22. Clearing the Air

Goddess, he was gorgeous in either form. "Can I?" I held out my hand. He chuffed and then ducked under my fingers. He'd been standing there talking to me two seconds ago and now he was this incredible animal, letting me pet him. He rubbed his head against my leg and then trotted off, around the side of Gran's house.

Eventually, the front door opened and Mom and Gran came out.

"Declan's checking the property."

Gran nodded and then they both sat on the bench at the end of the porch. "Tell us about this grimoire you saw on Calliope's table," Gran said.

I walked over and waved my hand—a small spell to clean off any dirt or pollen on the porch—and then sat, leaning against a thick wooden pillar.

"Oh, don't sit on the ground," Mom admonished.

"I'm fine and I'm wearing work overalls." Folding my legs up, I thought about what I'd seen. "It was about the size of the family grimoire. There was something about it, though. My head was pounding from the chanting, but when I looked at it, I felt the shove to look away." I closed my eyes, trying to remember everything.

"Picturing it is causing my head to throb again." I looked up, trying to shake off the pain. "Did I tell you Dave thought there was another Corey family grimoire, one containing black magic that's passed down from sorcerer to sorcerer?"

Mom rubbed her forehead, clearly frustrated. Gran, on the other hand, stared out into the night, barely nodding.

"That sounds right to me," Gran finally said. "There are too many of them in our family. A cursed grimoire, luring in the cruel, the weak, the power hungry. That sounds right."

"How do we destroy it?" Mom asked.

"We can't," Gran said just as I said, "What would be the point?"

Mom looked between the two of us.

"It's an ancient book, oozing black magic," I explained. "And although I've never seen one or thought about it before this moment, I'm getting this pain in the pit of my stomach. I think it's one of those books bound in human skin."

Mom looked as queasy as I felt.

"I couldn't read the page that was open. I'd thought the handwriting was too spindly or I was viewing it from too far away, but now I think it was another language. Some kind of demonic script. I wish Dave could see what's in my head so he could tell us if that's right."

"Contact this Dave," Gran said, "and explain what you saw. Your description might be enough for him to identify a demonic grimoire."

I brought my knees up and rested my sore head. "I will."

"I'll get the fingerprints while we wait," Mom said, going to her car.

My head was killing me and she's all dance, monkey, dance.

Handing me the frame, she said, "I know you're in pain right now, but we're also all together, which might strengthen you." She sat beside Gran again. "At least try, Arwyn."

"What is this now?" Gran asked.

"Sylvia had her girls' hand…."

I stopped listening, trying to quiet the pounding in my head so I could see something. I undid the brackets at the back of the frame, taking out the sheet of thick paper holding Calliope's baby handprint and footprint. Head bowed, breathing slowly, I recited the finding spell from Sam's grimoire and slipped off my glove, touching the fingerprint.

Images flash through my mind, a strobe light of Calliope's life. Being held and fussed over, crawling and then walking, running to keep up with her sister. The cousins. Being left out of big kid games. Watching Serena learn to harness and use her magic. Resentment building. She tries in secret to duplicate what her sister has done, but it doesn't work. She's too young, just as Mom keeps telling her, but everyone knows Arwyn could do magic as a baby.

The flashes continue in my head: school, report cards not as high as Serena; mirror, not as beautiful as her mother or sister; magic, not as powerful as the rest of the cousins. They treat her like she's still a baby but she finds she enjoys the coddling, enjoys that Serena often gets yelled at for not being nicer to her baby sister.

What she used to hate, she now understands is an advantage. She's small and looks young and innocent. She uses it to throw suspicion off herself, usually directing it at her sister. She loves that her father still picks her up and refers to her as his Little One while he only holds Serena's hand. She often squirms so he has to use both arms to hold her, dropping Serena's hand. Calliope loves smiling over her father's shoulder at Serena, who now walks alone.

Aunt Abigail, though, she sees Calliope as special. She singles her out for advanced magical training. Eventually, she introduces her to her shadowy helper who makes her magic stronger, and Calliope wants it all. She wants her own helper and all the power.

