Authors: Kelley Armstrong
Yet I indulged the fantasy. After I went to live with Paige, there were plenty of nights that I’d lie awake and imagine the door opening, my mother there, come back for me.
Now she had, and it wasn’t anything like my dreams. Yes, she’d come back for me. Yes, she’d saved me. But I wasn’t a child anymore. I didn’t need my mother now to rescue me from a hellish life. My life was fine. It had always been fine—my issues with Paige had been ideological clashes and teen angst, long since worked out.
But this was still a dream come true. Maybe even better, because I didn’t need anything from her now. I just wanted to be with her. Spend time with her. Private, quiet time … completely impossible under the circumstances. So I trudged along through the woods and snuck glances her way, reassuring myself she was still there, and watching her do the same to me. Keep moving forward. That was all we could do. That and pray that the Fates would let her stay long enough for us to have some time alone together.
The forest trek wasn’t easy on Jaime, even in sneakers. Werewolf partner or not, she didn’t spend a lot of time in the woods. I did—plenty of camping and hiking trips with Adam. And Mom was holding up fine. I kept expecting her sword to snag a tree, but she dodged and sidestepped obstacles, as if it was part of her anatomy.
“When we get to town, you need to get rid of that,” I said finally, pointing at the sword.
It was slung on her back. Just slung there, stuck on a thin cord, as if magnetized. Physically impossible to do with a hunk of metal that big, but I guess the rules of physics don’t apply for celestial gear.
“She can’t,” Jaime said. “Big no-no in the angel corps.”
“Under the circumstances, I think they’d make an exception,”
I said. “We needed to take it out of the station, because it was a murder weapon. But now we’re heading for civilization, and that ain’t a pocket knife. You need to get rid of it.”
“I know. It’s just …” She nodded and stopped walking. “I’ll try.”
As she pulled it from her back, I stepped off the path and found a shallow gully filled with dead vegetation. She plunged the blade in sideways. When she covered it, I could still see a glimmer. I waded in and reached down to push it under.
Mom grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked me back.
“Uh-uh, baby,” she said. “You’re not touching that without oven mitts. Industrial oven mitts.”
She pushed it down farther, covered it with more debris, then dragged a huge fallen branch over it. Seemed like overkill, but I left her to it. When she was done, she walked backward away from it, murmuring, “So far, so good.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “If you have to return for it, it’s marked. Now—”
A tremendous crack had me diving for the ground, arms over my head. As I dropped, I saw what looked like that massive branch sailing into the air, broken in two. A whirlwind of dead vegetation swirled up, then exploded, wet and stinking of rot. I clawed it from my face and looked around.
Jaime was crouched ten feet away. My mother stood where I’d left her. On her back, the sword glowed blue, so bright I had to look away.
“Damn,” she said. “I was really hoping that wouldn’t happen.”
She helped me up and brushed the dead leaves from my clothes.
“So you can’t leave it behind,” I said. “Literally can’t. That’s … inconvenient.”
Jaime stood, picking leaves from her hair. “You can hide behind a blur spell when we aren’t alone. Probably a good idea.
You’re so used to being a ghost, you’re liable to walk into walls and plow down old ladies.”
That wasn’t an ideal solution—Mom couldn’t stay under a blur spell for very long at a stretch. We didn’t tell Jaime that. We’d figure things out when we had to.
We set out again, and I fell in step beside my mother. “So how long have you had the sword?”
“You mean, how long have I been an angel?” Her voice dropped. “I’m sorry. I know this is a big shock.”
“One that could have been avoided.” I glanced back at Jaime, trudging behind us.
“No,” Mom said sharply. She shook her finger at Jaime. “Don’t give her that look and don’t apologize.”
“I—” Jaime began.
“You feel bad and you shouldn’t.” Mom looked back at me.
“She couldn’t tell you, Savannah.
Couldn’t
. She would have been bleeped.”
“Bleeped?”
“Cosmic interference. Yes, maybe she could have found a way around that, but if she tried, the Fates would have decided I couldn’t be her spirit guide anymore. And no one wanted that, right?”
“Right.” I glanced at Jaime. “Sorry.”
She nodded. Still looked guilty, though.
“So how come that sorcerer wasn’t censored?” I said. “He told me what you were.”
