Chapter 57

Fifty-Seven

ANSEL

“ M om, I have some tea for you,” I say, wrapping my hands around the steaming cup.

She sits at the kitchen table, dressed in a drab gray sweater and black pajama pants. Her raven-black hair is a rat’s nest on the top of her head, and her brown, almond-shaped eyes are underscored by dark circles.

Still, she takes the cup of tea with a grateful smile and shakily brings it to her lips.

“I added a little bit of sugar, a little bit of honey, and a little bit of milk,” I tell her, quoting her normal order verbatim.

“You’re a sweet boy.” Her smile falters a little bit at the edges as she focuses on the liquid. The water has just begun to turn brown. “I’m sorry you have to take care of me like this. It should be my job as your mother?—”

“Mom,” I interrupt, offering her a tight smile. “You’re doing amazing.”

A tiny bit of color enters her cheeks. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She seems pleased and returns her attention back to her mug and crossword puzzle. I unzip my backpack and begin grabbing out my homework assignments for the weekend.

This has been our normal Saturday routine for…well, for as long as I can remember. Saturday is the one day that Shelby has off, so I usually spend that time with my mom.

We watch cartoons in the morning, the way we used to when I was a kid and Dad was alive, then I make us a huge brunch. Mom usually naps after that while I get some chores done around the house. When she wakes up, I make her a cup of tea, and we’ll both sit at the kitchen table. My mom will complete her crossword puzzles, and I’ll do my homework.

As I begin my chemistry assignment, I can’t help but wonder what Izzy is up to. I feel like things have been strained between us since the truth about me was revealed—and I also feel like I’m to blame for that. I needed space to wrap my head around everything. Still do, if I’m being completely honest.

I’m a warlock.

That means my birth parents were warlocks as well.

Are they still alive?

Do they live here?

Do my parents know?

Some of their cryptic comments over the years jump to the forefront of my mind, clawing at me.

I slide my gaze in Mom’s direction. She’s smiling serenely down at her little book of crosswords, humming something indistinguishable under her breath. Today’s one of her good days. Do I dare ruin that with my questions? Yet…

Who knows when she’ll be coherent enough to sit down and have a conversation with me?

My heart beats incredibly fast, pounding against my rib cage, as I set my pencil down and clear my throat. “Mom?”

“Yes, baby?” She glances up and brushes at a greasy strand of hair.

I make a mental note to have Shelby help her shower tomorrow. That is just one thing I refuse to do.

“Can I ask you some questions?” I venture tentatively, chewing on my lower lip. “And I don’t want you freaking out.”

My mother stares at me, wariness chasing away her initial concern. She settles back in the rickety wooden chair and crosses her arms over her chest. They’re incredibly bony, almost unhealthily so. My heart pinches at the sight.

“They found you, didn’t they?” she whispers, then swallows.

She couldn’t mean…?

No.

No.

“You know what I am, don’t you? You’ve always known.” Shock thunders through me.

Tears fill my mother’s eyes, but they don’t fall. They merely hang suspended like crystalline raindrops.

“I didn’t want you to get involved with them. I should’ve known they would find you.” Her voice takes on a hollow edge. “As soon as you brought the wolves and that girl home, you were fucked.”

I flinch at hearing my mom swear. She sometimes will let loose an expletive during a particularly bad outburst, but she never curses during normal, everyday conversation.

“That girl has a name,” I say, a tiny bit of indignation entering my tone on Izzy’s behalf.

Mother’s lips purse. “I know who that is. Delaney.”

Ice trickles into my veins. “No, Mom. We talked about this. That’s not Delaney. That’s Izzy. Or Isabella. Her mother is a woman named Helena Craft.”

Mother cocks her head to the side with rigid tension. “Helena?”

“Yes, Mom. Do you know who that is?”

Her eyes glaze over, turning distant, before she nods once, the barest dip of her chin. “Yes…I know Helena. She was…kind.”

My breath quickens at the revelation that my mother knew Izzy’s biological mom. Maybe I can finally get her some answers.

“Everybody loved Helena,” Mom continues in that dazed, singsong voice. “She always had men following her around. One in particular worshiped the ground she walked on.”

I wait with bated breath, unwilling to speak and disrupt whatever spell my mother seems to be under.

“She met…those shifters. It was the talk of the town.” A timid smile curls up her lips before it falls. “Delaney wasn’t happy.”

“Who is Delaney?” I press gently.

