As they all said, Mom gave up a long time ago.
Ivy had given up on her long before that.
But I never gave up on her.
“There’s a Sacred Sea meeting today,” I said, holding a spoon-full of orange marmalade close to her cracked lips so she could smell it. Not eat it because she hadn’t eaten anything in years. Something was feeding her long enough to keep her healthy. Magic, perhaps. “No one knows what the meeting’s about, but Dad seems nervous, which is making all of us nervous.” I laughed lightly. “You know how Dad gets.”
I set the marmalade down and retrieved vanilla lip balm from my dress pocket to coat her lips. “It could be about the Shadows. It could be the announcement of Ivy and Cyrus’s marriage,” I said with an injection of hope in my voice. “Could you imagine a Sullivan-Cantini wedding? Who knows, maybe weeks from now, I’ll be designing Ivy’s wedding dress.” I shrugged. “Either way, I’ll keep you updated.”
Though I never gave up on Mom, it still pained me to come every day and see her like this. A body without a warming smile, a contagious laugh, and a musical voice that once carried delicate notes in her wake.
Dr. Morley had said Mom could hear us, that her ears weren’t broken. However, it was her choice whether she wanted to listen, and it was her choice whether to come back. But when Eleanor came to visit, she confirmed Mom was trapped in a nightmare in the middle of the ocean, screaming out for me.
Mom didn’t do this to herself. This wasn’t her fault.
She was supposed to be the strong one. Now, I had to be.
I kissed the top of Mom’s head when Dad walked into the bedroom.
His arm wrapped around my shoulder, and he looked at the love of his life with water in his eyes.
“Dad?” I hated to see him like this.
“I just miss her.” He pushed the heel of his palm into his eye to smother a tear. “She’s right here, and I just miss her, is all.”
“I know,” I said, leaning my head against his shoulder. “Mom will come back one day. She has to.”
CHAPTER 3
STONE
age fifteen
Adirondack Mountains, New York
Summer in the year 1855
Around me,chickens and sheep roamed freely, clucking andbaa-ingas the smell of sweat and manure blanketed the next small village we had stumbled upon.
It was another ordinary day, another tribe, and I stood on the sidelines, skinning fish with covered hands and watching boys learn to fight inside a barricaded area. No grain sacks were worn to cover their faces. The boys had found a sameness in one another and moved about the village with a sense of belonging. A pack.
Helmets made of leather adorned their heads, some thrice their size, and they fought with bare fists and wooden clubs, sharp stones driven into the ends. Dusty air refused to settle, stirring with every match and transition.
Strands of Mother’s blonde hair fell from its pin when she nudged my shoulder with hers. “Keep your eyes down.”
I chopped the head off another fish. The sun was high, and I felt every drop of sweat sliding down my hairline beneath the grain sack.
“Again!”a burly man named Bly shouted, shoving his son in the chest. Chayton fell to the ground, the back of his head bouncing off the earth.
Chayton’s pet dog growled, showing its teeth from the sidelines.
A wet bark with drool flying from the mouth.
All around, the boys laughed. It was a sound I had grown accustomed to.
And Chayton resembled my dear friend Paco in a way that made me think of him. I wondered if Paco had noticed my departure. If he ever rid himself of the fear of hunting. I imagined him at the age of fifteen, too. Taller and stronger. But then the mockery aimed at Chayton snatched me from my thoughts. To this land. To this tribe.
With my eyes fixed on the scene before me, I slammed the blade down on the wooden block. The fishtail popped up before falling onto the dirt-covered ground at my feet. I did not break my stare as I reached into a nearby bucket for another fish.
