by Lisa Morgan
“When your mother returned home, he’d made a terrible mess of the kitchen, but she didn’t grow upset or angry with him; so touched was she that he’d made the attempt to satisfy her smallest desire.
“Your father found the company who manufactured the confections, and after many, many hours, and a rather large personal check, cases arrived on the doorstep for your mother two days later. She was so happy that he’d done all this for a craving. Every week, for the remainder of her pregnancy, a case would arrive. She told your father that, should the child be a daughter, they’d give her the name Anne, as a constant reminder of the gesture he had so lovingly performed for her.”
I felt warmth tickle the edges of my eyes anew. “I’ve never heard the story told before. I read it in my baby book years ago. I’d found it hidden under a floorboard in my room. I never shared it with anyone,” I commented quietly.
Liam continued to smile, and once again, offered the spot next to him. This time I sat, my eyes staying on the plush carpeting under my feet.
“I’ve watched you grow,” he explained softly. “I’ve done what I could to ensure that you were safe. My deepest regret is that I could not care for you myself.”
I asked, “If my father didn’t do that horrible thing … didn’t kill those people … why is he in that hospital?”
He spoke, disgust in his voice, “There was a contract made with John. You would be unharmed until your sixteenth birthday. They would let you live, even let you thrive. In exchange, your father’s memories, his very soul, was given to them.
“The loophole,” he went on, “was that they did not realize how truly powerful you’d grow to become. Even when you were a mere child, the energy inside of you was a force to reckon with. Your father tapped into that power during your visits, saving it inside himself, hoping he could regain enough of his soul to warn you before it was too late.”
“I don’t understand,” I admitted while looking at the wrinkled face next to me. His eyes, so much older than he appeared to be, harbored truths that I knew I needed to hear.
“Last night, you saw things,” Liam explained, all seriousness as he looked at me, his words without emotion, “things that did not belong of the mortal world.”
I thought back to when my mother and I had arrived at Sunnybrook. The receptionist, her face and those pointed teeth. And later, my mother with a skeleton hand that reached for me.
“Bones,” I added softly. Liam nodded carefully. “And these yellow lights floating in the air. It was like those lights were watching Michel and me from the woods when we ran away. There were these noises, a screaming …” My voice fell silent at the memory.
“What you saw were revenants.”
The same word my father had used to warn me before the injection had knocked him out. Revenants.
“What are they?” I asked, looking for an explanation.
“They are the vile creatures who your father was trying to protect you from. They are not fully of this world, or of The Realm. They hover, half alive, between the two existences. You are beginning to see them now as your power matures.
“They have no eyes, only a small ball of energy which they use to survive. A combination of both their brains and hearts, for lack of better phrases, for revenants do not truly possess either organ.
“They have little skin, and what they do have is more of a rotted sack. They are their most powerful in a complete skeletal form. They become walking, animated skeletons with no need of tissue or tendons to move their joints.”
I inhaled, my thoughts swirling as I tried to take in and make sense of all he was saying. Liam seemed to sense my confusion.
“Not everything in the world you grew up in is as you would believe it to be.”
“This doesn’t make a lick of sense,” I complained, frustrated. “You’re trying to tell me that there is a race of skeletons, just walking around out there?”
“I am.”
“Then why can’t everyone else see them?”
“They use a form of ancient dark magick so that they can appear human. They go through the same motions as humans to blend in. They have jobs, live in homes, going through all the expected machinations while they bide their time … while they wait.”
“What are they waiting for?” I asked, a lump growing in my throat.
“You, Margaret,” he answered without emotion in his voice. “They wait for you.”
Ten
The idea of these things waiting for me made my stomach churn. I’d caught a glimpse of what Liam claimed they were, and as quickly as I’d seen them, they were gone; shifted back to the façade of a friendly woman behind the hospital desk, the orderly carrying out his duties. Another one jumped to my mind and my heart raced.
“My mother!” I exclaimed in alarm. “What did they do to her? Last night, after seeing my—”
“That was not your mother,” my grandfather told me, his hand falling to my knee. “That has never been your mother.”
Confusion, then denial, and finally followed by soul-crushing heartbreak, overtook me. The woman who’d cared for me for ten years, this man was telling me, wasn’t my mother at all, but some sort of creature.
“I’ve lived with her.” I was trying to make sense of the information, trying again to make a puzzle fit together that was comprised of too many odd pieces. “She raised me and read me stories, drove me to the mall, took me to movies—”
“As she had been instructed to do.”
I asked, trying to keep the mix of skepticism and fear from entering my voice, “If all of this is as you claim, then tell me this, where is my real mother?”
The same sadness that had been a mask on Liam’s face earlier, returned. “Maggie,” he said, squeezing my leg.
Realization, an utterly horrific truth, whispered at the back of my consciousness. I couldn’t say the words. If I said the words then I knew it’d really be true.
He spoke them, even softer now, bringing my denial to fruition, “Your mother has been gone for many years now.”
Tears fell freely as the truth in his statement echoed what I had already guessed.
“How long?” I whimpered, hoping to hear an answer that was in contradiction to what I feared. Hoping the number he was about to give me wouldn’t be the one that robbed me of memories.
