Sammy’s crying too hard to say anything, but Liz rubs his head.
He finally goes back and sits down, but Liz stays there. It takes her a moment, but she gets herself back under control.
Mostly.
When she’s agitated, her wings tend to flex, and right now, they’re opening a hair and then closing again. Opening and then closing. “My mother was the perfect mother when I was growing up. We had organic everything before organic was cool, including compost piles.” She pulls a face. “She was passionate about life and her children, and she always wanted what was best for us.” She sighs. “She was a complicated woman, and being bonded against her will—” Her voice cracks. “I think it broke something inside of her, and the way she behaved afterward kind of broke my heart. I think all of her hard decisions were motivated by her fear of her lack of control. She had always been someone who could do anything, win any fight. To be entirely defeated.” She shakes her head. “But even then, even after making some bad decisions, Mom was always thinking one step ahead. I think she was looking for a way to redeem herself. She wanted the chance to show us that we were her priority, and that she was sorry for getting lost.”
She looks up, blows air in and out, and then pinches the bridge of her nose. Her wings flatten out like she might try to fly away.
She doesn’t, though. She nods slowly again, and then she says, “She apologized to me the best way she knew how, by giving up her life for ours. When we were in danger, she identified the greatest threat and positioned herself to do something to protect us from it. Even if it was a little like Fluff Dog leaping into a Doberman’s mouth so he’d choke, she did what she could to protect us, and that’s what every good mother does.”
I can tell, in that moment, she’s thinking of Jörð, too.
It’s been a lot of loss in a very short time.
“Today, what I really wanted to do was celebrate the strengths and the sacrifices made by all the people we love and have lost. Nothing can fix the hole where my mom was, and nothing can repair the ache of losing Rufus. I know we’re not the only ones who have lost loved ones. The water blessed faced heavy losses, and they aren’t alone in their sorrow either. When we spend time together, when we focus on the family we do have and the future we’re building together, those losses mean something. They created the bedrock of our future happiness.”
When Liz comes and sits down beside me where I’ve taken my human form, she slides her hand into mine, and I feel peaceful. “This thing actually worked,” I whisper. I can tell from the bond that it helped her as well. “Nice work.”
There’s more singing and a few more people get up and talk, including Asteria, which I did not expect, and Coral, who basically just says her Mom was ‘freaking rad,’ and that ‘Rufus was a way better guy than he looked like he’d be,’ but when it’s over, I feel much, much less hollow when I think about Rufus’s death. Liz seems to feel far better about her mother, too, and I know all of her feelings about that are complicated.
That night, as everyone returns home, including, thankfully, her father, Liz lays down to sleep, and before she can drop off, she grabs her head. “Oww.”
“What’s wrong?” I haven’t shifted into my blessed form yet. “Do you need something? Water?” Humans seem to need a lot of water.
She shakes her head. “No, but it’s weird. I swear, I’m hearing something strange.”
“What?” But instead of expecting a reply, I listen, too. No matter how long I try, I hear nothing. “What is it?”
“It’s voices,” she says. “Female, male, childlike, and also very old. They’re all whispering in the background of my brain. They’re faint, but they’re there, and they seem more or less constant.”
“What do you think it is?”
Liz shrugs, but she can’t sleep until I find some human pills to help her. I wind up having to find George to ask for them. “Will she be alright?” I ask.
He shrugs. “You tell me. She has wings and she glows now, a soft gold all the time. A brilliant, shining gold sometimes.”
It is different, ever since Jörð’s magic all sort of glommed on to her.
I can’t help paying more attention to the glowing, which I had mostly ignored, assuming it would dissipate with time. But the next day, if anything, it feels like she’s glowing more, not less. And the voices apparently get louder. Much louder, and more persistent.
We have a lot of things to work out, since Liz has decided she wants to stay in Australia and the kids do too. We’ve been meeting with blessed all day, as well as the officials in the Australian government to work out the details of a permanent residence. Also, Liz uses the magic she has and upgrades all the water blessed who came with my father.
The next day, she does the same for the earth blessed. Later that night, Liz looks truly exhausted. “They’re people calling for Jörð,” she whispers. “I think they’re haunting me, because I killed her.”
“I know it’s getting worse. You may need to learn to block the voices,” I say. “Remember how I tried to teach you to shield our bond? You could probably use the same idea to protect yourself.”
She groans. “But I sucked at that.”
“How do you think you get better?”
Her raised eyebrow is my warning. “I just want it to go away.”
“It feels like maybe it’s not going to. You did take all her magic.”
“I didn’t take anything. It just. . .stuck to me.” She frowns.
“Even after transforming the earth and water blessed, you’re glowing.”
