“I would have thought dropping off your belongings, taking your car, and cancelling your cell phone would have been a glaringly obvious hint that I never wanted to see you again, Libby,” my mother says as she glides gracefully down the grand staircase. Her burgundy chiffon dress swirls around her knees. The sound of her high heels clicking on the steps sends a jolt of fury through me with every snap. I can’t even force myself to respond to her, my jaw is locked so tight with anger.
I feel Milo approach before he actually touches my shoulder. Carefully controlled anger rolls off of him. He’s not even scared. He should be.
“Who’s this, Libby, your bodyguard?” Her trifling laugh has an interesting effect on Milo. His anger is suddenly interrupted by laughter. I realize why and smile as well.
“No, Mom. Actually, I’m his. Milo’s just here to remind me not to kill you.”
I can feel nothing of my mother’s emotions, but the quick twitch of her head gives away her worry. Yes, she knows who I am. Best for her if she doesn’t forget it.
“What are you doing here, Libby?” she demands.
“We need to talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you, now get out,” she says, turning her back on me as if we’re done.
If she actually expects me to listen to her she’s sadly mistaken. I reach the bottom step before she whips around and snarls at me. “I said get out.”
“No.”
The only time I ever listened to my mother was when my dad told me to. Her nasty, vile demeanor weakened my respect for her pretty early on. Like around three years old. The only reason we survived living together after my dad died was an unspoken pact of simply ignoring each other as much as possible. My dear mother has clearly not forgotten her lack of power over me. She turns so quickly the hem of her dress snaps as she stamps away from me. My next words shock her into statue-like stillness.
“I know you told Dad about the Serqet.”
Her pinky finger starts twitching like mad. “What?” she whispers.
“You told Dad how to perform a Serqet, didn’t you?”
“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She won’t turn around and face me.
“Grandpa Martin is part of the Veil, and he’s as malicious about getting to the top as you are. He told you about stealing people’s talents. Anything to get ahead, right? Did you ever try it yourself?” I ask, my voice dripping with hostility.
“No, no, I never tried it.”
“Of course not,” I say, “or you’d already be dead.”
She doesn’t respond.
“But you knew about the Serqet. You weren’t strong enough to make any use of it, but you thought Dad was. You wouldn’t risk your own life, but you risked mine and his. You risked it, and you lost. Dad wasn’t strong enough. It’s your fault he’s dead.”
“No!” she screams as she spins to face me. “He was strong enough! He could have done it. I know he could have! Andrew was the most powerful Concealer I had ever met. My father despised Inquisitor Moore for snatching him up before he could. Andrew would have ruled the Veil if it wasn’t for you.”
“If he’d been strong enough, he wouldn’t be dead!” I scream at her. Five years of guilt and self-loathing pour into my voice. “It’s your fault I don’t have a father anymore!”
Shaking with her own fury, my mother closes in on me. Milo’s other hand presses into my side, ready to pull me back at the first sign of her attacking me. Like he would ever be quicker than me. But I love the thought. His presence is enough to ratchet down my anger to a more manageable level. I face my mother without flinching. Not even when her lethal-looking nails grab my chin.
“Your father is dead because you woke up. If you had just stayed asleep like you were supposed to everything would be fine now.”
“Except I’d be dead instead of him. But maybe that’s what you mean,” I sneer.
Her nails grip me harder, but this time it’s because she’s trying to control her shaking rather than hurt me. “No, Libby. You’d both be alive. He could have done it, taken your talents, and you would have woken up the next morning feeling no different than before. We would still be a family.” A broken sob interrupts her train of thought. “You…If you had just stayed asleep none of this would have happened. I don’t know why he wanted your talents, but when he asked, I told him what to do. Yes, it would have meant more power, but I would have given him anything. He was my entire world. And you took him from me, Libby.”