“Ten years, Margaret.”
Cold crawled up my spine as the world I’d always known shattered like glass around me. Everything I’d believed, that I’d known, crumbled and slipped through my fingers like a handful of wet sand. Pieces scattered to the wind that could not, no matter the glue, be put back together again.
My mother, the person that I’d thought to be my mother, was nothing more than a projection, a silhouette. She was no more real than Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. Like a slap in the face, the truth of Liam’s words crashed against me and I struggled to gain my breath.
I thought back through the years, the time after my father had been committed. I remembered the many car rides to visit him. When I was little, we’d sing songs during the drive out or make up silly poems. As I grew older, I didn’t want the burden of seeing him anymore, believing that avoidance would be easier than dealing with it all, like not visiting him would wash away history.
I remembered my mother’s excuses: too busy, long work hours, it’s not safe, Maggie. The uncaring tone of her voice when she’d disciplined me. I recalled the arguments about getting away from our small town in Upstate New York and how she’d put the fights to an end, refusing to allow me to escape to someplace where I could be unknown and anonymous; where I could have a fresh start away from my family’s history and the horrible crime my father had perpetrated.
I knew what Liam was telling me was true. Someplace deep inside me, I was beginning to think maybe I’d always known.
“You’ve learned much in a short period of time,” Liam said, still rubbing my leg, “but there is still so much more, Margaret. You need to heal, to grow.”
�
�I don’t want any more secrets,” I told him. “Would you answer me one question?”
“I will try,” he offered carefully.
“My mother … how … how did she die?” I asked, my voice catching in my throat.
“Maggie, I did not say she was dead, only that she was gone.”
“Then where is she?” I demanded as I stood and faced the man whose information had just changed my whole universe. He stood as well, his eyes full of understanding.
“This is difficult. The answer you want, I cannot give to you.”
“What? Why the hell not? You tell me my world is something totally different from what I have always believed it to be, that there are these things, and for some reason they want me. You tell me my father isn’t the killer I was always told he was and that he’s sitting in an insane asylum because he wanted to protect me? You tell me my mother’s gone but not dead, yet you won’t tell me where she is?” Anger flared and heat surged through my body.
“You will have all the answers you’re looking for. However, for now, granddaughter, I need you to place your trust in me,” he spoke while he rose to his feet and began walking to the door, his hand out in offering to me.
I stared at his palm, reluctant to take it in mine without the answers, but that same little voice I’d heard telling me to trust Michel and telling me the words Liam spoke were true, told me to go with him.
“I will promise you this,” he offered. “I promise that for now, for this day, you are safe. I will give you answers to what questions I can, but first, you need to eat.”
With the promise of answers looming, I finally took Liam’s hand and left the room.
***
The wide hallway Liam led me down was magnificent. The walls were topped with carved crown moldings in the shapes of flowers that I’d never seen, wrapping through vines that surrounded them. The walls were a deep, rich burgundy color. We came to the top of a marble staircase. The steps were wide enough to accommodate many people at once and led to a lower level while gently curving to the left.
We began our decent; the cool stone against my feet reminded me I wasn’t wearing my sneakers. As a matter of fact, I hadn’t even changed into the clothes Seatha had so carefully laid out on the bed. I followed Liam to the foot of the staircase. He continued leading the way over a fantastic mural that was set into the floor.
I had to stop short and take it in. The mural depicted angels looking like they were engaged in some kind of battle in the clouds. Their wings, in a myriad of colors, were stretched wide, and I could almost envision them flying, diving at the depicted pale creatures with swords in their hands. The pale beings stood in a beautiful meadow, a green much like that of Michel’s eyes. I raised my head and looked at my grandfather.
“Where’s Michel?”
“He sleeps. He remained beside you for several hours last night, only allowing Seatha, Autumn, and I to enter your room to examine your injuries. It was begrudgingly that he finally listened to me and retired.”
I felt my cheeks flush at Liam’s words. Knowing Michel had been next to me while I slept made my heart skip a few beats. I’d never had a guy in my room before. I guess I still hadn’t, technically, since this wasn’t my house.
“He will rise soon. Come,” my grandfather offered. I felt guilty walking over the depiction on the floor and found myself stepping over as much of it as I could until I was distracted by a girl’s laughter.
“That has sustained much worse offenses than your feet,” she giggled at me while pointing to the picture.
“Sorry. I just didn’t want to ruin it.”
“It would take more than your little toes to mar that,” she informed me, pushing her hand out to shake mine. “I’m Autumn.”
She was the one that had tried to help my injuries last night. I gave her my hand and a smile. “I’m Maggie, nice to meet you.”
“You don’t hear that too often, do you?” the girl from earlier teased Autumn, surprising me with her entrance.
The girl I’d just met offered a raspberry as her only response. “Don’t mind Seatha,” Autumn warned teasingly before pulling me into an unexpected hug and whispering in my ear, “She just needs a bone to chew on.”
“Come, girls … breakfast is getting cold,” Liam said. It was those words that made my stomach rumble. I hadn’t eaten anything since abandoning the greasy burger and fries in the food court the day before. Breakfast sounded excellent.