She wants them to stop talking when she moves into a room, to cower if she's angry. She wants a seat on the Council so she can learn all the secrets and use them to her advantage. She's smarter. They should be listening to her. But, no, they want to wait for that stupid half-breed Arwyn on the Council rather than her. Years, years they wait for the bitch when she's standing right there, being the dutiful daughter and sister, chauffeuring that old bag around. They all take it as their due, never really looking at who Calliope has grown into, never respecting the power at her fingertips.

Well, she's showing them now, isn't she? They fear her and she delights in it. Her greatest joy, though, is in finally getting even with all the people who have slighted or belittled her over the years. Mom, beautiful, powerful, beloved Mom, was starting to look at Cal strangely, starting to ask questions. Mom had Sybil's ear. It wouldn't be long before she shared her suspicions about her daughter.

Cal had to move sooner than she'd expected, but it was okay. Freeing, even. Her friend had told her it would be, and he was right. How could she fulfil her destiny as the head of the Corey coven with her babying mother still around? Her mother wasn't a bad person. Her death, though, was needed in order to lob a grenade into the family and then step into her place. The more Sybil relied on Cal, the more she'd realize she couldn't do without her. She and her friend would see to that.

Gran is old. She'll be easy to dispose of, especially since Cal has never liked her anyway. The old biddy always watched her a little too closely. Burn down the gallery with Arwyn in it and Cal rises as the head of the family, with lots of inheritance money coming her way.

Torchlight flickers in a stone room as Calliope ascends the stairs to the main floor. The rooms are empty and her footsteps echo throughout. She goes to the back window, arms folded, and watches the waves. There is a small, bare patio and boulders at the water line. Spray plumes up as wave after wave hits the rocks.

She smiles, walking to the kitchen. Soon the favored one will get hers and Calliope will laugh, finally rid of the half-breed.

Eyes fluttering, I heard a sharp intake of breath and then a big furry head was on my shoulder, rubbing against my cheek. He sniffed and quietly whined. Following his gaze, I saw the finger that had touched the handprint was blackened. Mom and Gran began to recite a healing spell and I joined in. On the third repetition, the black was gone and my finger no longer felt numb.

Lifting my other hand, I scratched under his chin a moment before he slipped away, padding through Gran's front door. Mom sat up straight, her expression alarmed. Gran patted her daughter's knee and we waited.

"Well," Mom said. "What did you see?"

A moment later, he came out with my backpack, dropping it beside me.

"What?" I asked.

He nudged it closer to me and then trotted to his truck.

Did he want me to leave? Ugh. Dumbass. I unzipped the backpack and pulled out the honey bottle, pouring seawater on my hands and then patting it on my forehead, my cheeks, the back of my neck.

"Oh, that's right," Mom said.

"Dad's DNA to the rescue," I mumbled.

"Better?" Declan asked from the far side of his truck.

"Yeah. Thanks for reminding me." The pounding was no longer making me nauseated.

"What did you see?" Mom repeated.

I explained as best I could. "The flashes made it difficult. Those are my impressions of what was happening. My interpretations could be off."

Mom and Gran sat silently, thinking.

"She was right," Gran finally said. "There was something about that child that always seemed off to me." She stared out at the trees surrounding us. "Of course, I hadn't thought sorcery. I thought maybe drug addiction or kleptomania."

"I didn't see it," Mom said. "She was Sylvia's baby, and I didn't see it. I thought she was a sweet little thing. Not as powerful, sure, but a good girl." She blew out a breath. "I never saw it."

"And we still don't know where she is," Gran said, "other than in an empty house on the ocean."

"It was large. The rooms she walked through were huge and the view was amazing. This wasn't a hut in the woods, which is what I was afraid of. At least oceanfront property gives us a place to look. Maybe we should rent a boat and sail along the coast until we see or feel something dark."

"Yes," Gran said, patting my mother's knee again. "Let's set that up."

