like werewolves, and one day we’d teach our own little wolf cubs to do the same thing. Well, just the hunting part with each other, obviously.
I sighed. “Just make sure you get some sleep. God only knows what tomorrow will bring.”
“I will.” Cody hesitated, then grabbed my shoulders and kissed me. It was quick, but firm and decisive.
“You confuse me,” I informed him when he released me, feeling slightly breathless.
“Sorry.” He took a deep breath, possibly feeling the same way. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I got in my car, settled the spirit lantern I’d been toting around all day in the passenger seat, and did what any sensible hell-spawn in my situation would do: I called my mom.
Less than ten minutes later, I was sitting at the old Formica dinette table she’d found at a thrift store when I was still a kid, shuffling the deck of lotería cards she used to tell fortunes, which was the ostensible reason for my visit. It wasn’t a total lie—Mom had done a reading on the Vanderhei kid’s death last July, and it had been uncannily accurate. And as close as we were, I wasn’t ready to tell her that I’d hooked up with Cody this morning. Not yet. I’d found the bandanna that Stefan had lent me in the cemetery in my car and tied it around my throat in what I hoped was a jaunty manner to conceal the evidence.
I plucked out El Diablito, my significator, and laid it faceup on the table, then shuffled the cards a few more times, doing my best to hold the image of Talman Brannigan’s mausoleum in my mind before cutting the deck three times and handing it to Mom.
She turned over the first card. La Luna, the moon. Cody’s significator.
“Wait.” I held out my hand. “Something doesn’t feel right. Let me try again.”
Mom waited while I shuffled and reshuffled, cut and recut the deck. Once again, she turned over the first card, indicating the crux of the matter.
La Luna.
I sighed. “This isn’t going to work tonight.”
Mom returned La Luna and El Diablito to the deck and set it aside. “Did something happen with Cody, honey?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I laid my forehead against the Formica table with a thunk. “Mom, I screwed up big-time.”
She paused. “With Cody?”
“No,” I said without lifting my head. “Yesterday. Everything went wrong. And it’s my fault.”
“Oh, sweetheart!” The chair legs scraped as she got up and came around the table to stroke my hair. “It didn’t sound like it from what I heard.”
“Well, if Jojo hadn’t—” I lifted my head. “Wait a minute. What did you hear?”
“Sandra said that the coven made a mistake focusing on protecting Sinclair Palmer,” she said.
I stared at her. “You knew Mrs. Sweddon was in the coven?”
“It wasn’t my place to tell you, sweetheart.” Mom sounded apologetic. “But it’s all right to talk about it now that you know.”
“Well, there’s not a lot to say.” I shrugged. “Whatever mistakes were made, the responsibility is mine.”
Mom went to the sink to fill the teakettle. “I understand the coven is thinking of trying a summoning spell to capture this . . . duppy, is it?”
“Uh-huh. Sounds like you know more about it than I do,” I said. “I hope they were planning to inform me.”
“Of course.” Mom set the kettle on the stove and turned on the burner. “We were just talking. Sandra’s been after me to join the coven for years.” She gave me a faint smile. “She thinks I have a gift.”
“Why didn’t you?” I asked her.
Her smile faded. “I’ve had enough of summoning for one lifetime, honey,” she said quietly. “I’m happy with my cards.”
I didn’t say anything. I knew the details of my conception. The whole town knew. Mom had been vacationing in Pemkowet with college roommates when it happened. They’d awakened in the middle of the night and witnessed the, um, results of my mother’s inadvertent summoning. Mom had never hidden anything about my heritage from me. From my earliest memory, everything was on the table for discussion, including the difficulty of raising a half-demon baby as a single mother and her decision to move permanently to Pemkowet, where at least there was a community that understood eldritch issues.
But the one thing she never talked about was the . . . act . . . itself. And God knows, I never asked. I mean, duh. It’s not something parents discuss with their children under the best of circumstances.