“I hope you’ll be pleased. I worked for hours on your meal. Admittedly, I’m not the most gourmet cook among us, but since Luc did not return last night, I drew the shortest straw,” Autumn stated, sounding a little nervous.
“Luc?” I questioned. “Michel’s brother, right?”
Autumn nodded, her hand over her heart. “Silly me! I forgot that you’re new. Luc is—”
“Another matter entirely,” Liam interrupted, ending the girl’s explanation.
I followed the three of them through a doorway into what I presumed was the dining room. A long, wooden table, scratched from many uses, stood set before us. I was having trouble moving my feet forward while the others took their spots.
“I’ve never seen so much food,” I admitted aloud, in shock at what was spread on the table.
A stack of pancakes at least six inches high with steam still rising and syrup drizzled over them. Sausages, bacon, and other meats were positioned around the table, each within someone’s grasp. A chafing dish brimmed with scrambled eggs, and several carafes of orange juice and coffee rounded out the meal.
I questioned in awe, “Wow, Autumn, you did all of this?” The blond-haired girl beamed with pride, obviously reading my pleasure at the meal she’d prepared.
“This is fantastic!” I cheered, pulling out the high-backed chair next to Seatha. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. I’m famished.”
Autumn lifted the tray of pancakes proudly and handed it to me. I loaded my plate with the syrup drenched rounds. I used the tongs, snatching several pieces of bacon and adding them to my plate as well.
“Let me pour that,” Autumn offered, seeing me reach for the orange juice.
I smiled as I replied, “You worked so hard on this, and the least I can do is pour my own juice.” But Autumn was already out of her chair, the carafe in hand.
Slicing my pancakes and stabbing a forkful into my mouth, the taste threw me, and I almost spit them back on my plate.
“Chocolate?” I quizzed, wondering at the flavors in my mouth.
“Yes!” Autumn replied happily, clapping her hands like a small child. “Do you like them? I was hoping that it wasn’t too much?”
I forced a grin and the lie that went with it. “It’s great!” I smiled. It may have been, if it wasn’t so overwhelming. Each bite was like a toothache waiting to happen, the chocolate was so overpowering. I poured a little more syrup on them, but the syrup also tasted of chocolate. I noticed that Seatha and Liam didn’t have food on their plates.
I choked on the sugary flavors and struggled to speak, “Aren’t you guys eating anything?”
Liam waved his hand in dismissal over the cup of coffee he was stirring. “Just coffee for me, thank you.” I turned to Seatha, who only responded by shrugging her shoulders. I could feel Autumn’s eyes burning into me. I needed to rid my taste buds of the overwhelming cocoa flavor. I picked up a piece of bacon and brought it to my lips.
“Crispy,” I cheered, seeing the lack of bend to the meat in my hand, “that’s just how I like it.” Autumn clapped of her hands again, further pleased with her accomplishment as I took a bite of the bacon. It also tasted like really crunchy chocolate.
It was too much. I didn’t want to upset the girl who’d worked so hard to impress me, but there was no way I could eat this stuff without my pancreas screaming. I gave a smile and searched for some plausible excuse to quit eating.
“Ow! I think maybe I lost a filling,” I lied, all eyes turning to me at once as I set the bacon back on my pla
te and rubbed at the false pain in my jaw. “Maybe I should just have some eggs?”
I heard Seatha chuckle a bit and I began to suspect she knew about the chocolate breakfast.
“I’ll get you some,” Autumn offered apologetically. “I’m so sorry about your tooth! Perhaps you’d like some clove oil to help it? It has been known to aid in the pain.”
“Umm,” I stuttered, looking to Liam for advice. He gave a curt nod. “That’d be great,” I told Autumn as she deposited several large helpings of eggs on my plate before leaving through a Dutch door to retrieve the oil.
Tentatively, I bent my nose to the mountain of eggs on my plate. They smelled, well, like eggs. I reached for the salt, both Seatha and Liam’s eyes following my movements. After a few shakes, I stabbed a forkful of eggs, popping them into my mouth.
Chocolate.
This time I couldn’t help it. I spit the partially chewed food back onto my plate, grabbing my glass of juice to wash the taste from my mouth before I wretched.
“I’m sorry,” the timid whisper apologized.
I turned and spied Autumn. She stood behind her chair, a small ampoule in one hand, a platter of pancakes in the other. Guilt crept onto my face as I read the hurt on her’s. We stared at each other for a few seconds, my mind searching for the right words to say “I’m sorry I can’t stomach undeveloped baby chickens that taste like Milton Hersey made them,” when an outburst of laughter from the doorway I’d first entered the room from caused us all to look up.
Leaning against the jamb was Michel. He was wearing a beat-up pair of blue jeans and another white T-shirt. He wore black combat boots on his feet and one leg was crossed over the other. That midnight colored hair of his was pulled back into a neat half-ponytail behind his ears, and those jade and platinum eyes glimmered in amusement.
He was gorgeous …
“I tried to warn you,” he smirked, looking at Autumn.
She argued back softly, “But human girls, they all love chocolate!”
“Her intention was good, Michel,” Liam offered, turning back to his coffee as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