"I will." Tapping my leg with her foot, Mom gestured to the bear bottle. "Is it working?"

"Mostly. The ocean always makes me feel good. I was helping on that child killing case last month and was struggling. Declan thought to go out to a stream in the family's backyard and pat fresh running water on me. It helped. Visions often make me sick, so I tried bottled ocean water to see if it would ease the pain, and it did."

"Good," Gran said. She looked up at the sound of Declan's boots on the cobblestones. She turned to her daughter. "I don't know why that never occurred to us."

"Probably because we never talk about my dad and try to hide the things that are different about me because of him."

When I felt Declan's hand on my head, I realized I'd said the quiet part out loud. I dropped my wet hands from my face just in time to watch my mother walk into the house.

Gran sighed, watching her daughter disappear.

I wanted to talk with her about the other vision I'd had about her and her own prophetic dream of a Cassandra child, but now wasn't the time—or maybe it was. This had always been the pattern. I asked a question, make a reference to Dad, and she got angry or sad or something and walked away.

I raised an arm and Declan pulled me to my feet. "You two stay here. I'll be back." I stopped at the door, remembering. "Wait. Did you find any curses on Gran's property?"

Declan shook his head and sat beside Gran. "All clear."

"Well, that's a relief," she said, but I was already walking through the door, looking for my mom.

I started for the kitchen and then saw movement out the back window. Mom, silhouetted against the night sky. Detouring to the door off the living room, I startled her when I stepped onto the patio.

"Arwyn, I thought you'd be leaving with that wolf." It wasn't cold out, but her arms were crossed tightly.

"I didn't mean to upset you." I moved closer but she walked to the edge of the cliff, overlooking the roaring ocean.

"I'll try to stop by tomorrow to see your progress. I know you're tired. You should go home and try to get some sleep. I'd like to be left alone now," Mom said, her face tipped up to the moon.

"I hear the dismissal loud and clear, Mom. I've heard it most of my life. I need to tell you something, though."

"Oh, darling, I'm not up to hearing about what a horrible, cold mother I am."

"I never said that." I've thought it plenty, but I never said it.

"You didn't need to. Lots of family members over the years have felt the need to inform me." She closed her eyes, her face still lifted to the wind.

"They're just jealous and more than a little afraid of you."

She barked out a harsh laugh and shook her head. "I'm fine. You should get back. I know you have lots of work to finish."

This was when I'd normally take off, happy to get away from the crushing expectations they had for me. "Not this time, Mom."

Opening her eyes, she glanced over and sighed. "All right. What is it you need to say?"

"I saw you in a vision."

She waited, brow furrowed.

"You were little and had had a nightmare about having a Cassandra daughter who would live a short, miserable life before walking into the ocean."

Mom's eyes filled with tears, but she didn't look away.

"Great-Gran told you the Goddess had blessed you and that you needed to find a father for the child who was powerful, maybe even more so than you, so that I could live."

She didn't speak.

"And you did, because here I am. It hasn't been an easy life, but you made me strong enough to survive it. Thank you."

The tears finally slipped over her lashes.

"Did you hate him? Was he cruel?" I paused, not wanting the answer but needing to ask. "Did he hurt you? Is that why we never talk about him?"

She lifted one hand to her mouth, as though trying to keep it all in, and then shook her head. Finally, behind her fingers she whispered, "I loved him."

"What?"

Wiping at the tears, she nodded. "I did. I loved him so much and he loved me."

"But then…"

"I wanted to be with him all the time, but I had responsibilities to the family. I was on the Council and missing meetings. People relied on me, and I was letting them down."

"Mom, you're entitled to a life. Your siblings didn't give up their partners for the sake of the family."

She shook her head. "It's different for me. I had been gifted by the Goddess, chosen to be the next to lead. Like your great grandmother and Gran, the health, welfare, fortunes of this family have fallen to me to protect."

"Okay, but you could do that with a partner. Gran and Great-Gran had husbands."

