52. Scythe

Chapter 52

Scythe

Ten Years Ago

A s we approach the sea, my mother perks up in my arms, her delicate little nose arcing into the sky and sniffing keenly. It makes me smile. She looks like a mermaid princess under the midnight crescent moon, silver hair, a match to mine shining like angel light, light blue eyes under her droopy lids.

It wasn't difficult to get her out. Not once I'd dropped my father's and second mum's blood pressures so low that they'd fallen unconscious. Not once Savage had tied them up and handed me the key to my mother's cage. I'd developed the new power and told no one—honed it until I could bend others to my will. If I could do more with it, time would tell.

No more would she spend her nights screaming. No more would I have to fight to wipe her tears. No more would she have to fight her own mind.

She sighs as if the weight of the world has been taken off her shoulders. As if this is what she'd been waiting for.

It hurt, a little, to know that she would prefer to be there than here, but it was best for her tired spirit. She deserves to be free and happy.

A thought comes to me. A whispering reminder of a story I'd heard as a child, told by a woman with sad, blue eyes.

"Those sharks who wish to see their loved ones come here on the first full moon of every year," I say. "Come here then, and I'll return too."

The splash of her tail told me she loved me and that was all I needed to know that I'd done the right thing.