“I…” Her emotions come flooding over me. She must have released them purposely, because her own immense Perception wouldn’t falter just because she was upset. The raw honesty of them feel so alien coming from her. Deep, rending regret, grief wide and unending, loneliness, pain, longing, all so blatant and powerful. One after another, they bash into me until I can barely stand, let alone respond. She has suffered like I have. Five years of guilt and aching. For a brief second I feel closer to her than I have in my entire life.
But like anything good coming from my mother, it doesn’t last. Realization of the heartache we have shared quickly turns into anger that she made me suffer alone. We both lost that night, but instead of trying to comfort her daughter, she blamed me and locked me out of her heart and life. At the same moment the emotions pouring out of my mother change as well, from pain of loss to unabashed jealousy and hatred.
“I knew the risks when Andrew asked me how to steal your talents, but I knew he could be the first one to do it. He was stronger than you can even understand, Libby. I never wanted you to be hurt,” she says, and I find myself actually believing her. “But given the choice, I would rather have seen you die than him. Yes, I gave him the tool that took him into your room that night, but your selfish refusal to stay out of things that didn’t concern you is what killed him. And I will never forgive you for that.”
“Things that didn’t concern me?” I laugh in morbid disbelief. “Are you kidding me? How is someone trying to steal my talents not something that would have concerned me? They were my talents!”
“You wouldn’t have even missed them. You hadn’t shown any signs of developing at the time. We had no idea what you would become. And Andrew would have left you something, some talent that would have suited you. He wouldn’t have left you with nothing,” she argues.
The idiocy of what she’s saying makes me laugh in her face. Her perfectly smooth forehead crinkles at the sound.
“He knew,” I say mirthlessly. “Dad knew I was the Destroyer, and so did I. I knew before he did. I started manifesting talents the day I was born. When he tried to steal them, it was agony. I felt him trying to rip them out of me. Your tool was what woke me up.”
Short, raspy breaths pulse in and out of her chest as my words sink in. The strength in her legs fails, and she slides down to the steps.
“I was just a child, Mom. Eleven years old. It hurt so badly. I didn’t know what was going on. What else could I do but try to stop him. You put him there. You were the one who told him what to do. You killed him,” I say, “not me.”
Tears are pouring down her alabaster cheeks. “He never told me,” she whimpers. “I didn’t know. I never would have let him do it if I’d known.”
I can’t keep the acidic edge from my voice. “And you being the daughter of the leader of the Veil, and a Concealer yourself. Your own daughter was the Destroyer, and you didn’t even see it.”
She looks so broken.
That’s why her sudden attack catches me off guard.
Springing off the stairs, she flies at me, knocking Milo back in surprise. My mother has no Strength, but her psychotic, adrenaline-fueled lunge is powerful enough. My scrambled wits and lack of real sleep make it a struggle to react. Her fingers close around my neck before I can finally get my own hands up to force her away from me. I throw her back and call on my Speed to get me away.
In the seconds I have before she gets back to her feet, I close off my emotions so she can’t track me or anticip
ate my moves. I try to blur my focus into seeing what she will do next but her own Concealment strangles my attempt. A brief thought that I need to learn how to do that myself for when the Seekers come after me lodges itself onto my list of things to do should I survive my mother trying to kill me, and disappears from my mind.
This is going to come down to Speed and Strength. The real trouble is going to be beating her without killing her. Although the positively murderous look in her eyes is quickly making that less of a concern. Milo, please don’t fail me. As horrible as she is, I can’t handle being responsible for both of my parents’ deaths.
She’s back on her feet, and I tense for her next attack, but she just stands there. She’s not giving up. I know her too well for that. She’s planning something. Stepping back slowly, I move further away from Milo just in case hurting him is part of her plan. Manuel is standing slack-jawed in the corner, but I doubt my mother will hurt him. It would be too much trouble trying to train someone new. She’s still just standing there. Forget this.
I break into a run meant to get me to her side before she can react, but the first step I take sinks into the marble floor. My heart stutters. I look down and am shocked to find the marble I was standing on has turned to slush, its swirling pattern ruined by my foot sinking into it.
