Proof of Life (The Potentate of Atlanta #4) - Hailey Edwards Page 0,70
a heat mirage and sat back on her heels. “You look shocked.”
No, no, no.
I had the sight. I could see through glamours. Midas could too. That was the point of the bargain I struck. That was the cost of the risk I took. Tricking me with illusion should be impossible, and yet I had no other explanation for how two Annabeth Pritchards had coexisted in the same space at the same time.
“I don’t get it.” As shock set in, I came near to babbling. “Why didn’t you take her?”
Frak.
That made it sound like I wanted her to kill my mother and wear her like a pantsuit.
“She has no power, physical or political.” She watched me, and she saw too much. I could tell by her feline smile. “Her only value to us was her worth to you.”
The woman began a transformation that ended with her as an identical copy of Liz, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t snap her fingers and become Ares. Glamour was elastic, and I couldn’t tell if she was using it or her closet to change forms.
But if she became Ares, did that mean she was the one who had been on a caffeine binge lately? Hiding in plain sight, masking her scent with strong coffee, smoothing her social gaffes with the excuse of sleep deprivation?
The twisting path that possibility carved through my brain left my gray matter sliced too thin for this.
“Imagine my disappointment when I learned she was not your mother, but your abuser. Your tormenter. Your own personal boogeyman.” Pity darkened her eyes, and that a monster felt sorry for me made the past that much harder to stomach. “Once I determined her uselessness, I did us both a favor and tossed her in the dumpster out back. The heat would have killed her in another day or two, but it worked out in the end. The perimeter wards warned me you were here, and I took her place in her room. There was no time for anything else. Your dogs would have hunted me if I ran.”
The question drumming in my ears let me ignore the woman behind me. “Why keep them alive?”
“Wouldn’t you rather know how I know? About the scars? About the ants?”
A familiar shiver danced along my spine, a premonition I developed as a child that warned me when Mother was near.
“She told me,” the woman announced. “In great detail. Without much coercion.” She searched my face. “Do you want my honest opinion?”
“No.”
“She hates herself, and you’re a mirror image of her younger self, so she hates you too.” She tapped Boaz on the nose. “I bet she never raised a hand to him, did she? He was a boy, and he took after his father I’m guessing. She didn’t see enough of her in him to bother. Your little brother, though.” She wet her lips. “He’s a meld of your parents, isn’t he? Little of Dad, little of Mom. How long before he learns the sting of the brush? The sting of the ants? The sting of knowing his mother despises the parts of herself she sees in him?”
“She will never lay a hand on him,” I snarled. “Never.”
“How can you stop her when you’re here and he’s there?”
“Hadley.” Midas stood watch over Addie. “Don’t let her get in your head.”
“Yes, Hadley, don’t let me get in your head. It’s so dark in there I might not find my way out again.”
The barb struck true, and I flinched. “Who are you?”
“That’s a question with an answer you might not be ready to hear.”
“Are you wearing Liz,” I demanded, “or is this more glamour?”
“I’m not wearing anyone.” Her smile grew toothier. “Does that clear things up for you?”
Crimson magic sparked out of the corner of my eye, but Midas and Ford were both accounted for.
“Oh dear.” Liz, or whoever—whatever—she was stood. “Now you’ve done it.”
A vicious snarl rattled my bones as the gwyllgi who had shifted on my periphery prowled closer.
With heartbreaking clarity, the earlier pretzel of my thoughts unraveled as the truth revealed itself to us.
There were two of them.
A pair.
Ares and Liz.
Dead women walking.
“Ares.” I cut off the twinge of regret before it took root. “What are you doing?”
“Protecting her mate.” Liz waited for Ares to come to her side then petted her. “Good girl.”
“You can’t be serious,” I demanded of Ares, as if a firm scolding could fix this. “That’s not Liz.”
“That might not be Ares,” Ford reminded me, and Ares pinned her ears against her