After making the tedious drive from Galveston into Houston, I dropped off Mochazon at Miranda’s dorm, then gave them both specific instructions: stay inside, keep the doors locked, don’t leave unless you have to, and by all means, don’t retrieve the flower until I say so. I’d even warded the door as added protection, all the while knowing that my puny Earth magic was nothing to Geth’s strange dark magic.
It was the best I could do.
Geth wouldn’t go after Mochazon until he had a reason. As of yet, Mochazon hadn’t shown me where he’d hidden the bloom, which was fine with me. I needed to get back to Mom, and as long as the bloom was safe, I could wait him out.
I rushed back to Mom’s as twilight descended over her neighborhood. I was exhausted from being Geth’s prisoner, and navigating the crowded Houston freeways was possibly worse than that. I wasn’t sure when I’d eaten last and my bones ached with exhaustion, but I didn’t have time to rest. Mom needed me.
Knocking on Mom’s door, I shifted my backpack as I stood on her porch. I’d brought my mirror, just in case. When Mom opened the door, I almost dropped my bag. She wore sweatpants—the gray, baggy kind that were three sizes too large. Her nose was red and swollen, her hair pulled into a sloppy ponytail. Was I at the right house?
“Hi, Mom,” I said, my voice a little too cheerful as I tried to hide my shock. “Brent called. He wanted me to check on you.”
“Check on me?” Mom asked, her brow creased. “I’m fine. Why on earth did he call you? He should have known better. I’m okay. Just a little head cold.” She rubbed her temples.
Her eyes were sunken, and the wrinkles in her skin had deepened. She wasn’t just in pain, she was suffering. With the amount of time she’d spent in Faythander, the erased memories had to be overwhelming.
I had to help her. But first, I had to get through the door. If she suspected I were here to be charitable, she would never let me in, so maybe I needed to turn the tables.
“The truth is,” I said, “I’m sort of hungry. And I’m sort of out of money, too.”
“Oh, Olive.” Her voice took on a completely different tone. “Why didn’t you say so? Come inside. I can make sandwiches if you’d like. Or something else? There’s leftover takeout, or I’ve got some chicken breasts that I’ve been meaning to broil… ”
She continued listing off food choices as I followed her through the house. I felt like a complete moron for begging at my mother’s doorstep. I also felt like a complete moron because my sad story of hunger and poverty was partially true.
Mom busied herself in the kitchen while I took a seat on the barstool. I’d settled on a ham and cheese sandwich, but she’d decided it wasn’t enough and had to cook a broiled chicken dinner with a garden salad and rolls. We chitchatted for a while. She wanted to know about my breakup with Brent. She didn’t act too surprised that I’d dumped him, but I did get the inevitable you’re-not-getting-any-younger speech. And the he-was-a-great-guy-blah-blah.
Mom sat at the island counter with me in front of plates of steaming-hot food. As we ate, I almost forgot why I’d come here in the first place.
“Mom,” I finally spoke up after a lull in the conversation. “Please tell me truthfully, are you feeling depressed?”
She grew very still and pinched her lips shut. It seemed that if she moved, she would break her composure. “Did the sweatpants give it away?” she finally asked quietly, not meeting my eyes.
“That and a few other things.”
Her shoulders sagged. “I can’t…” Her voice wavered, and she took a deep breath. “I can’t for the life of me figure out what’s wrong. I don’t know why I’m down. I shouldn’t be. I’ve got a lovely home. A beautiful daughter. I’ve got enough savings to keep me financially secure. I have hobbies that I love. I don’t know what’s happening to me. A couple of weeks ago, I was fine, but now… ”
Tears formed in her eyes. I found the tissue box and handed it to her. I’d only seen my mom cry a few times, and seeing it now came as a shock. I wasn’t sure how to handle it.
“Mom,” I said gently. “Let me help.”
She shook her head. “How?”
“It’s what I do for a living. You know that, right?”
She looked up at me, her sea-green eyes damp with tears. “You think I qualify as one of your patients?”
Yes, I do. On so many levels. “It’s possible.”
“But I’ve never been to that fairy world you talk about. I’m normal. I don’t have compulsions or delusions. I’m usually fine. I’m not… depressed. Not normally.” Her breathing came out in choking sobs. “Oh no, no, no. It’s not true. It can’t be true.” She stood abruptly and stumbled toward Father’s old office.
