Chapter 12

First, the eternal darkness.

It stinks of death, and reeks of life.

It is cold; it is heat.

Second, there is the spark of awareness that is me. I float like a dandelion seed in a long hot summer wind. There are currents in this darkness.

There are things that swim in the currents. I feel them, just beyond my awareness, just beyond the small, pitifully dim pool of light that is me in this infinite black nothingness.

Then, like onrushing dawn, light blooms, bleeds, blossoms.

I smell her—fae blood, sunlight and honey; but beneath that scent is another which is just purely…Mom. Her perfume—an old bottle of Chanel No. 5 which she used ever so sparingly, which she stared at with such deep sadness and longing that I never dared intrude on such a moment, even as a young child; laundry detergent and lavender body wash and a thousand million other subtle scents which layer and commingle to just mean Mom.

There is a silent, hiccuping sob from the spark which is me.

Mom?

Maeve, my love.

Her voice comes to me from the darkness, from the resolving dissolute almost-light. For now, she"s only scent and voice and light.

You"ve become yourself, my love.

I don"t want this responsibility, Mom. It"s too heavy. I need you. I miss you.

Silence. I can feel the weight of the pause, the strain of her exertion.

I know. I wish it could be otherwise. I wish I could have prepared you for this.

How are you here? How are we talking like this?

Let"s not waste time on metaphysical puzzles which have no concrete answers, Maeve. God, I can feel the scold in her voice.

It makes me cry, even though I have no body here, no eyes, no tear ducts.

Mom, Andreas…he still loves you. He won"t let you go. He can"t.

I know. I can"t find him, in his dreams. He has wards up. Others can use the dreamscape, and for ill. Tell him…tell him I love him. I"ve always loved him.

He"s so sad, Mom. So lonely.

We are bonded mates, Maeve. He isn"t capable, emotionally, mentally, or physically, of moving on. Many fae who lose their mates simply die of heartbreak or go mad. Andreas is too stubborn and too strong for either.

I feel her fading. Weakening.

Don't go, Mom. Please. Stay. Let me stare here with you. Please, Mommy.

I hear, or perhaps feel, her sob. Maeve, you know we can"t stay here. I wish we could.

I don"t know what to do. It"s too big. It"s too much.

You"ve only begun to tap into everything you are and what you"re capable of.There"s a pause, a gathering of energy. A last burst of power. My father, Maeve. He isn"t evil. He can help you. I forgave him, Maeve. He sacrificed me for the greater good, and I can"t say I didn"t hate him for that, but he had no good choices. It doesn"t make it okay. It wasn"t right. But it was…the only choice he had. And he isn"t evil.

How can you forgive him for what he did to you?

Just as there is power in love, Maeve, so too is there great power in forgiveness.

I weep invisible, silent tears.

I"ve killed people, Mom. Fae. I killed them.

Iknow, my love. That is a heavy burden, especially for one so young, but I fear it is your burden to carry. And there will be more. You are a general in this war, Maeve. It is a war that has just begun, but a war nonetheless, and you are a leader in it.

I don"t want it. I don"t want to lead anyone.

True power is always best placed in the hands of those who want it the least.

She"s fading. The light is dissolving, Her scent ebbing.

No, Mom, please. Please don"t go. I need you. I can"t do this without you.

I feel…a touch. A ghost of a finger trailing oh-so-gently down my face, tracing the fall of my hair, tucking it behind my ear, a gesture so sweetly familiar, so tender, so loving, a gesture which flings me all at once through all the years of my life, to all the times she did that—birth, toddler, elementary aged child, gangly, coltish middle schooler, blossoming young adult, always her fingers trailing down from my temple to my cheek, and then up and over the shell of my ear.

I love you, my daughter. Always. forever. I"m always with you.

Mom…mommy…

Her scent fades, until only a faint whiff of lavender and Chanel No.5 lingers in the darkness, and the light dims, dissolves, becomes dissolute and then only the long wild fraught dark remains, and only I remain within it.