Lucas seemed to be coming to the same realization. “Where’s Greg?”
“He left for the afternoon,” Ellie said. “Said he had something to take care of. He’ll be back later today.”
“Please tell me he went out for candy,” Joss said. “Chocolate, preferably. I think chocolate’s the only thing that could salvage this day.”
Ellie smiled. “I can’t promise anything.”
Morgan looked at her cousin. “For the time being, can you settle for a sandwich? No abilities this time, though.”
Joss managed to smile. “I’ll make you one too, how about?”
“I think it’s the least you owe me.” She crossed to her cousin and bumped shoulders with her.
“What about me?” asked Lucas, sounding slightly put out. “Don’t I deserve a sandwich? I just performed a feat of awesomeness.”
“If we rewarded you with food every time you performed a feat of awesomeness, the rest of us would starve,” Morgan said.
Lucas grinned. “Hey, since I can’t have my zombie army, would you two be my minions?”
Morgan and Joss exchanged glances. “No.”
He pouted. “Seriously? No sandwich, no minions. What’s the use of being this awesome if I get no fringe benefits?” He turned toward the kitchen, grumbling.
Joss nudged Morgan. “Maybe you could help him out with some benefits,” she murmured, wagging her eyes suggestively.
Morgan swatted at her cousin, casting a hasty glance in Lucas’s direction to see if he’d overheard. If he had, he ignored Joss’s words, busying himself in collecting elements to place in his sandwich. An emotion washed over her and it was a moment before she identified it as disappointment. A part of her longed to know how Lucas would react to Joss’s comment.
Chapter Fifteen
Morgan’s eyes snapped open. She peered around her room, but she could only make out indistinct shapes; it was still dark. She lifted her head off her pillow, straining her ears to identify whatever it had been that had woken her up. Her heart pounded like the steady feet of a distance runner as the seconds passed. Just as she was allowing herself to relax back into her pillow, she sensed rather than heard what had woken her to begin with: there was someone outside her bedroom door. The cadence of her heart sped up. Who could be out there at this time of night?
Before she was even aware of the decision to use her abilities, she Felt Greg standing outside her door. The tension in her shoulders dissolved instantly—there was no danger—but then a knot twisted in her stomach. She had no idea what might bring Greg to her room in the middle of the night, and she wasn’t sure that she wanted to see him, no matter what the reason was.
“Morgan.” His whisper carried through the door.
She glanced toward Joss’s bed, wondering if the sound had roused her. But Joss’s breathing remained unchanged, the deep, rhythmic breaths of deep sleep.
“Morgan, I know you’re awake.” There was something urgent in Greg’s voice.
It was this more than anything that caused Morgan to get out of bed. She crossed quickly to the door and silently eased it open just far enough to catch a glimpse of Greg’s face. She was struck by the look he wore, and immediately her attitude toward him softened. “What’s going on?”
“I need you to come with me.”
Morgan allowed her eyes to take in Greg fully and was surprised to see he wasn’t in pajamas but street clothes, including a coat and shoes. She shook her head vaguely, thinking she must still be half asleep, but when she focused on him again, the image was the same. “Greg, what—?”
Her question died in the air as another doorway in the hall opened. Lucas emerged from his room, as fully dressed as Greg, sans coat. He looked about furtively for an instant before his eyes landed on Greg. He glanced at Morgan only briefly before walking over to them.
“Lucas?” Morgan directed her attention to him. “What’s happening?”
“Greg asked me to come with you guys.” He glanced at Greg as if for confirmation.
“And we should get going. Morgan, if you’ll get dressed, Lucas and I’ll wait—”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but you’re insane if you think I’m going with you right now.”
Greg’s brow knit. “Why?”
“Why?” Morgan let out a humorless laugh. “Maybe because it’s the middle of the night. And—”
“Morgan, you just have to trust me.”
“And I don’t trust you!” There was a shifting inside Morgan’s bedroom and she froze, reaching out to determine whether she’d woken Joss. But after briefly tossing in bed, Joss resumed her deep slumber.