“No idea. Same as I have no idea how he got me to materialize.”
“It was a spell. I heard him doing the incantation. I didn’t recognize the language, though.”
“Hmm.” She kicked aside a branch and murmured, “I find it hard to believe such a spell could even exist. Way too dangerous.
Which could mean it’s not just an old spell he dug up, but something …” She shook her head. “We’ll work it all out later.”
“If you’re still here,” I said. “When the Fates realized what happened, they’ll recall you, won’t they?”
You could disappear at any second.
That’s what I meant. I couldn’t say it, though, as if putting it into words might make it so.
“I don’t know,” she said. She stopped. “Maybe we shouldn’t be in such a hurry. We’re far enough away from the station. Let’s take a rest.”
Let’s rest. Let’s talk. Let’s just be together while we can.
God, how I wanted that. But I knew we shouldn’t, and from her expression, she knew it, too. We’d left a massacre behind, one that reeked of the inexplicable and the supernatural.
“We’ll have time,” I said, and resumed walking.
“I’m sure we will.” She reached up and ruffled my hair, then laughed. “Not as easy to do that now, is it?”
I nodded and my throat tightened. She put her arm around my shoulders, gave me a squeeze, and we carried on through the woods.
We made it as far as the first motel, still a few miles from the city, and decided that was good enough. The place was a dump. But the desk clerk was happy to take sixty bucks cash and didn’t ask us for ID, credit cards, or even a name.
He probably took one look at Jaime and me, and decided we were working girls. I didn’t tell Jaime that. Her ego might not have survived. After being drugged and sick, seeing people torn to pieces and cut in half, then tramping through swampy fields for miles, she was not her usual glamorous self. I was worse. I don’t even want to think about how the motel clerk figured I’d hurt my throat.
My mother hid behind the building while we checked in. We found her leaning against the wall, looking far more cool and collected than either of us. Medina’s shirt was too small—Mom’s a fraction under my six feet—but the Levine women aren’t blessed with curves, so it fit snug and short. She’d come from the afterlife in a very unangelic pair of worn jeans and leather boots. Her straight dark hair hung to her midback. She looked exactly as I remembered her, which I suppose made sense. Ghosts don’t age. But she looked, well, let’s just say that seeing her now, I realized why everyone said we looked alike. I
had slightly shorter hair and blue eyes. Better fashion sense, too—I was also partial to jeans and boots, but my tastes were more Fifth Avenue than Walmart. Other than that, it was like walking toward a mirror.
She was gazing over the field, frowning slightly.
“See something?” I said.
“No, just …” She glanced at Jaime. “I’m surprised Kris isn’t pestering the hell out of you by now. He must have gone straight to the Fates to plead my case.”
“Actually, no,” Jaime said. “He was around before you came, but there was a problem. Come on inside and I’ll explain.”
Mom tried not to be freaked out about my father’s situation. “He’ll find his way out. Eventually. The man is brilliant, but he has the worst sense of direction. Once, he promised me a trip to the beach and teleported us to the Sahara.”
“It has sand,” I said.
“Exactly what he said. To be honest, I had more fun there than I would ever have had at the beach.”
“But if he has a
bad
sense of direction …”
“That just means he gets lost a lot. Meaning he has to get
un
lost a lot.” Her fingers tapped the bedspread. Then she said, more emphatically, “He’ll find his way back. Okay, kids, so the next step is …”
“Resting,” Jaime said. “Please tell me it’s resting.”
“To rest, you need to actually sit down,” I said. “You’ve been standing there since we arrived. The beds are reasonably clean. Just pull back the spread and keep your clothes on.”
“Please,” Mom said. “For once, keep your clothes on.”
Jaime made a face at her. Mom tugged back the cover, then reached over and dragged Jaime to the bed, hard enough that she fell onto it.
Jaime rolled her eyes, but stayed put, and they bantered for a few minutes as Jaime got comfortable. Watching them was … odd. I knew Mom had been Jaime’s spirit guide for years, and I guess I knew they were friends, too, but seeing them together, so comfortable with each other …
Was I envious? I don’t know. But it did make me feel … odd. My mother once called me the center of her world. That wasn’t maternal hyperbole. I really had been the center of her world and she’d been mine. We’d moved from city to city, never staying in one place for long. She had contacts and students, but I rarely saw them and they never saw her outside of business. Even her friends, she kept at arm’s length. This relationship with Jaime was different. I was happy for her, though.
