her eyes.
Alex felt her own tears rising. How many times had she made her mother cry? “I’m sorry, Mama.”
Mira drew a tissue from her pocket. “It’s okay. I’m proud of you. And I don’t want you
to come home. After all of those horrible things with those horrible people. This is where
you belong. This is where you were meant to bloom. Don’t roll your eyes, Galaxy. Not every flower belongs in every garden.”
Alex couldn’t quite untangle the wave of love and anger that rushed through her. Her
mother believed in faeries and angels and crystal visions, but what would she make of real
magic? Could she grasp the ugly truth of it all? That magic wasn’t something gilded and
benign, just another commodity that only some people could afford? But the car was pulling up and it was time to say goodbye, not time to start arguments over old wounds.
“I’m glad you came, Mom.”
“I am too. I hope … If you aren’t able to manage your grades—”
“I’ve got this,” Alex said, and it felt good to know that thanks to Sandow she wasn’t
lying. “Promise.”
Mira hugged her and Alex breathed in patchouli and tuberose, the memory of being small. “I should have done better,” her mother said on a sob. “I should have set clearer boundaries. I should have let you have fast food.”
Alex couldn’t help but laugh, then winced at the pain. No amount of strict bedtimes and
trans fats could have kept her safe.
Her mother slid into the back seat of the car, but before Alex closed the door, she said,
“Mom … my dad …” Over the years, Mira had made an effort to answer Alex’s questions
about her father. Where was he from? Sometimes he told me Mexico, sometimes Peru, sometimes Stockholm or Cincinnati. It was a joke with us. It doesn’t sound funny. Maybe it wasn’t. What did he do? We didn’t talk about money. He liked to surf. Did you love him? I did. Did he love you? For a while. Why did he leave? People leave, Galaxy. I hope he finds his bliss.
Had her mother meant it? Alex didn’t know. When she’d gotten old enough to realize
how much the questions hurt her mother and to realize the answers were never going to
change, she stopped asking. She decided not to care. If her father couldn’t be bothered with her, she wasn’t going to bother with him.
But now she found herself saying, “Was there anything unusual about him?”
Mira laughed. “How about everything?”
“I mean …” Alex struggled for a way to describe what she wanted to know without sounding crazy. “Did he like the same stuff you did? Tarot and crystals and all that? Did
you ever get the sense he could see things that weren’t there?”
Mira looked down Chapel Street. Her gaze turned distant. “Have you ever heard of the
arsenic eaters?”
Alex blinked, confused. “No?”
“They would ingest a little bit of arsenic every day. It made their skin clear and their
eyes bright and they felt wonderful. And all the while they were just drinking poison.”
When Mira turned her eyes back to Alex, they were sharper and steadier than Alex ever
remembered them being, free of the usual determined cheer. “That’s what being with your
father was like.” Then she smiled and the old Mira was back. “Text me after you see the
doctor.”
“I will, Mom.”
Alex closed the door and watched the car drive away. The Bridegroom had stood a respectful distance away, watching the whole exchange, but now he drew closer. Was he
ever going to let up? She really didn’t want to go to Il Bastone, but she was going to need
the Lethe library to figure out how to break their connection. “No one is immortal,” she snapped at him, and saw him reluctantly shrink back, vanishing through the bricks.
“Your mom okay?” Mercy asked as Alex entered the common room. She’d put on her
hyacinth robe and curled up on the couch.
“I think so. She’s just worried about me getting through the rest of the year.”
“And you’re not?”
“Sure,” Alex said. “Of course.”