“I don’t know what to do,” she sobbed. “You’re the person I go to when I need help, and you won’t help me.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been helpful.”
She pulled back enough to glare at me. Another rapid mood change. “You made pink smoke, Mom. Pink smoke! And you snuck away like a thief!”
“I did do that, like a coward, and I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I’ve withdrawn my nomination for Mother of the Year.”
She pulled away as much as she could without uncrossing her legs. “I don’t know why I’m so worried about you being mad at me. I’m mad at you. You treat me like I’m a baby, but I’m not. I deserve to know who I am.” She fixed me with an angry pout so completely over the top it nearly made me giggle. “I deserve to know what I am,” she spat out.
“You’re half genie,” I said.
She howled in outrage. “Don’t make a joke out of this.” She howled again. “You’re so immature! For someone who’s supposed to be the mother, you’re so irritating!”
“Please stay calm,” I said. “You’re half genie, and I don’t know what powers you might have. Please calm down. I don’t want to get accidentally turned into smoke, or fire, or goo.”
She started howling a third time, but abruptly cut herself off. She stared at me, unblinking, and brushed the tears from her red eyes.
“I’m what?”
“A quarter witch, a quarter shifter, and half genie. Your father had a different name when I knew him then, but these days he calls himself Archer Caine.”
At the mention of his name, the door to the bedroom abruptly closed itself with a slam.
I looked around. “What was that?”
“Just the house,” Zoey said.
“The house?”
She nodded. “The house is always listening in. It must be surprised. I think you caught it off guard.”
I spoke up louder, intentionally. “The house shouldn’t listen in to private conversations if it doesn’t want to get caught off guard.”
The house returned only a weary creak.
My daughter and I stared at each other.
“You’re not surprised,” I said.
She pursed her lips. “Well, when you didn’t tell me, I figured it was bad.”
“Being half genie is bad?”
She shrugged. “Good. Bad. Who knows?”
“It can’t be bad. You’re too good to be bad.”
She looked down at the bedspread. “Mom, did he...?”
My arms trembled again. I was really feeling the depletion from the flight, and now this.
I took in a deep breath. Finally, I understood what she was asking.
If I’d been listening, truly listening, I would have heard it sooner.
Was it being drained of magic that made me finally understand? Was I a better mother without my powers? I couldn’t think about that now.
All I could do was listen, feel what my daughter was feeling, and answer honestly.
“He didn’t hurt me,” I said softly. “Is that what you need to know?”
“Don’t lie to me. I can take it.”
My heart broke. Knowing that my cowardice had caused my daughter so much pain... It brought tears to my eyes. I blinked them back. This wasn’t about me. This was about her.
“Zoey, I’m not lying. You were made with... well, not love, exactly, but you were made in a good way.”
“You’re not just saying that, are you?” She lifted her face and gave me a hopeful look.
I raised my hand. “My word is my bond. I’m not lying to you.”
“What about that night?”
I frowned. “You don’t really want those details, do you?”
“Not that,” she said. “ I mean, did you know? Did you know you were making a baby?”
“I knew I shouldn’t have had so many Barberrian wine coolers.”
She leaned forward, so her face was in mine. “You swore, Mom. You gave your word. You have to tell me the truth.”
“Yes. That is how the swearing thing works.”
“So, did you know?”
My throat was so tight. I didn’t think the words would escape, even with the promise I’d made, but I heard the words pass hoarsely through my lips.
“Yes,” I said. “I knew before. I knew during. And I knew after. I knew about you. It was no accident.”
She stared at me a long moment, then whispered, “But you didn’t love him.” She sounded bitter.
My throat wouldn’t let out any more words. If you don’t know the truth, you can’t tell it.
The cat had jumped off her lap when the door had slammed. Now Zoey uncrossed her legs and started to push away from me.
I caught her by both wrists and stopped her. I met her face again with mine, and I spoke the truth.