“Okay, we’ll rest first, then call a cab and get a real hotel,” Jaime said. “There, we have a plan.”
“Well,” Mom said, “as much as I hate to argue with my elders—”
“Hey, no age jokes. You’re only two months younger than me.”
“Mmm, did I mention I paid a visit to the big ol’ hall of records in the sky? Seems there’s a slight discrepancy in your accounting.”
“If there is, blame my mother. I never lie about my age. I never give it unless necessary, but I never lie about it either.”
When Mom didn’t respond, we looked over to see her holding Jaime’s cell phone.
“Hey, how’d you get—?”
“Shit, these have changed a lot in a decade,” Mom said. “Don’t worry, I won’t send dirty text messages to Jeremy. You do enough of that anyway.”
“I never—”
“Ghost, remember? I can see you even when you can’t see me.” She paused. “That doesn’t sound good. Let me clarify that I never stick around when it goes beyond texting.” She
pushed a few buttons. “I wonder how many heart attacks I could cause by calling up a few folks, reminding them that they owe me favors?”
“They’d think it was Savannah.”
“Damn.”
“Back to the topic at hand,” I said. “We can’t rest—at least not for long. That’s what Mom was about to say before she got distracted by the shiny twenty-first-century technology.”
“Oh, yes, we can rest.” Jaime reclined on the bed and shut her eyes. “Look, I’m doing it right now. It’s so relaxing. You guys should try it more often.”
“We—”
“—just escaped a bomb, incarceration, a werewolf, a hell-beast, a sorcerer, and Eve’s really sharp sword. We have earned a break. Or I have. You guys can play along.”
“We need—”
“Does it involve running? Fighting? Slaying? Uh-uh. Not for the next”—she checked the bedside clock—“six hours.”
“One.”
“Five.”
“One.”
My mother laughed.
Jaime glowered at her. “You think that’s funny. Of course, you do. You raised her.” She turned to me. “Four and a half.”
“Two.”
“Fine. Two hours. During which time we will do or say nothing—”
“We need to discuss what happened and plan our next steps. If you want to rest instead, I’m sure a few blankets will make the bathtub very comfy.”
“Fine. Talk.”
*
We started by piecing together what happened at the police station. Or a reasonable guess, based on what we knew. Medina had been working for the Supernatural Liberation Movement, sedating supernaturals and ultimately delivering them to the laboratory, where they’d become guinea pigs for the vaccine. Then sorcerer dude inserts himself into the equation. Either he wriggles his way into SLAM or he takes out Medina’s usual drug supplier. He gives her drugs that will agitate the supernaturals in custody, making them everything from ill to crazy to psychotic.
Why? Well, that was the first of many questions. He hadn’t seemed surprised by the reactions to the drugs. Why would a supernatural intentionally cause a scene that risked humans discovering our powers? Sure, that’s what SLAM ultimately wanted, but this wasn’t the kind of “reveal” that made us look like peaceful and productive members of society.
Whatever the reason, he gives Medina the drugs. Then she picks us up following a call from SLAM. He finds out. And he decides this would be a really, really good time to try that new spell he’s been working on. Use Jaime and me to lure my mother, then conjure her into the world of the living.
Why?
“An angel is always handy,” Jaime said. “Even in a fight between demons. Especially if you’re also half-demon yourself. Eve gets hit up by more influence peddlers than any politician.”
“I can see that,” I said. “With Balaam leading the pro-reveal
side, even
I’m
useful. He made a personal appearance a few days ago.” I turned to Mom. “Turns out the reveal movement is harboring a couple of his lackeys. A real nice brother-sister duo named Sierra and Severin. Ice half-demons with a talent for torture. Balaam had them hold me hostage so he could propose an alliance.”
“That son of a bitch.” Mom’s sword wobbled beside her,
glowing bright blue. “I heard he’d spoken to you, but taking you hostage—”
“Um, Eve?” Jaime said. “Can we hold off on threatening a lord demon? Even if he is your father?”
“So he contacted you, too?” I said. “Or tried?”
Mom hesitated.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m a big girl. I’m used to being second choice. And also being kidnapped as a way to get to you.”