How could I forget her Naturalism? Her talent for manipulating natural elements was what inspired me to try and convince everyone I was following in her footsteps. I just never saw it as a weapon. Leave it to my mom to turn the beauty of speaking to the elements of this world into something she could hurt people with. The gelatinous soup pulls me in up to mid-calf, cutting off my musing and sending me back into panic mode.
Desperately I try to pull my foot back out by shifting my weight to my back foot. That foot sinks as well, and I gasp in shock and fear. I shift again and yank my back foot out of the mess. My mom rushing toward me only intensifies my panic. A venomous curse slips out of my mouth as I drop to one side just enough to avoid my mom’s slap. With one knee on solid ground, I drag my leg out. Almost out.
My ankle is still trapped when my mother launches her next attack. The marble sucks itself back into shape, trapping my foot in its razor sharp grip. One tiny movement to the side sends the sharp edge of the rock into my skin. Pinned to the floor, my mother seizes her chance. Her hand slams into my face, and my vision pitches wildly. Only the cool green blob of Milo’s shirt bobbing up and down in the haze alerts me that he’s moving toward us.
“Milo, stay back!” I scream. The green blur stops moving.
“How are you going to protect him now, Little Libby,” she asks. Her vicious tone, and her use of the nickname my dad used to call me, clears my vision in a red-tinged wave of hatred.
“Leave him alone.”
“Why should I? It only seems fair that since you took the man I loved, I should take yours in return.”
She’s bluffing. Milo may not have the talents of a Guardian, but he is still a pretty big guy. Her talents aren’t going to protect her against brute force. As long as he can get to her before she wraps him in marble or simply convinces his heart to stop beating. She won’t. Will she?
“Mom,” I beg, “Mom, please don’t hurt him.”
“You deserve to suffer like I have, Libby.” She isn’t moving toward him. Yet.
“I have suffered, Mom. I know you loved Dad, but so did I.”
“It’s not the same. You were just a child. You couldn’t have loved him like I did.”
She can ferret out the truth behind gossip in a second or locate anything touching a natural element of the world, but she can’t see anything beyond her own selfishness. “You say Dad was your whole life, well, he was my whole life too. He cared about me when I knew you didn’t. He tucked me in at night while you were out with your friends. He kissed me when I got hurt and held me when I cried. He loved me. He loved me so much that I never felt anything but safe and happy when I was with him, not because of his power and prestige. I loved him more purely than you ever did.”
My mother’s beautiful face darkens under a mask of malevolence. Maybe that last sentence wasn’t such a good idea. She takes several slow steps toward Milo. He glances back and forth between us, unsure of what to do. My mother doesn’t seem terribly concerned. “And what about this one?” she asks. “Do you love him?”
She’ll know if I’m lying. I’m good at hiding my emotions, but she is a master at breaking through barriers. My throat is trying to strangle me, but the curious look on Milo’s face despite what’s going on around him dilutes my fear enough to think. Do I love him? I’ve doubted why he’s with me, but despite ample opportunity to leave, he’s still here. I know he’s hiding something big from me, and I’m scared to death that really letting him in will only get him killed. My hurricane of thoughts and emotions finally center on one simple truth. Despite everything, I can’t think of anyone I would rather be with than Milo.
“Do you love him?” she demands as she moves forward.
My answer is simple and honest. “Yes.”
The corner of Milo’s mouth turns up without ever taking his eyes off my mother. I want to kiss him more than anything right now, but the hateful gleam in my mother’s eyes terrifies me. Milo holds his hand up to her as she takes another step, but she won’t try to attack him physically. Her focus draws her thoughts inward. I don’t wait.
My fingers force themselves into the tiny space between the marble and my ankle, and I heave it back .The edges dig into my flesh, staining everything red. And all I accomplish is crumbling a few pieces. This is taking too long! Terror for what she might be planning spurs me forward. Pulling with my whole body, I try to simply yank my foot from the rock. Fiery hot pain shoots up my leg, making me scream. But I don’t stop. I wrench it again. Something pops and grates. Seizing my Strength, I will the pain away and pull again.