“Zolanda Daizy Cazzaundra Riddle, you were made with love, from my body. Every bone and pint of blood. Every hair on your head. Every freckle on your nose. You were made with love. By me.”
She went limp and tossed herself into my arms.
Chapter 30
Once the secret of Zoey’s paternity was out in the open, a weight I didn’t know I’d been carrying lifted free of me. It felt similar to the body buoyancy spell I’d used for broomstick flying, but this magic was the regular kind that any person could experience.
I was unburdened now, and, like every person who’s been unburdened, only after the load had been dropped could I appreciate how much I’d been carrying. Every muscle in my body relaxed. There was space within me, and air, and room for light and goodness.
As we sat together on Zoey’s bed, talking about genies and what it all might mean for her, my head floated. Everything floated. I was helium inside. It seemed like the golden afternoon sunshine streaming in the window was the only thing holding me in place.
We talked about the night I met Archer. It had happened at a typical teen house party. The party had been full of people I didn’t know. The house belonged to an older kid who was a buddy of Nathan Partridge’s, a.k.a. Nash. He was my big-brother-like friend whose father rented a portion of the house my mother owned. Nash and his rock band were playing a cover song, not very well, when I slipped away with a cute boy who’d caught my eye.
“That’s funny,” Zoey said, interrupting the story. “I always thought Nash might be my father.”
“Ew. Based on what?”
“You two were so close, and then you didn’t see him anymore after you had me.”
“He was like a brother.”
She shrugged. “How can you say that? You never had a brother.”
“No, but I’ve read books about siblings. Thanks to fiction, we’ve all countless lived other lives. As a fellow bookworm, you should know that.”
“But you did drift apart after you had me.” She sniffed. “It might have been nice to have an uncle around.”
She had a good point, but there was a logical explanation. “I got cut off from Nash because he and his father still lived in your grandmother’s house, and I was no longer welcome there.”
Zoey stroked the tip of her nose carefully. “Look at the tip of this nose. Doesn’t it look a bit like Nash’s?”
“In the sense that it’s a nose, sure.”
“I swear I could see a clue when I looked at photos of Nash. The family resemblance.” She touched her cheekbones lightly. “I thought I could see it in a few spots on my face.”
“People see what they expect to see.” I yawned and stretched in the sunbeam, feeling relaxed and cat-like. “Or what they want to see.”
“I had this whole scenario in my head. Nash was going to get his big break and become a superstar. Then, one day he’d be giving an interview on TV, and he’d suddenly break down. It would be super-dramatic. He’d confess to the interviewer that no matter what he did in life, he’d never atone for abandoning his daughter.”
I sucked in air through my teeth. “I’m sorry, kiddo. You’ll never know how sorry I am you had to imagine
those stories.”
She looked down and tracked the ridges on her bed’s blanket. “I imagine lots of scenarios. Sometimes I’ll spend half an hour thinking about what I’d say if I bumped into some random famous person.”
“I do that, too.”
“But you’re a witch, Mom. If you wanted to, you could meet anyone.” She gave me a wide-eyed look. “Anyone!”
“Hmm.” She had a point. There was no door in the world that was locked to a witch.
“Well, almost anyone.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure the Royal Family has supernatural people on their security team.”
“You think so?”
“They must,” she said. “Right?”
We both let the idea sink in. Imagine that! The Queen of England and her witches, shifters, and mages. Her Majesty’s Mages. What a great book that would be.
I leaned back, and the bed rose up to meet me. My body felt so light and yet so heavy at the same time. I wanted to keep talking with my daughter, but I also wanted to feel her cool, cotton pillowcase against my cheek. It was both crisp and soft at once, like a good pillowcase should be. Being horizontal felt so right, so much better than being vertical. I pointed my toes and stretched out my legs.