I hated to see my mom like this. I’d sworn the spellcasting would be my last resort; it could possibly do more harm than good. But how much longer could she hold out?
I grabbed the mirror case out of my backpack before entering Father’s office. As I stepped through the arched doorway, I noticed that Mom’s collection of fairy-world memorabilia had grown, if that were possible.
Mom sat in the office chair, facing the windows. Beyond the glass was her garden. The water fountain, trellises, and stone walkways gave her backyard the ethereal feel of a fairy tale. The evening sun turned the sky a deep amethyst as it sank beyond the horizon. The sunlight glinted through the window and fell over her shoulders. Even tangled and unwashed, her hair was a deep copper that matched the sunlight. I sat on the window seat and faced her.
She attempted a smile as she held a tissue to her nose. “I’m sorry, Olive. I’m fine—really, I am. I just need some rest, and I’m sure…” She sobbed, her shoulders shaking, then closed her eyes. “I just need some rest.”
I searched her face, knowing the spellcasting was inevitable, but I didn’t want to do it. It was complete selfishness on my part. Mom and I had never been close, but at least we’d tolerated one another. After I released her memories, would we even do that?
“Mom,” I said gently, “there’s something I have to tell you.”
She opened her eyes.
“You may have already started to suspect it, but Father wasn’t an officer. In fact, he wasn’t even human.”
Between sobs, she let out a muffled laugh. “Oh, really?”
“Yes. He was an elf from Faythander.” I pushed back my hair to reveal my slightly pointed ears. She’d been spellcasted to believe I had a slight birth defect, but I wasn’t sure if she’d ever really believed it. “And I’m not completely human, either.”
“Oh, Olive. I appreciate your humor. You always did know how to make me laugh.”
“I’m not joking this time.”
“I know.” But her tone told me she didn’t.
“I’m serious. You’ve had your memories erased, but because the magic is failing, the dragons’ spell that was meant to keep you protected is also failing. That’s why you started collecting. That’s why you’re suffering.”
She stared at me with wide eyes. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
I nodded.
“But I thought all this fairy stuff you went on about was just a joke. I mean—people don’t really believe in those things. Sure, they like to be amused, to pretend. But it’s all a fantasy. That’s all it’s ever been. Those people who give you money aren’t looking for a cure, they’re looking for a diversion—something to get their mind off their problems.”
“That’s what you really think?”
“What else could I think? That it’s real?”
“Yes. Because it is real.”
She shook her head. Her voice grew panicky. “It’s not true. It can’t be. If it’s true, then what does that make me? What does that mean? My whole life is a lie?”
She was partially right. She’d lived for years in Faythander and had no memory of it. I wasn’t sure how long she’d been there, but it had been long enough to fall in love. It had been long enough to join the Caxon. It had been long enough to give birth to me.
“Will you at least let me try to help you?”
“Let me go to a therapist. Or a psychiatrist. They make medicine for chemical imbalances. I can beat this. I know I can.”
“But I am a psychiatrist! Going to someone else won’t help,” I said, my voice desperate. “If you were suffering with typical depression, then I would be all for it. But you’re not.”
“Olive, how can you be serious about this?”
I pulled out my mirror and clicked the lid open. For half a second, I expected the Faythander magic to appear, but the glass remained empty. A feeling of unease settled inside as I turned the mirror to face her.
“I am serious,” I said. “You just have to let me show you.”
She studied my case, particularly the five figurines that lay atop the red velvet lining. The dragon, elf, Wult, pixie, and goblin must have triggered some sort of memories. She’d seen them all before.
“Why do you think you’ve been collecting so many figurines?” I asked. “It’s because you’re trying to remember a part of your life that you’ve forgotten.”
She pressed the tissue to her mouth. Her eyes grew wide as she stared at the statuettes. “You have an elf,” she said quietly.
“Yes.” The last rays of sun glinted off the pewter, turning it bright silver.
“It’s beautiful.”
My fingers brushed the soft velvet as I removed the elf from my case. I held it out to her. “When you touch this, look into the mirror and your memories will return.”
At least, I hoped so.
She stared at the figurine with one part hope and another part fear. “What sort of memories?”
I cringed at her question. Why did she have to ask? “You’ll remember Father—the way he really was. You’ll remember the… groups you were associated with, and your time spent helping those you believed were oppressed. You’ll remember giving birth to me.”
