Phoenix Flame - Sara Holland Page 0,61

imagine him putting his head in his hands. “Part of me is happy,” he says, distant, like he’s talking more to himself than to me.

For the first time, it sinks in for me how much turmoil he must be in. He thinks Mom killed Nate—always has. Even though I think Dad never stopped caring about her, it was the only explanation that made sense if you didn’t know about monsters from other worlds or black market agents stealing children’s souls. When Mom admitted to killing Nate herself—insisted it was the truth—what was Dad supposed to think?

“I didn’t want her to die,” Dad goes on.

I chew my lip, not sure what he wants me to say, or if I should say anything at all.

“But this doesn’t feel right. She was in federal prison. Maximum security. Who was she mixed up with who could have broken her out?”

I swallow and shrug, though he can’t see it. “I don’t know.”

It’s not a lie. I might have some ideas. But I’m hoping I’m wrong. I twist the corners of the blanket around my fingers, wishing it could still give me comfort like it did when I was a kid.

“There’s nothing either of us can do except wait,” Dad says eventually. “So let’s just wait. She’s got to turn up eventually.”

I don’t know if I want that to be true. But the pain in Dad’s voice gnaws at me. The worry. He doesn’t know about the soul trade or the Silver Prince or any of it. For all he knows—for all I know, for that matter—Mom just caught a lucky break somehow. Maybe she’s already on her way to Canada or Mexico or somewhere where she can be safe.

But I know Dad doesn’t think that’s the case. Neither does Marcus. Neither do I.

We can all feel it. Something is very wrong.

16

Within a couple of hours, just as he predicted, Marcus gets a call from the Sterling Police Department, asking to interview both of us. We drive down to the condo to meet them, spending a hasty hour arranging stuff around the apartment to try to make it look lived-in before they arrive.

The interview with the two cops goes about as well as can be expected. Kindly Officer Oh and brusque Officer Sanders treat me like a kid. They don’t expect me to know anything. I keep my eyes down and play the part of traumatized kid with a dead brother and murderer mom. It’s not hard, as familiar with the role as I am. They only question me for about twenty minutes, but it still leaves me feeling drained and empty. When the front door closes behind them, their last question still echoes around in my head.

Did she have any enemies? they’d asked us, expressions serious. Does anyone in your family?

In the ensuing silence, Marcus clears his throat. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Sitting in the austere, personality-free living room—decorated more like a hotel room than a gathering place for family—I take a gulp of the coffee he made for the cops. It’s lukewarm now. I’m distracted, thinking, as I have been for the past few hours, of Mom’s face the last time I saw her. Her expression gave no indication this would happen.

If she was planning an escape, why didn’t she let me know, or at least drop some hint so that I didn’t lose hope? The more I think about it, the more uneasy I feel. She was a woman ready to die, and she was friendless except for Marcus and me.

Did she have any enemies? Does anyone in your family?

There’s the Silver Prince. The soul traders, the Byrnisian man who found me in the basement of Haven’s antique shop, who ordered the black market buyer Whit to kill me. And of course there’s whoever broke into our house all those years ago to kidnap Nahteran. Mom was a host, a rescuer of captive Solarians, and so she must have made herself a target.

Yes, we have enemies, Mom and Marcus and me.

Later, in my room, I get out my laptop and run what feels like a million web searches for Sylvia Morrow, setting a search filter for results from the last three days. Different phrases, tweaks on the same questions. Sylvia Morrow prisoner. Sterling correctional Colorado jailbreak. Sylvia Morrow associates.

The hunt for my mom has intensified since the jailbreak. There are articles now from national sites, not just Colorado ones. There are social media posts that I can’t bear to look at. I