My charm bracelet glinted off the sunlight as I held it up, thinking. When my father had first given me the bracelet, he’d told me the Ankh was a symbol for his family’s magick and the phoenix was a symbol of my mother’s. At the time, I was just excited to have a piece of jewelry and elated that my father had given it to me. I didn’t put together what he had actually said: A symbol for both their magicks meant my mother had magick, too. Only later, when I’d asked her about it, she claimed she didn’t.
So, what happened to her magick?
My online peek into Xavier’s life had given me a headache. He spent most of his time posting about one fantasy game or another and throwing in an occasional pic of a woman’s body with explicit commentary. So, pretty much a dead end. Just like Marta said.
When I hit a brick wall, I got in my car and drove to my parents’ house. Now, I just needed to get the hell out of the car.
My father usually worked at his shop ’til five, but some days, he would work from home and let his clerk run the shop. I couldn’t face both of them right now and had hoped he wouldn’t be home. His car in the driveway meant I would have to.
I’d been sitting in my car for over thirty minutes, still not brave enough to get out and walk the short distance to the front door. True, I needed answers, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the betrayal.
I picked up the phoenix figurine and stared into its blazing red eyes. Remembering my dream, I focused on the outline of the woman inside. The glass was so bright that the darkened shade of the woman stood out. How had Logan found a representation of my protective mark, yet knew nothing about it? Someone had to give him the information—tell him what to look for.
My mind drifted back to Karl and his crazed ramblings. Although Alek had confirmed a mind mage could have broken Karl’s mind and killed him, I kept thinking about that voice claiming Karl as his own. And the smell of cherries. It had to be an Old One controlling him, which meant the mutterings about Xavier, demons, and power were meant to throw us off the scent. So why hadn’t my marks heated, alerting me to its presence?
I touched my lips where Ezra’s mark resided. Maybe the mark was only meant to warn me when Set was near.
A noise startled me, and I looked up. My mother stepped outside and started toward the street. My heart seized in my chest, and I fought the urge to hide. I reached for the door handle, only to stop when she continued across the street to Cherry’s house.
Well, that made this a little easier. I pushed open my car door, grabbed the figurine, shoved it in my purse, and made my way across the street. It wasn’t fair for me to use Cherry as a buffer to the argument I knew was coming, but I wasn’t brave enough—no, correction—strong enough to do this on my own.
My mother had already gone inside by the time I got to Cherry’s porch. My footfalls hesitant, I walked up the three steps and, hands shaking, knocked on the door. Cherry opened it, wearing a loose-fitting white sundress. Without saying a word, she stepped to the side, and I walked into the house, my eyes going immediately to my mother’s tear-streaked face. The fireplace was ablaze as usual. The light from the flames danced over her face, making it glow. Her hair hung in limp strands down her back and her clothing was wrinkled, stains marring the fabric. I went to her, forgetting about my anger, and let her pull me into an embrace. The carpet rubbed against my exposed knees as she rocked me back and forth.
“I’ll get you both some lemonade,” Cherry said, and left me and my mother to our reunion.
I held on as long as I could, comforting both of us. But then, I pulled back and slid onto the couch next to her. I stared at her tear-swollen face. Steeling myself because I knew my questions would cause her more pain. “I need answers, Mom,” I said, my tone soft.
She ran her hand over my hair. “Are you out of gel, ma fille?”
I stilled her hand and held it in my lap. “Mom, please. You owe me answers.”
She swallowed hard and then got up. Pacing the room, she avoided looking at me. I’d never seen my mother so agitated. If I could choose a single word to describe her, I’d say carefree. She rarely got angry and spent a great deal of time dancing around the house—with or without music. She and my father loved each other so much, it was hard to be in the same room with them sometimes. It was as if their love was a physical thing, filling the air, making it hard to breathe. But now, seeing her in this state, my heart couldn’t take it. Forgiveness crept in, trying to override the anger.
The dolls on Cherry’s mantle watched me with accusing eyes. I turned away from their scrutiny. I’d always hated those dolls.
Cherry returned with a glass of her special lemonade. A concoction of liquid fire. She handed it to me. I took a few sips, letting the heat course down my throat. I stared at the flames. Cherry always had one going despite the heat outside. Of course, she had her air-conditioning running the entire time, so the fire was more for comfort than anything. I used to wonder if she enjoyed watching it because of the way she had killed her husband and his mistress, but that would mean she took joy in their deaths. And I knew, while she felt it was justified, it disturbed her that she allowed herself to be pushed to those lengths.
“Anne,” Cherry said, her voice soothing. “Sit down with your daughter.”
My mother turned to her. I could see the anger rising, only to be suddenly snuffed out as she nodded and came and sat next to me. “Some answers, I can’t give.” She turned and took my hands in hers. She pulled a breath in, her chest rising, trying to expand.
Then she said, “Jean-Luke was your father’s oldest friend.” She gave me a bitter smile. I hadn’t planned on revisiting what had happened to me, but maybe she needed to, so I prepared myself for the pain. “Your father and I used to love to go out dancing. But we rarely got the chance.” She ran her hand down my cheek. “You were such an inquisitive child, and you drove your babysitters crazy.” I smiled because I remembered that.