"They had wicche husbands." Anger underlined her words. She turned back to the ocean. "I was young. The elders set the expectations and held me to them. It was one thing for me to bear a half-fae child who could help the family and an entirely other thing for me to bring that fae man into the family, for there to be other half-fae children sullying the Corey line."

"This family is lousy with sorcerers and they look the other way, but bring in a fae man and they hold the pure bloodline? That's it, Mom. We're going scorched earth on this whole fucking family."

She let out a breath and smiled through the tears as she pulled me into a hug. "I wish I had your strength."

"You're the strongest person I know," I said, hugging her back. This was so unlike her, the tears and hugs.

She stepped back. "My darling girl, don't confuse strength with good posture."

"And don't you run yourself down. You stand up to everything thrown at you," I insisted.

"Not everything. They told me I had to give him up and I did." She shook her head. "He was so angry with me, so disappointed."

"I'm sorry. I wish we both could have had him in our lives."

Reaching out, she tucked a stray curl behind my ear. The gusts off the ocean were gaining force. "I'm sorry my actions kept you from having a father. I knew you needed him, but I also knew I wasn't strong enough to turn him away again."

"I don't know if this will make you feel better or worse, but he's been keeping an eye on me."

Her expression went blank. "What?"

"Do you remember the seal I play fetch with?"

"Wilbur, yes." She was paying attention.

"Turns out he's a selkie. He introduced himself to me a few weeks ago. In his human form. He said he was there at my father's orders to keep an eye on me. And when Cal and her demon sent someone to burn down my gallery, a huge wave doused the whole building."

She walked closer to the edge, hugging herself in the cold wind. "When you were little, I used to take you to the beach to play so he could see you if he wanted."

I smiled. The image of Mom basically holding me up to the ocean to show me off was so odd and yet sweet. "And why you took over Great-Gran's house a stone's throw from the water?"

She nodded. "And why I always scheduled family get-togethers on the beach."

I laughed and she turned to look at me. "When I was little—I don't know, three or four—we were at the beach. I was sitting on the sand, playing with a shovel and pail. The waves sometimes touched me, like a kiss. Colin was being a jerk. Naturally. He took the pail and threw it into the surf and the very next wave brought it back to me."

Mom chuckled, her gaze avid.

"Well, that ticked him off, so he took both the shovel and pail, walked out farther, and threw them again. And the next wave returned them to my lap."

I hadn't seen a smile like this on my mother's face for far too long.

"He wasn't having that, so when the next wave came in, he kicked me over so I went face first into the water."

Mom's expression turned thunderous.

"I was fine. The water's never scared me. I felt a hand right me, so I was sitting again with my shovel and pail. At the same time, Colin was stung by a jellyfish."

Mom stepped forward and grabbed my elbow. "I remember that. It was chaos and he was screaming his head off. John was trying to get him to settle down so he could heal the sting."

"I guess. I wasn't paying much attention to him. I was looking in the water, trying to figure out who'd helped me."

She looked down at the ground, shaking her head. "He's been keeping an eye out for you all this time." Wistful, she looked out to sea.

I was about to leave her to her memories, but stopped myself. "Since we're finally talking about important stuff, can I ask something else?"

She turned and hesitantly nodded.

"I know I really let you and Gran down by not accepting a spot on the Council when I was a teenager. And seeing how hard it's been for the two of you because of that, I get the anger, but your—I don't know—coldness toward me started long before that."

She turned away from me, shaking her head.

I started this, so I was going to finish it. Talking to her back, I said. "I recently remembered when it started. I was young, still in the bedroom beside yours, and I'd had a horrible nightmare. I was crying inconsolably, and you came to hold me and hear what I'd seen. I'd told you about Aunt Sylvia's death, and you shut down, moved me to the turret room, and everything changed between us.

"I was ashamed of what I could do after that, tried to hide it. When I woke every night, I stayed in my new room, far from you, and learned to deal with it on my own. I know you loved Sylvia, probably more than anyone else in the world, but I don't understand why you've been so angry with me. I didn't wish her dead. I loved her too."