Greg placed his hand on Morgan’s shoulder. Her first reaction was to shake him off, but something in the touch made her hesitate. Greg took the opportunity to push into her mind a jumble of thoughts and emotions. These washed over her like a wave and left her gasping. Her mind fought to comprehend everything that now swirled around within it. Distinct flashes punctuated the tumult, and everything was woven together by one overwhelming feeling: remorse.
She took in a deep breath, closing her eyes and twisting the errant thoughts into a semblance of order. As she released the breath, she opened her eyes and focused on Greg’s face. The reason for his presence and his request clarified itself in her mind and a surge of adrenaline pushed its way through her body, causing her fingers to tremble.
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
***
During the hike, the four-wheeler ride, and the car trip that followed, Morgan neither spoke nor attempted to communicate with her abilities. She knew Lucas was curious about what was happening, but when he pressed into her mind she pushed him out firmly and put a wall around her thoughts. Though she was sure he could break through it if he wanted to, he respected her wishes and withdrew. Neither did he ask Greg or the other Watcher who accompanied them any questions. He seemed satisfied enough in the knowledge that Greg wanted him there.
She made no attempt to track how much time passed as they traveled toward their destination. She didn’t try to figure out where they were headed. Though she was seated beside a window, she didn’t gaze at the scenery beyond. Instead, she stared at her hands, trying to prepare herself for what was to come.
At one point, it struck her that she could have refused to come. If she told Greg she wouldn’t—couldn’t—go, she didn’t think he would have made her. But she also knew this was really the only decision she could make.
When the van finally came to a stop outside a small cabin shrouded in vines, it took a few seconds before Morgan made any move to exit the vehicle. Neither Greg nor Lucas moved until she did.
The three of them met by the car’s hood, the biting winter wind cutting into any bits of uncovered flesh. Greg looked at Morgan. “You ready?”
She took in a breath and released it slowly. Was she ready for this? Wasn’t it the thing she had been hoping for, at times the singular focus of her mind? But reality—or rather the perception of it—had shifted so completely since Christmas, she was no longer sure of anything.
She looked into Greg’s eyes. “No.”
He nodded in a knowing way and started toward the cabin. She followed him, and Lucas followed her. After a few steps, she felt Lucas’s hand slip into hers. She glanced at him and he gave her fingers a squeeze. She offered a smile and squeezed his hand back.
Greg entered the cabin’s door without knocking. In the back of Morgan’s mind, she thought she should be upset that the house’s occupant hadn’t opened the door to greet them, but, she reasoned, the house probably wasn’t hers. She was a guest as much as they were.
As Morgan attempted to kick the snow off her boots, Greg crossed the room and embraced its only occupant. Low murmurs of greeting passed between the two and Morgan kept her eyes resolutely on her boots. It wasn’t until the woman gave a brief, musical laugh that Morgan looked toward them.
The woman’s eyes found Morgan’s face immediately. The expression there was difficu
lt to interpret. Morgan wondered if Chelsea was having as much trouble working out her emotions as Morgan was.
Whether seconds, minutes, or hours passed before Morgan took the first step toward her mother, she wasn’t sure. When she did start moving, her steps were labored and deliberate, as if she had forgotten how to walk. Lucas remained at her side, releasing her hand only when she was just a few feet in front of Chelsea.
The slightest hesitation passed before her mother moved toward her, but then she closed the distance with a step and pulled Morgan into a hug so tight Morgan found it difficult to breathe. She allowed Chelsea to hold her, to press the breath from her lungs, but she found her arms would not lift from their place at her sides.
When Chelsea released her, she held Morgan at arm’s length for a moment, studying her face. Then, her lips pressed together, she released her daughter and took a step back.
In the many fantasies Morgan had entertained over the last ten years, there had been dozens of things she’d wanted to say, to ask, to learn when face-to-face with her mother the way she was now. But in this moment, she couldn’t conjure any of them.
“We painted the living room.”