“Libby!” Milo calls out, grabbing my shoulders. “Libby, stop it! Just stop, wait a minute. You’re hurting yourself.”
“I can’t,” I cry, “she’s going to hurt you.”
“No she’s not. She’s not going to hurt me or you. Just calm down for a minute and we’ll figure out how to get you out of here.”
“What?” I ask, twisting around so I can see his face. He presses his hand against my cheek, and then his eyes slide away from me to where he had been standing a second ago. I follow them. My whole face lights up in shock.
“What happened?” I ask. For some reason my mother is lying of the floor, looking very much like she’s unconscious.
“I’m sorry, Libby, but I had to hit her.”
“You what?”
He shrugs. “When you screamed she lost her focus, and well, I saw my chance to stop her, so I took it. Sorry. I’ve never hit a girl before.”
“Sorry? Milo, don’t be sorry. She was about to kill you. I think that’s the one exception to hitting girls.”
“I still feel bad about doing it. She’s your mom,” he says.
I snort at that and try to keep from grinding my teeth, this time from anger instead of the pain pulsing up my leg. “Only by blood.” Standing up from his employer, Manuel walks over to us. His hands are visibly shaking, but his voice sounds quite cheerful. “Well, I’m glad that’s over, Miss Libby. I have never seen anything quite like that before.”
“What, attempted murder?” I ask.
He grimaces and shakes himself.
“Is she alive?” I ask.
“Yes.” Manuel sounds a little resigned at that prognosis. “I’ll have someone take her to bed when I get the chance, but I think we have more important matters to attend to right now, like getting you out of the floor.”
“Yeah,” Milo says, “we should probably do that before your mom wakes up.”
“Definitely, but I’m not sure I can. I think I might have broken my ankle trying. It hurts like hell right now. Strength is the only thing keeping me from passing out,” I say. And even that isn’t workin
g very well. My vision swims in warning that I’m not going to be able to hold the pain back much longer.
“Miss Libby,” Manuel scolds, “you should know better than trying to pull a foot out of solid marble by brute force. Strength does not make your body impervious to injury. I should think you would be well aware of that fact by now.”
“You would think,” I mutter.
“How are we going to get her out then?” Milo asks.
Manuel offers him a patient smile. “The same way she got stuck there in the first place.”
“You know how to do that?” I ask.
“I have lived with your mother for a very long time. I thought it wise to learn a few of her tricks just in case I ever needed to defend myself,” he says. “I would have helped you earlier, but even though I can perform the feat, my talent is nothing close to your mother’s. I need to be in physical contact.”
“Of course, Manuel,” I say.
“Pay very close attention so you can repeat it if the need ever arises again. Which I’m sure it will, knowing you.” He smiles playfully like I am five years old again, but this time there is real fear behind his teasing. “Now, lay very still, Miss Libby. When I release your foot the motion may be very painful.”
“Milo, if I pass out, you’re going to have to carry me to the car again. Sorry.”
“Again?” Manuel asks.
“I was asleep, not hurt,” I say matter-of-factly.
He nods, but not convincingly. Placing his hands on the floor at either side of my foot, he is about to start when Milo moves into place behind me. Thank goodness. I don’t want to smack my head on the ground if I faint. That would really top off my morning. Manuel settles back in to start his work. I watch as the marble starts to twist and soften under his gentle guidance. Every move he makes, every emanation of power that flows from his body into the floor imprints itself on my mind. I feel confident I can imitate him as I start to feel the pressure on my ankle lessen. I can also feel the added pain spreading through my body and cringe. I am not going to last much longer.
“Hey,” Milo says.
“What?” I ask, glad for the distraction from the pain. My foot is going to pop loose any second.
“I love you too.”
The agony of my foot coming free jolts me into unconsciousness.
Chapter 23
Helpless