“Helena’s sister, of course.” Mom turns towards me before immediately dropping her gaze back to her teacup. “I didn’t like Delaney. She was mean.”

Holy shit.

Holy. Shit.

Izzy has an aunt?

But wait…

“Why was she mean, Mom? What did she do to you?”

Tremors reverberate through her tiny frame, and she begins to shake her head from side to side, tears misting her eyes. “I did what I had to do. I did what I had to do. I did what I had to do.”

“Mom.” I gently but firmly place my hand over hers—the one that isn’t gripping the mug for dear life. “What happened?”

Grief crowds her face. “She was never supposed to find out about you.” One of her shaky hands comes up to cup my cheek. “You were my miracle baby. When your father and I found you?—”

“Wait.” I pull back from her palm in order to see her face better. “You found me?”

She offers me a serene smile that seems out of place at the moment. My stomach is in tight knots, and there’s this incessant pounding in my head.

“You were such a cute little baby, sleeping in the car seat. I knew that you were meant to be mine.”

Shock plows me over as I attempt to register her words. I turn them over and over again in my head, trying to have them make sense.

“You told me I was a foster kid,” I whisper through numb lips. “You told me that I was bounced from house to house until you took me in when I was young.” I don’t remember anything from my foster years, but I always assumed it was because I was too young. “Mom, what did you do?”

“I had to protect you from the witches,” Mom whispers shakily. “They’re dangerous people, and you’re an innocent child?—”

“Did you…” My stomach turns in on itself. “Did you kidnap me?”

“We had to protect you.” Mom begins to shake her head rapidly. “You were innocent?—”

“Mom, answer the question. Did you kidnap me?” My tone holds more anger than I ever remember using with her.

I can barely breathe past the tightness in my throat.

“They killed your father, baby. My husband. When you were a child, they killed him.” Mom sets her mug on the table and reaches for my hands.

I pull them away before she can touch them. “Why did they kill him?”

Mom’s lower lip trembles, and she shakes her head stubbornly.

“Mom, answer me. Why did they kill him? Mom!”

“Because they discovered what he was!” Mom finally screeches, more tears cascading down her face. “Because they found out he was a Hunter.”

My breath leaves me. It’s suddenly way too damn hot in this house.

I push away from the table on shaky legs and stumble to my feet. I wonder if this is what it’s like to be drunk. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been drunk before.

“Ansel! Baby! What are you doing?” Mom asks in alarm as I move towards the front door.

“What the hell does it look like I’m doing?” I scream, spinning to face her.

Her eyes widen in shock at my uncharacteristic display of aggression.

“I’m leaving this fucking house!”

One of her hands flutters to her chest. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“You just confessed to me that I was kidnapped as a baby. That my adoptive father murdered people like me. What do you expect me to do?” I’m screaming now, but I don’t care.

“We saved your life!” Mom cries, stumbling towards me. “You would’ve grown up with the witches?—”

“I would’ve grown up with my parents!” I counter immediately.

Maybe I have siblings out there. Maybe I have grandparents or aunts and uncles.

“Tell me something, Mom, and I need you to answer me honestly.” God, I don’t want to ask this. It feels as if my insides are being systematically removed from my body, one organ at a time. “Are you a Hunter too?”

Mom begins to sob.

“Answer the question.” This time, I don’t yell. My tone is low and unyielding.

“Yes,” Mom whispers through her tears. “I used to be a Hunter.”

“What is wrong with you?” I ask in disgust.

I can’t even look at her anymore. I don’t know everything there is to know about Hunters, but I do know they kill supernaturals indiscriminately.

People like the twins, Ashton, and Reid.

People like me.

People like…Izzy.

“You don’t understand…” Mom begins desperately, reaching for me, but I stealthily sidestep her extended hand.

“There’s nothing to understand,” I tell her tersely, grabbing my coat off the hanger and shoving it on.

I don’t know where I’m going, but I just know I need to get the fuck out of this house.

“Their type are monsters?—”

“Then that means I’m a monster too,” I tell her stiffly.

She begins to shake her head in denial. “You’re not like them.”

The smile I give her then is cruel—more of a baring of teeth than anything genuine. “I’m more like them than you can ever imagine.”

Mom screams my name as I yank open the door…only to come face-to-face with a somewhat familiar man. I’ve only seen him once before, but his dark hair, brown eyes, and sly smirk are unmistakable.

Dyson has one fist lifted as if to knock on the door, but he lowers it when he sees me.

His smile stretches. “Ansel. Just the warlock I wanted to see.”