She turned away and looked at the fire again. Tears flowed freely down her face. “Jean-Luke had come to visit and offered to watch you. I should have known”—she shook her head vehemently—“when you refused to go to him that you had sensed something wrong. Children know so much. Feel so much. And all I could think about was dancing with your father.”
I pulled her to me and let her cry on my shoulder, both to comfort her and to hide my own tears. I glanced over at Cherry. Her face had morphed into an angry mask. I needed that.
My mother pulled away and swiped at her cheek. “When we…we got home, I heard you crying—screaming for us. And his groans.” She jumped up. “Oh, dear god, his groans. I went into the room and flew into a rage. I don’t know how the axe ended up in my hand, but the next thing I knew, I was burying it in his back. Over and over again.” She looked down at her hands. “There was so much blood. I feared it would never come out.”
“I remember,” I said, my voice small. I’d been hiding behind the hutch in the kitchen while my father washed my mother’s hands. “But I also remember you telling me to let go of him.”
“You were keeping his soul tethered to his body. And I wanted him dead.”
“I remember that. I just don’t understand how. Where does my magick come from?”
She looked away. I dug in my purse and pulled out the figurine. Cherry gasped, and my mother stared at the glass phoenix, horror drying the tears on her face. “No, sweet baby, no. You cannot know about this. I will not let you come to harm.”
“How will I be harmed by the truth?” I got up and went to her. “What does the history of a mythical bird have to do with us? With our lineage?”
All my fruitless searches for magick and frustration that I didn’t have the same power as my father and his family. The many clues I ignored as I went about my daily life. And all the while, the answer was right in front of me. I should have known.
I’d always had this strange sort of animosity toward her when I was a teenager. I loved her, yes. We had more good times than bad. But when we fought, the anger that came out of me was always so irrational, like I was compounding a simple disagreement and turning it into an all-out war.
Was it my subconscious mind telling me something was wrong? That she was lying to me?
“Hathor took that power from me to protect both of us.” She grabbed the figurine, threatening to throw it in the fire. “You will set something in motion with the knowledge of the Nar al-nasaa. Something terrible. When Hathor took my power, she saved us. But it is destroying her. Please, ma fille, leave this be.”
I couldn’t let it be. Despite her insistence, it was already affecting me. “A man kidnapped me and told me to learn the history of the phoenix.”
“What?” My mother’s eyes rounded. “Who is this man?” Her skin glowed. Fire seemed to run underneath her skin like a rapid river. It reminded me of lava. At first, I thought it was an illusion triggered by the fireplace, but the more I stared at it, the more the yellow tips stood out. I reached for her hand, only to stop short. Her hands. When I had been holding them a while ago, they were warm. Yet, ever since the night she killed my attacker when I was six, her skin had always been cold.
“You said Hathor took your power,” I said, finally realizing that yes, I did need her to say it aloud. “Tell me the truth, Mom. Please.”
She shook her head and turned away from me. Her hands wrapped around the figurine. She stared down at it. “She had to give some back. Not all. It was destroying her.” She jerked her head up, pinning me with her gaze. “Who. Kidnapped. You?” I flinched at the coldness in her voice.
“I took care of it,” I said, purposely not elaborating. I didn’t want her to shift the focus. If I kept asking, maybe she would tell me.
A knock sounded at the door, and I knew it was my father. He must have come home early. He never liked either of us coming over to see Cherry. The last time I was here, she hinted at the argument she and my father had about him keeping secrets from me. Maybe he feared she would tell me the truth. The look in her eyes when she saw the figurine said she knew a lot more than I did. If we had been alone, maybe I could have gotten more details from her.
Cherry pushed up from her chair and strode to the door. My mother continued to stare at the phoenix with a look of longing and dread in her eyes.
“Come in, Henri,” Cherry said, stepping back to allow my father to come inside.
As soon as he did, the room seemed to expand. His gaze traveled between my mother and me. After searching my mother’s face, he finally settled on me. Those familiar hazel eyes, similar to my own, watched me now, seeking answers. He opened his arms, and as if being pulled by a string, I went into them.
All the anger flowed away from me in a wave of relief. It was always like this with him. It was part of the reason I’d stayed away. I knew if I saw him, if he opened his arms, I would forget the anger I had for them, and the lies would continue.
“You both hurt me,” I mumbled into his chest.
“Shh, baby girl. It will be all right.”
Those familiar words engulfed me, pushing the last of the pain away. I didn’t want to hurt my parents. I missed them so damn much. My mother came forward and wrapped her arms around me. They circled me in a tight embrace. I accepted the fact that I wouldn’t get what I needed from them. Well, not the answers I needed, anyway. But this—this love pouring from them, I needed, too. So, I’d take what they could give and seek my answers elsewhere.
I knew my mother wanted to protect me. My father did as well. I’d allow them that for now.
Besides, she had given me something I could use. And I had someone else I could ask. I just hoped Ezra would not make good on his promise to kill me the next time I came around, because I wasn’t going to rest until I found out the truth. But first, I had to deal with Juliette.
I texted Jonah to let him know I was on my way.