We both looked at her.
“A walk?” my dad asked.
“A walk.” My mother came to me. I searched her eyes, wondering what she might tell me, or what she might ask. What she might have seen. But she was my mother, so I nodded, took the hand she offered.
“We’ll be back,” she said, giving my father a look, and led me out of the office.
We walked through the kitchen, out into the yard, where path lights glowed and trees swayed in the breeze, not yet ready to give up their leaves for winter.
She stopped when she reached a small fountain, gurgling water illuminated by small in-ground lights, with benches placed around it.
“Sit,” she said. An order. Polite, but an order.
I lifted my brows, but did as she requested.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
I stared at her, felt my heart begin to race. “I think Clive laid it out pretty well?”
She sat down beside me, looked at me with pale blue eyes. “I’m your mother, and I know when something’s bothering you. And it’s not just the AAM.”
“Being pressured to join a House isn’t helping.”
“We aren’t trying to pressure you,” she said after a moment. “It’s just . . . hard for both of us not to take personally that you don’t want Cadogan.”
“It’s not an issue of want.”
“I know,” she said and put a hand over mine. “I know. I said that wrong, and I’m sorry.” Frowning, she rose, walked to the fountain, looked down at it. Then she looked back at me—and I knew she knew.
Not exactly—not that the monster existed—but that I was hiding something. She knew I hadn’t told her, or either of them, the absolute truth.
“You know you can tell us if something is hurting you. We won’t judge. And we’ll hold your secrets if need be.”
“I’m just . . . figuring some things out.” It wasn’t the entire truth, and probably a lie by omission. But it was all I was willing to say.
Her shoulders seemed to relax, as if my admission was enough to soothe some of the worry. I’d validated her concerns, even if I hadn’t shed much light on them. “Nothing you can talk to me about?”
“Not really,” I said, and watched light dance across water.
“Connor?”
“He’s good. He’s great. And the Pack has been supportive.”
“Good. In the olden days,” she said dryly, joining me on the bench again, “before I joined the House, the Pack was standoffish. Trust had been lost between the Pack and other Sups, and they didn’t involve themselves with others unless they had to—unless there was some very specific reason for it. But then I joined, and Gabe and I became friends of a type. Not hanging-out friends, but we had a camaraderie.” She smiled, gaze vacant, as if revisiting old and comforting memories. “Probably in part because it irritated your father. Which made it that much more fun. It changed more after the House and Pack became allies. And after Connor hit puberty,” she added.
I snorted, thinking of the number of times I’d heard about teenage Connor “borrowing” another shifter’s bike without their knowledge, or keeping someone’s daughter out a little too late. He hated bullies, and loved picking fights with them. He’d tested every boundary he could find—and was on a first-name basis with the local CPD officers who walked the beat near the Keene house. He’d washed a lot of dishes during the summer to pay the fines he’d accumulated over the year.
“Because they had to apologize to so many people for his behavior,” I said.
“It’s one way to socialize,” Mom said. “And then we had you, and you and Connor were close in age, and you spent time together, or with Lulu. Even if you hated each other. Strong emotions,” she said, “even then.”
She’d been smiling, but her smile fell away. And when she looked at me, there was fear in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
It took a moment for her to speak. “I don’t know if I should tell you this. I don’t know if it will help or hurt, or if it’s something you should know or shouldn’t.”
“Tell me,” I said without hesitation. I’d always rather have the truth, and quickly. And yeah, I realized the hypocrisy. But that I was willing to listen to hard facts didn’t mean I wanted to deal them out.
“Gabe came to Cadogan House one night when Connor was little. And he said something then . . .” She trailed off, as if gathering courage.
I leaned forward. “What did he say?” My voice was quiet, as if words spoken too loudly would break through the mist of the moment.
“He showed me my future—or a part of it. A child with green eyes.”
Those green eyes—my green eyes—widened. “How did he know?”
“Some shifters can prophesize. He’s one of them. And he said we—me and Gabe—were like family.” She swallowed. “And then he said, ‘But we lose them always, don’t we’?”
I stared at her, trying to make sense of the words, of the questions. “He meant me and Connor?”
“We didn’t know either of you, yet,” she said and squeezed my hand. “But yes, I do think that’s what he meant. And I don’t think it’s some harbinger of problems for you or Connor. I think he knew, even then, that I was going to be pregnant, and that you and Connor would play a role in each other’s lives. I didn’t really believe him then—how could I? No one else had done what he thought would happen. And then it did. You were born, by whatever miracle of magic and biology.
“After you were born, I didn’t sleep much. I had this fear someone or something would take you away. You were so rare, and so loved.” She touched my cheek. “I was worried, at least in part, that the magic that helped make you would sweep you back up, that Sorcha would return and steal you like a fairy in the night. But then I started sleeping again, and logic returned. And when that happened, I decided by ‘losing’ he meant your growing up.”
She shook her head clear, looked at me. “I think he knew you were going to be part of their family—that you and Connor would bring us all together, even as you and Connor formed your own unit.” She sighed. “And that’s a very long way of saying, if you can’t hold to Cadogan, hold to the Pack. Let them be your allies, even when we can’t. And whatever it is, know that we love you.”
I nodded and smiled, but knew the truth: My monster—the magic that remained inside me—was her nightmare.