The spell of sleep crept over me hungrily, like flames over dry wood. I muttered an apology to my daughter, about my battery being drained from flying on a broomstick all morning. She laughed and told me I was delirious. I hadn’t told her about my first flight with Maisy Nix. Now I desperately wanted to tell her all about it, but no counterspell of conversation or coffee was going to keep sleep away.
* * *
I woke to find a wyvern’s face hovering inches above mine. I started, but not as much as the first dozen times it had happened. They say you can get used to anything, and it’s true. You can get used to peppermint breath and black eyes watching you sleep.
“That other witch stole your fire from you, Zed.” Ribbons’ green, scaly eyebrow ridges formed a deep V. “We must seek vengeance.”
“Easy now. If Maisy had asked, I would have shared. Happily. I’m the one who wanted to get home fast.”
“But she didn’t ask.” His frown deepened, and he repeated, “She. Did. Not. Ask.”
I rolled away from the wyvern and rubbed my eyes. Judging by the amount of the light in the room, I’d been asleep on my daughter’s bed for about four hours. Judging by the rumble in my stomach, it was time for dinner. Judging by the aroma of baking cheese in the air, leftover pizza was being reheated in the oven. Everything was right in the world. With the prospect of pizza on the horizon, how could I be upset about a little borrowed magic?
“We will teach her a lesson,” Ribbons said.
“Actually, I’d prefer that we let this one go,” I said. “You must have heard the expression ‘Choose your battles wisely,’ right?”
“Yes, but that’s not how we say it, Zed.”
“Okay. I’ll bite.” I jumped off the bed and cast the spell for the bed to make itself. “How do your people say it?”
Instead of answering in my head, Ribbons jumped in the air, unfurled his wings to their maximum span, and let out a fearsome roar.
“That’s also good,” I said. “I promise to jump up and roar at Maisy if she ever borrows my magic again without asking.” I turned to the bed and finished straightening the blankets. My magic reserves were still low. The simple spell hadn’t gone well. The pillow was circling underneath the covers like a restless, confused slug. I snapped my fingers to let the poor thing rest, then manually fluffed it and placed it at the head of the bed.
I turned to say something else to Ribbons, but he was already gone. I heard another scratch being added to the staircase’s wooden handrail as he surfed his way downstairs, presumably drawn by the scent of leftover pizza.
* * *
We set the table in the formal dining room for dinner. Tonight we would dine in high style. It was Sunday, after all.
In addition to the reheated pizza, we would be eating fresh coleslaw that Zoey made with the food processor. Ever since we’d gotten the appliance as a belated housewarming gift, she’d become a bit of a coleslaw wizard.
While we placed the napkins, and then a dozen candles of various heights and scents, I caught her up on my day’s activities.
Even with a big nap in the middle, my Sunday had been nearly as busy as Saturday. I was looking forward to getting to the library on Monday for some rest and relaxation!
First, I’d walked around town with Ishmael Greyson’s ghost. He’d led me to Dreamland Coffee, where I’d had my first witch-to-witch meeting with Maisy. Everything had been going well enough, until I spotted a karambit exactly like the one used to kill him. After clearing up my “little misunderstanding” with Maisy, we’d moved on to more fun things. My first broomstick flight. From the air, I’d gotten a sense of her impressive work fighting the forest fires. Then Ribbons had located me, and Maisy had flown me home.
When I was done retelling the day’s events, Zoey commented, “She witch-glued you to a table, then she sucked all the magic out of you?”
“When you say it like that, she sounds awful.”
Zoey raised an eyebrow. “Maybe she is awful.”
“She might be awful. But you know how I am. I give people a few chances. That’s why I’m still friends with Charlize.”
“Why do you do that? Aren’t you worried people are going to take advantage of you?”
I looked down at the candles on the table and rearranged while I thought. I remembered a recent conversation with my mother, in which she had accused me of being too picky about friends. She felt I had a history of getting rid of people too easily. Zirconia Riddle had been wrong about many things, especially when it came to me. This was yet another example of how she’d never understood that her daughter wasn’t the exact same person she was. Yes, I had ditched friends, but only after giving them about a million second chances. I could be incredibly forgiving... right up until I wasn’t. I took a deep breath and answered my daughter's question truthfully.
