their approaching death. This is the second time I’ve heard the cry of a Banshee, and I can’t help wondering if more years are shaved off my life each time.
As Gemma and I walk farther into the house, I keep my knife out, unsure how my mother is going to react when she sees me. Will she appear in her hag form and be as manipulative as the Banshee I met in the alley? Or will she look and act like herself?
I hear the thud of her footsteps coming down the rickety stairway, and I dodge to the side, positioning myself between Gemma and my unborn child and my mom, just in case.
The more the idea sinks in that I’m going to be a father, the more I feel an overwhelming need to protect it. It’s the craziest thing ever, but strangely, it’s starting to grow on me.
The figure descends the stairs, the moonlight hitting her face. She has long, brown hair and bright, green eyes that are so much like mine I swear hers have to be fake—an illusion created to confuse me. The more I stare at her, the more I start to question if that’s what her eyes really look like. Maybe it’s her Banshee form. Perhaps she’s trying to play with my mind.
Her hand trails along the railing as she nears the bottom of the stairs. At first, she appears enraged, like I am nothing more than an intruder, but then she smiles and opens her mouth, letting out a wail
Gemma and I cover our ears as the sound rings against our eardrums.
“Sorry.” My mom’s voice turns angelic as she motions for us to put down our hands. “It’s a habit.”
By the time I lower my hands, she has her arms around me and is hugging me so tightly I can’t breathe.
“You’re so grown up. I can’t believe it’s really you.” She stares over my shoulder at Gemma as she pulls away. “And who’s this?” She grows quiet, catching sight of Gemma’s eyes. “I can’t believe it.” My mother swings around me, opens her arms wide, and gives Gemma a brief hug. “I can’t believe you’ve made it through everything. Although, with all the madness going on with all this mark nonsense, I doubt it’s over yet.”
“You know about the mark, then?” I ask and then shake my head. “Of course you do. You’re fey now.” Wait. She’s fey. What if she’s marked? I point the knife at her. “How do I know you’re not marked?”
She rolls up her sleeves, lifts her hair away from her neck, and shows me all the places the mark appears. “All mark free. Even my Keeper’s mark is gone now that I’ve died.”
“You’re lucky,” I grumble, lowering the knife. “Sometimes I wish mine was gone.”
She tsks at me. “You need that for now. It’ll help you stay alive.”
She’s right, but then again, if I didn’t have the mark to begin with, I probably wouldn’t be standing here and neither would Gemma.
“We need your help with something,” I tell her, keeping my knife out for now.
“I know.” She tugs her sleeves down. “I’ve been waiting for you to show up.”
I battle to keep my anger in check. “Then why didn’t you just come find me?”
“I can’t leave this place.” She sighs as she looks around at the burned walls. “I was assigned to watch it after I died.”
“Did this place burn down once?” I ask.
“No, this is death, sweetie,” she says sadly.
“I’m sorry that you’ve been trapped here.” I can’t think of anything else to say. Seeing her here makes me feel so guilty that she’s been suffering, and I never even knew.
“It’s not your fault,” she insists.
“But it’s my father’s fault,” I remind her.
“Which has nothing to do with you.” She smooths her hand over my head like she did when I was a child. “You’re so different from him, so kind and caring and protective of the one’s you love. I can see it in your eyes, in the way you look at her.” She glances at Gemma, whose eyes widen.
Love, she mouths to herself.
My heart slams against my chest as I open my mouth to deny it, but the lie gets caught in my throat. I do love her. I really do. Everything about her captures me, draws me in. I hate being away from her, hate seeing her in pain. I want nothing more than for her to live.