
The house that was cold before is now like an icebox.
I sag to the floor, curl up in a ball and lay there.
“Shae,” Henry says.
“Leave me alone,” I say. “Leave me alone.”
Dad scoops me up and carries me to the living room. Mom slips away, up her stairs, shutting the door like always. Just when I need her most.
Dad settles me onto the couch, but I still can’t move. My body shakes. Henry covers me with a blanket and cuddles up against me, trying to warm me up.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask Dad.
“Your mother loves you,” Dad says.
I shake my head, still reeling from the shock of what I’ve lived with. My mother never wanted me. She never wanted us. My arm goes around Henry.
“I hoped you’d never remember.” Dad squats to build a fire in the cold, drafty fireplace. This house is falling apart but Dad still tries to make it home.
“Did anything happen to Henry?” I ask.
Dad looks over his shoulder, his eyes bright blue and clear. “No,” he says. “And nothing else ever happened to you. I made sure of that.”
“One incident of trying to kill your child is enough,” I mutter. Dad bows his head and turns back to the fire. I feel tears trapped inside me but they’re frozen solid and won’t come out.
I might be a shifter but I’m nothing like my friends. I’m not even like Mom. Not really. She has an excuse. Even for trying to kill me. She’s never had the Bloedhart. She’s been trapped with her anger. It’s amazing she’s learned to control it like she has.