Phoenix Flame - Sara Holland Page 0,62
can’t deal with the vitriol poured out on Mom. But there are no sightings. No updates. Nothing new.
I want to go out to look for her, maybe tomorrow once the sun rises. I get as far as laying out the supplies on my bedspread: my backpack, my wallet, a dagger Sal gave me to protect myself. But then I realize I don’t know where to go.
It’s late. I need to get to bed. I still haven’t totally recovered from the journey into Fiordenkill, which took a toll on my body. I have no appetite, and I keep thinking I see motion out of the corners of my eyes, when nothing’s there. I can’t stop the internet search. I know nothing’s going to come up that I don’t already know. But it’s like a compulsion. I can’t stop myself from looking anyway, turning over every digital stone. I can’t let go of the faint possibility that I could be missing something, that if I just search the right words, refresh the news site one more time, I’ll find the key …
A knock sounds at my door. One, two, three raps in short succession.
My head shoots up, a jolt of startled adrenaline shooting through my veins. Mom, I think immediately. She made it here. She found me.
I sit stock-still for a second, frozen in indecision. What do I do? Do I let her in?
I’m being stupid, I realize. What are the chances Mom has crossed the more than two hundred miles separating Sterling from Haven, waltzed into Havenfall—getting around the law enforcement that must be keeping an eye on the town—and is now knocking at my door?
Shaking my head, I get up and go to the door. But in the instant between turning the knob and opening it, I can’t help but take a deep breath. One full of mingled hope and fear.
It isn’t my mom on the other side. Of course it isn’t.
It’s Brekken, looking serious.
A wave of feeling rocks me back on my heels—disappointment that Mom hasn’t magicked her way here after all, relief and gladness to see Brekken, and worry about the grave expression on his face. He’s wearing jeans and a sweater, which is unusual for him, but his posture is all soldier. I don’t think he could slouch if he tried.
“This is new,” I say, gesturing to his outfit, trying for lightness.
He flashes a smile at me, but there’s a hard look in his eyes. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” I step back.
In the quiet moment that follows, I realize I’m kind of annoyed with him. He knows how complicated and thorny my feelings toward my mom are, but he hasn’t offered a word of comfort since we found out about her escape. Nor since Nahteran’s betrayal at Winterkill. He said he wants to be with me, but that’s two huge blows in less than twenty-four hours, and he hasn’t been there for me. Does he think being together is only about making out and fireworks and barn lofts and sweet nothings?
For a moment, I have a flicker of hope that that’s what he’s here to do now, but the door falls closed behind us and he doesn’t make a move toward me. His posture doesn’t soften.
I turn around and lean against the door with my arms crossed. “What’s up?”
Brekken sweeps my room with a glance, and his eye fastens on the stuff on the bed, zeroing in on the dagger. “What are you planning to do with that?” he asks.
“I …” I don’t know, to be honest. All I know is that it feels awful to be sitting here doing nothing, when Mom is on the run, or worse. “I figured I’d go look around Haven. Check the antique shop maybe. If she was mixed up with the Silver Prince or the soul traders—”
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Brekken’s voice is brittle, and I notice for the first time that he’s tense. He doesn’t sit or move toward me, just stands by my bed, facing me with his arms at his sides. A military, disciplined pose, not a friend’s and definitely not a boyfriend’s.
I find myself wishing fiercely that he would just give me a hug. I mean, clearly I need one. That easiness we once had around each other—where did it go?
“She’s my mom,” I say, making my voice brusque to hide my distress. I scoot past Brekken to pile up the stuff on my bed and set it aside, my back