Mark of Damon by Eva Chase Page 0,11

a way that sent a shiver down my back for no reason I could explain. And just like that, I was even less sure that how I’d handled my flare of anxiety would help any of us.

Chapter Five

Damon

I paused in the shadows of the side alley for a moment before trudging up the rickety stairs to my mother’s second-floor apartment. I’d never been happy with the state of the place that had been the best we’d been able to afford between the wincingly low salary her asshole boss paid her for her job as a cleaning lady and the extra I’d been able to chip in from my wannabe gangster days. It was cramped and dim, the linoleum floors cracked and the grout in the bathroom spotted with mold stains despite Mom’s best efforts.

Every time I stopped by since I’d moved out of my own shithole apartment, the sight of the dreary space irked me even more. She didn’t have to live here now. My pay in my new gig was enough that I could have easily covered a down payment and a few hundred in additional rent to help her move someplace at least decent. Even if it hadn’t been, Rose would happily have bought Mom a whole house using the Hallowell fortune. I could tell from the twist of my consort’s mouth whenever the subject of my mom came up that she still felt guilty for how her dad had kicked Mom and the other guys’ parents out of their long-time jobs without severance pay or a reference.

The thing was, to give Mom anything, she had to be willing to accept it. Renting a new place or buying one didn’t help if she refused to leave the current apartment. And she’d dug in her heels from when I’d first brought up the subject a few paychecks into my electrician apprenticeship. Nothing I’d said since had swayed her.

Today, the floor creaked even louder than usual as I came through the front door. Mom looked up from where she was sitting on the worn living room armchair, her gray-streaked hair tucked into a neat bun but her eyes weary.

“Damon, you didn’t have to come.”

I waved my hand dismissively. “I told you I would. Lord knows your landlord isn’t going to take care of things anytime soon. You said it’s the kitchen sink acting up?”

She nodded as she got up and drifted over to join me. I couldn’t deny there was affection in her smile, but I also couldn’t kid myself that she looked at me with the same beaming fondness she used to. The obvious difference prickled at me too, from my chest all through my limbs. The scar under my leather wrist cuff stung as if I’d been jabbed by a bee.

I wasn’t totally sure what had changed things. Mom had always liked Rose well enough. She’d been friendlier with my consort than I’d been when the Hallowells had first dropped back into our lives.

Then, in the middle of last year’s conflict, one of our enemies had cast a spell that had turned everyone close to us against Rose. During a visit I winced inwardly remembering, Mom had ordered me out of this apartment while haranguing me for my association with “that whore.” Rose had cut off that spell, so it wasn’t acting on Mom any longer—and she’d never said anything overtly critical of Rose since then. She simply didn’t acknowledge my consort at all and changed the subject quickly when I mentioned her.

Had the spell left some lingering effect that we’d never quite heal? Was she simply uncomfortable with the relationship? Plenty of people in town gossiped about us now that it’d become clear that “the Hallowell girl” was involved with more than one guy at the same time and that our connection was more than just a youthful fling. I had no idea what the problem was, and there was no way of finding out when Mom refused to comment on the subject.

Despite what she’d said about not expecting me to come over, the toolbox I’d helped her stock years ago was sitting on the wobbly kitchen table. She’d obviously known I’d ignore her protests.

Mom motioned to the sink. I restrained another wince at the rust along the edges, which looked like it’d crept farther since I’d last seen it.

“One of the pipes underneath keeps leaking when I run the hot water. I’ve been sticking with cold—I can get by like that.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” I muttered,