Chelsea blinked a few times as she processed the information. The corners of her mouth upturned slightly. “That’s… good. Her lips twitched, as if holding back a torrent of words. Her eyes raked over her daughter’s figure, lingering until Morgan shifted uncomfortably. Seeming to realize she was staring, Chelsea turned her eyes to Lucas and offered a smile and her hand. “You must be Lucas.”
Lucas glanced at Morgan as if waiting for her permission to respond. After a beat, he stepped forward and shook her hand. “Yeah, I am. How’d you know?”
Chelsea opened her mouth to answer, but Greg cleared his throat. “I’ve tried to keep her in the loop as much as possible. Since she asked me to watch over Morgan, I’ve been in contact with her—infrequently, of course.”
“You’re exactly what I expected from your description. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Chelsea’s eyes lingered on Lucas for another moment before she turned back to Morgan. “And you.” She reached out her hand toward Morgan’s head, but it stopped halfway, hanging in midair before it dropped back to her side. She offered a tight smile and her fingers twitched. “Your hair is very…”
“Short?” Morgan reached up and tugged at the ends of it. “Lucas cut it for me. On Christmas.” She watched her mother’s eyes carefully to see if this day held any special meaning for her. For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something—guilt perhaps—but it was gone too quickly to be sure.
Chelsea held her daughter’s gaze for a moment longer before breaking it and taking a seat on the cream colored sofa behind her. As she sat, a sigh escaped her lips, and Morgan couldn’t help noticing how very old she looked. For a decade, her image of her mother had been frozen in time, limited to the photos they had around the house. The woman before her had lines around her eyes that hadn’t been in the pictures, and the cabin’s light revealed a few strands of gray hair. In a way, she looked even older than forty-two. Perhaps her life in hiding had been more difficult than she had anticipated. For some reason, it was this thought that caused Morgan to relax slightly. She took a seat on the adjacent couch and glanced up at Lucas, a silent request for him to join her.
Lucas, as always, seemed to sense what she was thinking. He took a seat beside her, his knee brushing against hers softly. When she glanced at him, he offered an encouraging smile.
Morgan turned to her mother. “Why now?”
Chelsea didn’t miss a beat. “Greg said it seemed to be the right time.”
Morgan cast a quick glance at Greg, who resolutely avoided her eyes. “So it was his idea? Not yours?”
“Morgan, it’s not like that.” Chelsea shook her head. “I don’t want you to think—”
“What? That you didn’t want to see me?” She snorted. “Yeah, what would ever give me that idea?”
“That’s not fair,” Greg said.
Morgan glared at him. “Stay out of it, Greg.”
He bristled. “Morgan, we’ve had this conversation before. Now, I may not be your teacher, but I—”
“Look, I’ll apologize for my behavior later, but for now, can you just let me have a conversation with my mom?”
“You just don’t—”
“Greg.” Chelsea said it quietly, but it was enough to silence him. “Morgan. You don’t have to believe me, and you don’t have to forgive me, but please try to understand that when I left, I did it to protect you.”
“That’s crap. How could you possibly protect me by not being around? I’d say that’s the opposite of protection. I mean, come on. With someone like Orrick Williams after me, what good are you to me if you’re away? Really, what’s Dad supposed to do if the Veneret come knocking on the front door?”
Chelsea closed her eyes briefly. “Orrick may be a selfish, arrogant jerk, but at least that arrogance gives your father one bit of an advantage: He’s not even a blip on Orrick’s radar. Did you notice that Orrick never tried to use your dad as bait to lure you to him? Since he doesn’t put any importance on the common, he doesn’t expect that anyone else does either. I figured your dad’d be safe because of that. Besides, there were always Watchers—”
“Watchers. Not you.”