She was silent for so long, I didn't think she was going to answer me. I should have left before, when she was happy knowing Dad had been watching out for me. I shouldn't have upset her again. I guessed it didn't matter why. She was entitled to her own feelings.

I blew out a breath, ready to walk, but I saw that her shoulders were shaking. "Mom?"

"Is that really what you remember?" she finally choked out, still turned away.

"Yes."

She walked back to me, wiping at her tears, and gently cradled my face with her wet hands.

Mom hurries into my room and sits on the bed, rocking me. "It's okay, my love. It's all going to be okay." She rocks me, whispering assurances. "Do you want to tell me about your nightmare?"

I shake my head against her chest. "It's bad."

"I know, angel. They're always bad and I'm so sorry. We'll get through it together, though. You're not alone."

She rocks me for a long time, eventually singing softly to me, as I get sleepier and sleepier.

"The man hurt me, hurt me so bad."

Mom rears back. "What man? When?"

I stare into space. "He rips at my clothes. Crushes me—I can't breathe. His hands are around my neck. I was calling for you, over and over, but you didn't come. I was so scared and you didn't come." I looked up at her. "Why didn't you come?"

"I will," she says fiercely. "I'll always come."

I shake my head and sigh. "You don't." I extricate myself from the hug and roll over in bed. "You can go."

She stands, tears streaming down her face, clearly torn.

"Auntie Sylvia died," I mumble into the pillow. "Whispers. Something heavy is crushing her. She can't breathe too. I'm tired now."

Shellshocked, she slowly turns and walks from the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

I blinked my eyes open and Mom stood before me.

"You pushed me away. The next morning, you started moving your things to the turret room. I told you I wanted you close to me, and you'd sadly patted my hand and kept moving your clothes and toys."

She wiped at her wet face again. "I didn't know what to do. I was already worried about being a failure as a mother, trying to keep my little Cassandra healthy and happy. The visions were so hard on you. It was like your whole world shattered every time."

Wiping again, she said, "I was in my twenties, and I had this amazing little girl who saw so much, took all of it on her shoulders, and I didn't know what to do or how to help. And my baby, my little girl was dismissing me. My child knew I was failure and dismissed me."

"I'm sorry. I never felt that way. Not once," I said. "I thought you were angry with me for telling you about Sylvia."

Shaking her head, she looked down at my hand, which she had clutched tightly in her own. "I worried about Sylvia, of course. I talked with John and we both did whatever we could to keep her away from heavy things. We assumed her being crushed meant something heavy was going to fall on her. When she was in that car accident—what—sixteen years ago, John and I thought that was it. That was your vision and she'd survived it. We always made sure she drove the safest cars on the road, and she'd survived the vision.

"No. It wasn't Sylvia. You told me you were going to die horribly, in pain and alone, and I was going to do nothing to help. I was horrified. The Goddess had gifted me with you, and I'd screwed it up. I'd tried so hard to take care of you and I'd failed. You were going to die anyway."

Sniffing, she wiped at her face again. "You'd moved away from me. We were the only two people in that big house and you distanced yourself from me. Oh, how I cried. I couldn't sleep, knowing my baby had seen her own death, knowing I wouldn't be there to save her. It felt like you were trying to get used to dealing with the hard on your own. And after a while, I learned to harden my heart to the pain."

She squeezed my hand. "I've always loved you and been so incredibly proud of you. I know I can be hypercritical. I don't know why I—" She sighed. "I love you so much and I live in constant terror that something horrible is going to happen. That anxiety became anger with you for scaring me. I've missed so much time with you, fixating on losing you."

Rubbing her forehead, she said, "It makes no sense. I know. I was angry with you for going to Europe, not because of the Council—though some of that was there—it was mostly because you were across the world, putting yourself somewhere I couldn't run to help you. I worried every single day you were away that this is when it happens. I wouldn't be there to help because you were on another continent."

I pulled her into a hug. "I'm sorry, Mom. I've always loved you. All these years, I thought you didn't like me very much."

On a sob, she rocked me back and forth.