“Zoey, at the end of the day, I’d rather be the person who gave too much than the person who gave up too easily.” I looked into her eyes. “People who give up too easily don’t have anyone at their funerals.”
She crossed her arms. “Life is more than a contest to see who gets the biggest funeral.”
“You’re right.” I grinned. “There’s also the wedding. You want to have a lot of people there, because that’s the one where you’re still alive to enjoy it!”
She rolled her eyes. “You are so corny.”
“If you think that’s corny, wait ’til you hear my speech at your wedding.”
She blushed. “Mom! I’m only sixteen.”
The oven timer beeped, and she ran to the kitchen to pull out the pizza.
When she returned, she said, “I’m still concerned about Maisy Nix. Just because someone’s a witch doesn’t mean they’re a good person. Auntie Z might have been keeping you away from her and the coven for good reason.”
“I guess we’ll find out when she gets back from her vacation.” My magic wasn’t fully recovered, so I used matches to light the candles.
After a moment, Zoey asked, “Does he know about me?”
I sucked in air between my teeth. This new development, of Zoey knowing about her father, was new, and questions about him kept catching me off guard.
Rather than fill the room with pink fog, tempting though it was, I answered honestly. “I can’t say for sure either way. I’ve been going over everything he said to me, and I don’t know.” I sighed heavily, making the candle flames flicker. “I don’t think Ribbons knew about your paternity until recently, until after I knew. I believe the little syrup guzzler pulled it from my mind. I had a hard time keeping him out when he first came to live with us.”
There was a flapping sound, and the wyvern entered the dining room flying.
Zoey and I grinned at each other. In unison, we said, “Speak of the dev
il.”
“There’s nothing like a good day of flying to work up one’s appetite,” the wyvern said. He was not at all insulted by being compared to the devil.
Zoey disappeared to get the rest of the food.
When we got ourselves seated, my daughter and I sat across from each other while Ribbons took a spot at the head of the table. As usual for those nights the wyvern dined with us, we turned his chair backwards so he could perch on the back of it and still reach his food. We’d joked about getting him a children’s high chair, or even a booster seat, but neither of those ideas had gone over well. And that’s why we had one dining chair with deep talon scratches across the back of it. If anyone asked, I’d claim that our secondhand furniture must have belonged to a family with a parrot. A fat parrot.
We ate and talked about genies.
Ribbons was now able to speak telepathically to both of us at the same time. His connection with Zoey had been weak at first, which he’d blamed on her shifter blood. When I’d pointed out that technically I had a greater percentage of shifter blood than she did, since it was my father who was the fox, suddenly the wyvern’s connection had strengthened. Whether it was the power of positive thinking, the placebo effect, or another of the wyvern’s mind games, we Riddles would never know.
Even once he became able to, he didn’t talk to Zoey much when I wasn’t around. If anything, he was on edge around her. He’d flit into the air nervously if she moved quickly. Once, she’d shifted into fox form without warning and he’d made such a ruckus we thought he’d laid an egg!
Now that I knew he’d been aware of her genie lineage, his wariness made sense. According to Ribbons’ stories, genies and wyverns had a long and complicated relationship in their home world. During the world’s many wars, genies and wyverns had always been on opposite sides.
Thanks to Ribbons’ access to the collective memory of his ancestors, he “remembered” being killed by genies. Or, even worse, being kept in a cage. Genies used the various body fluids and even the scales of wyverns to make powerful potions. There was one potion in particular, made with the venom of the female wyvern, that could kill gods and demons, melting them into goo. I knew about that one first-hand, and had seen it in action. Twice. Not a pretty sight.
Wardens of Wisteria (Wisteria Witches Mysteries - Daybreak Book 1) Page 23