“But Greg was keeping me informed—”
Morgan felt a prickling sensation on her scalp. Her fingers twitched. “Would you even be here now if Greg hadn’t told me about you? Or would you still be in hiding?” She felt the warmth of Lucas’s palm on her knee but ignored it. For ten years, part of her was constantly worrying, wondering, waiting—constantly hoping for this moment. Now that it was upon her, she felt none of the relief she always imagined would accompany it; instead, she felt only the chasm their years apart had created. “The Prophecy talks about me, not you. I don’t even understand why you didn’t come back once Orrick figured out I’m the One. You being gone wasn’t protecting me anymore—if it ever really was—”
“I don’t expect you to understand—”
“Good, because I don’t.”
Chelsea moved toward the edge of the couch, perching on the cushion like a bird preparing for flight. “I know you can’t see it, but my leaving was to draw attention away from you, and my staying away was to keep Orrick from using me to get to you. Though, from what Greg tells me, clearly that backfired. Even when I wasn’t around, Orrick was able to manipulate you by pretending to have me.”
Morgan balled her fists, pressing her fingernails into the palms of her hands. How dare she throw that in her face? “I suppose if he had me, you wouldn’t’ve done one thing to try to come to my rescue. I mean, not when the Watchers could’ve done it for you.”
Chelsea stood, her arms pressed down against her sides. “I will not have you talk to me like that, young lady. I am your mother!”
Morgan stood too, registering as she did so that her and Chelsea’s heights were within inches of each other’s. “You haven’t been my mother in a decade. You can’t just appear now and demand my respect.” Staring into Chelsea’s brown eyes, Morgan accessed every memory she could of a motherless life—the nights she’d cried herself to sleep; the nights she’d known her father was doing the same; the stab of jealousy she felt every time she saw a mother with her child; the irrational anger she’d had against Joss, whose mother was always there for her; the moments she had either wanted or needed a mother’s guidance; the blistering embarrassment of having no one but Dylan to go to for situations like needing a bra or starting her period; the undying hope that someday, someday she would get her mother back; and the utter disappointment of this long-awaited moment—and she pushed them into Chelsea’s mind. She studied Chelsea’s face, looking for some flash of guilt or shame—any reaction at all. So engrossed was she in her search that it took a moment for her to register Lucas’s hands on her shoulders, and it took another moment to realize why they were there: the lights in the cabin were flickering
and all of the furniture had slid away from her, toward the walls.
Chelsea’s gaze dropped to the floor, her shoulders slumping. She crossed to Greg and murmured, “This was a mistake.” She started across the room, moving toward a door, and stopped when she reached it. Turning, she met Morgan’s eyes. In that instant, she looked at once older, features etched with exhaustion, and younger, open and vulnerable. Then she was gone, entering the room and closing the door behind her.
Her mother’s words echoed in her mind: This was a mistake. Morgan couldn’t disagree, but she said nothing. Instead, she leaned back against the warmth of Lucas’s hands, allowing the feelings of serenity he was casting toward her to wash over her like the tide.
It wasn’t until much later, while they were on the ride back to the safe house, that a thought occurred to Morgan—a swift, stealthy one that startled her from her doze, causing her stomach to swoop as if they’d gone over a dip in the road: She should have asked Chelsea the question. In the weeks before they’d relocated to the cabin, the question had haunted her, a ghostly observer ever lurking in her periphery. However, somehow, in the months since they’d been in hiding, she’d been able to put the thought from her mind. Perhaps it was being in a different place. Perhaps it was not being faced with him every day.
At the end of the summer, when Orrick Williams had shown his true colors and attempted to force Morgan to his side, he had also claimed paternity over her, insisting Chelsea had suffered a last-minute change-of-heart when she learned that joining the Veneret would mean she would have to break of communication with her sister, and that she had married the first man who’d crossed her path to distance herself from the path she hadn’t chosen.
Tonight, Morgan had the chance to ask, to get the answer—one way or the other. She knew that there was no promise she would ever have the opportunity to ask again, and the thought made her heart race.
Lucas stirred gently beside her, his hand tugging hers gently: he’d taken it when they’d gotten into the car, rubbing slow circles on the back of her hand with his thumb, continuing to provide waves of calm until he’d drifted off to sleep.
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