“I already remember that.”
“No. You were given false memories. They were meant to help you be a better parent to me—but they aren’t the truth.”
She shook her head. “You realize how hard this is for me to believe?”
“Actually, I have no idea. Being told that half your life is a lie has to come as a major shock. But there’s only one way for you to remember the truth.”
Holding the elven statuette in the palm of my hand, the Earth magic came slowly, making me wonder if it would work at all. I’d only ever used my Faythander magic in the past. But as the power swelled within me—amber mixed with gold and warmth—I knew I had to trust it. Magic trickled through my veins and into the figurine, warming the metal.
Mom fidgeted with the tissue. “Are you sure about this?”
“Don’t worry, Mom,” I tried saying with confidence, “I’ve done this lots of times before.” But never without my fairy magic.
“You’re certain it won’t hurt me?”
“You’ll be fine.” I hoped I wasn’t lying to her.
“And you’re absolutely sure this is the only way? The other doctors can’t help me?”
“In your case—no. Studies have shown that antidepressants can actually make healthy people more depressed, and your brand of depression isn’t caused by traditional means. You’ll never get better unless you confront the past.” I held the figurine a little closer to her. “Please, Mom. I want you to get better. Just give me a chance.”
My pleading must have struck a chord with her, because she nodded and then reached for the statuette.
As I stared into the mirror, I expected to see my mother’s memories replayed. Instead, a jolt of energy shocked us with the sensation of a sledgehammer ramming into my gut. I gasped for breath. Mom cried out.
The room vanished. An inky blackness engulfed my body. This was all wrong. What was happening?
Voices came from somewhere, but I couldn’t make out the words. Lights bobbed in and out of view until they coalesced into a whirlpool of swirling colors.
Something was very wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
The lights kept swirling, faster and faster, until I thought my body would rip apart. My thoughts became disconnected, and the churning whirlpool squeezed around me, tightening against my lungs. I gasped for air, but none came. Suddenly, a woman’s voice came to me.
Marked by death from the beginning—she will come in flame and ash, wielding the fire gifted to her of her fathers. She will cross worlds and mend the rift. She will bring death to the unbelievers, life to those marked by the ancient one. Her life will bring death, for she is the Deathbringer.
Pain exploded in my chest. The lights brightened, searing me with white-hot heat, stealing my vision. I tried to cry out, but the rush of the magic compressed my lungs in a deathly embrace. My head spun. I was suffocating in a sea of blackness.
A woman’s face formed in my vision. Her eyes were closed, yet I recognized her strange, orange, scale-like skin and the thick hair that fell in waves over her shoulders. Panic made my heart beat with a wild cadence. Theht.
The one being I feared more than any other.
The goddess opened her eyes. She had not one pupil, but three. The oblong spheres connected in the middle, then fanned away from each other like an asterisk. She stared straight into my soul, past all my inhibitions, past my fears and weaknesses. She found the secret desires of my heart. A slight smile creased her mouth.
“Deathbringer,” she whispered, “I see you.”
I wanted to cry out. I would do anything just to hide from her gaze. The pain in my chest increased until I felt sure I would die.
Time passed. I didn’t know how long.
A sound came from somewhere. Ticking. Father’s old clock. I realized that I lay on the office floor. My head pounded, and the bitter taste of bile was in my mouth.
The smell of something burning caught my attention. I focused and found my elven figurine lying on the rug. Glowing a faint, dull orange, it singed a hole in the carpet fibers surrounding it. I tried to sit up but found my body uncooperative.
What had happened? Where was Mom?
I searched the room and found her lying motionless not far from me. Her face was pale white, almost gray, as if all her blood had been drained, and her normally rosy lips matched her skin. I looked for the rise and fall of her chest, or some indication that she was alive, but saw no movements.
My breathing came out in ragged gasps as I forced my body to crawl toward her. Each movement sent fresh waves of pain through my head, but I pushed past it. Fear clenched my heart as I neared my mom.
I never should’ve done the spellcasting. It was such a stupid idea to try it on her without Faythander magic. I should’ve known better. I should’ve known better!
Panic made time slow to a crawl. The pain was almost too much, but I managed to make it to her side. I reached for her with shaking hands, praying I hadn’t killed my own mother.
Please, God, let her be alive.