Paloma looked up from her phone.
“I don’t know. Yet. But I got an update from my security people with video files, so we will have some answers. And Headmistress Nox wants to have a meeting about the files she unearthed. What with Rhiannon getting back tomorrow, I think it’s time we all get together in a room.”
Everyone nodded and filed out, and Deryn was left alone with Paloma after many hugs and some additional recriminations from Victoria about not being good at getting women.
“She does all this because she loves me,” Deryn said as she watched her aunt leave the room.
“I wish she loved you more gently. I wish all of them did.” Paloma’s words seemed to echo in the empty room.
“They do,” Deryn whispered, but the simple sentence, said in that tone that Paloma’s voice sometimes took, cut right down to the bone.
“How are you feeling?” Paloma reached out and touched the edge of the bandage on Deryn’s temple.
“I’m…okay, I think. I’m still reeling from all the revelations.”
Paloma nodded, her fingers still caressing the gauze.
“I imagine this conversation has been a lot. Plus the drugs making you quite loopy?—”
“To say the least!” Deryn felt very insulted by the indignities of the last few hours. At least it seemed that she once again had control of her mouth.
Paloma traced the shell of her ear, drawing a shiver out of her, and went on as if Deryn had not interjected. “Between your attack, the break-in at Prudence and Rhiannon’s, all the things that came out…”
Deryn shrugged. “I guess the most discombobulating is you knowing about my…magic and being okay with it all along.” She paused and gulped the anxiety down. Or at least attempted to, because her emotions felt like a huge lump in her throat. “I mean, were you? Okay with it?”
Paloma’s smile was as tender as her fingers.
“I am. And I was. All along.”
Deryn bit her lip, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears. She could feel them welling in her eyes, stinging and embarrassing. She blinked furiously, and the fingers moved from her temple to her cheek, carefully dabbing at the drops falling freely now.
“Can you tell me why you’re crying, Deryn?”
Deryn whimpered, before lowering her eyes. If she were to speak, she’d have to look anywhere but the dark amber depths that held her entire world within them.
“I guess it’s because I’ve never told a soul before? Nobody in my entire life, outside of my family, knows. Rhiannon hid her power for almost a lifetime. Seren sort of works around it, taking it all in her stride. Ceridwen studies it like her life depends on it, and I guess it does?”
“And you?” There was genuine curiosity in Paloma’s question, and it precipitated the tears’ fall down Deryn’s cheeks.
“I live with it. It’s my reality. It’s…what it is.”
“Will you show me?” Paloma’s request was so quiet, so careful, that Deryn was afraid she might actually bawl her heart out any moment now.
She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and blew out a breath.
“Ah… Is there something in particular…” She stumbled over words, unsure what she was even asking.
Paloma laid her fingers on Deryn’s chin, lifting it until they were eye to eye.
“Anything you wish, Deryn. Or nothing at all. I think it’s wonderful. You heard me say that I saw it at the site of the arson, but I am not entirely certain what it was that I witnessed. Just that you were holding hands, and there was a power that emanated from you all. And then Rhiannon’s wind and rain… Storm, really. It was frightening and magnificent.”
Paloma’s eyes were once again filled with dancing flames, bright and mysterious, as she kept speaking. “Honestly, I’m very curious, but also, I am somewhat…less surprised by brujeria. My grandmother, my abuelita, spoke about it often enough for little me to remember. She had all these stories of Cuban traditions involving brujeria. She studied it extensively. She was a museum curator and a historian, you see, very passionate about her heritage and the island her long-gone ancestors came from. She wrote papers on the subject, you know? And with me, she would often tell me about her findings, turning them into tales, comforting ones, of good conquering evil, of brujas helping people. I cherish those memories, and they make me miss her terribly. My mother, she wasn’t as free with her opinions on magic and witches. I think her deep Catholicism prevented her from seeing magic as anything more than fairytales.”
Deryn watched as Paloma spoke. The way the full lips formed words about her parents, about her people. She was so utterly beautiful.
“Your mother… She’s Allende, right? You never told me why you inverted your name. I think you did, though…right?” When Paloma stared at her dumbfoundedly, Deryn hurried on. “I read a bit about names, Cuban ones in particular, because I wanted to know what it meant, you know? And Pru gave me a book, but I couldn’t find Allende in it, but Moreno was there, and then she gave me one by the author Isabel Allende… You mentioned her to the Caw.”
“Sadly, we’re not related. And I mean sadly because she is amazing. But, Deryn, this…” Paloma’s fingers combed through Deryn’s shaggy hair, her voice suddenly hoarse. “It’s so…sweet. You looking up my name. Yes, Hispanic surnames are father’s first, then mother’s second. I was Moreno Allende until I was eighteen. My father was a very influential man in New York…” Paloma trailed off, and Deryn sighed.
