“Alison,” she said, putting a hand on my arm. “There is no Azha.” She was speaking to me slowly, calmly. The same way I’d told Olivia there is no Rat King.
I pulled my arm away. “So, what? You think I’m crazy?” My tone came out snappish, defensive.
She sighed. “No, Ali. I don’t think you’re crazy at all. I think this is your mind’s way of making sense of things. Of giving a reason for the things your mother did to you. It’s easier to believe she has a demon inside who made her do the horrible things she did; easier than accepting that she abused you.”
I snapped the notebook closed, felt my defenses rising. Penny was my best friend. The one who always took my side, had my back. If she didn’t believe me, no one would. “So you don’t believe in demons? In evil?”
She rubbed her hands together like she was cold. “Oh, I definitely believe in evil. People do all kinds of fucked-up, evil things. But because of trauma and mental illness, lack of coping skills or support—or maybejust because they are mean assholes. Not because they have the devil inside them. Over the history of humanity people have mistaken mental illness for possession. But we know better now.” She looked at me pointedly.
I nodded to show her that I knew better too, of course.
She was right. Hadn’t some part of me always longed for an excuse and an explanation for the things my mother had done? Something beyondshe was just sick. Something to truly prove that I hadn’t deserved any of it.
“There’s darkness in the world,” Penny said, “and I have no doubt that your mother’s got darkness in her. But darkness doesn’t always equal the devil or any of the lesser demons.”
I nodded again. Of course it didn’t. My hand was on my notebook, pressing the cover down, keeping it closed, as if the ideas it contained might just come leaping out.
Penny reached into her shirt, pulled out a little purple pouch on a string around her neck.
“What’s that?” I asked.
She took it off, handed it to me. “My friend Carmen made it for me,” she said. I’d met Carmen a couple of times at Penny and Louise’s parties. She ran a little bookstore and crystal shop in Burlington and did tarot readings. “It’s a charm of protection. I’m supposed to wear it when I see my clients so I don’t absorb their negative energy and carry it home with me. But I think maybe you need it more now than I do.” She smiled. “Go ahead, put it on.”
I put the string around my neck. “What’s in it?”
“Oh, I’m not sure. Herbs, roots, a crystal, I think.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“You’re more than welcome.” She stood up to go. “Ali?”
“Yeah?”
She frowned, picked at a bit of fluff on her sweater. “I wouldn’t mention any of the demon stuff to Mark. He’s worried enough already.”
“No! Of course not.” I was sorry I’d mentioned it to her. I certainly wasn’t going to bring it up with Mark. “Forget I said anything, okay? Iknow it’s a crazy idea. You’re right. It’s just me trying to make sense of something awful and impossible. To give a reason, however irrational, for the things my mother did. Thank you for not judging.”
Penny nodded. “Do yourself a favor,” she said, looking at my notebook and laptop. “No more demon research. If you’re going to come out here, do some work on Moxie.”
“Moxie it is,” I said, tucking the purple charm under my sweater. I flashed Penny the most reassuring smile I could muster. “She’s got a holiday to save and I’ve got a deadline.”
TWENTY-THREE
MOTHER?”
My mother’s eyes were closed. But she was smiling. Playing possum.
The room was cold. Too cold. I looked to make sure the window was closed, and it was. The walls, painted a light cream color, looked dingy and dark, as if a shadow had fallen over them. Olivia’sWELCOME GRANDMA MAVISsign hung above my mother’s bed; the chicken pillow Olivia had made for her was beside her on the bed. The stone sat on the bedside table, and I thought, for one terrible instant, that it was the stone that had sucked all the light and color from the room.
Janice had just left. I heard her car pulling out of the driveway and then down our road. As I’d walked her out, she was cooing about what a sweetheart my mother was. “Smart as a whip,” Janice had said. “You know, she told me she could predict the winning Pick Four lottery numbers for tonight. She made me promise to stop at the store on the way home and buy myself a ticket. Says she’s got a way of knowing things.”
I smiled anisn’t that funnysort of smile but felt chilled to the core.
“She’s a spunky one,” Janice went on. “But such a dear.”
It was a little after four. Mark and Olivia would be home soon. I needed to go get the breakfast and lunch dishes washed, clean up the kitchen, and start dinner. I’d promised Olivia spaghetti and turkey meatballs.
“Are you awake, Mother?” I stepped closer. The overhead light was on, as was the light on her bedside table. It still seemed dark and cold in the room. “I have something to tell you.”
