Cade must have warned them all off. Not surprising in the least.
“I hate that we couldn’t find you,” Liz continues with a grimace, “but I hate even more that Malrik made you stronger. Not because you don’t deserve it, but because there’s a reason and we don’t know why.”
She’s not alone in those thoughts.
“I almost refused to leave until I figured it out,” I admit. “But I knew he was getting frustrated with me, and I didn’t want to risk him turning on me.”
Her shudder is almost audible, a tiny crack in her façade. “It makes no sense. Power like yours is probably one of the only things that can destroy him. Why teach you control? Why give you the tools? Why shape you into something dangerous to him?”
“I’ve thought about that,” I reply with a nod. “A lot. And I think maybe I’m the yin to his yang. Not opposite, but complementary and possibly necessary. Something about our combined power balances or fuels whatever he’s planning. He mentioned needing to find something or someone as well, but only once when he was pissed off.”
Liz begins to pace in tight, sharp lines, boots tapping an impatient rhythm on the floor. “We’re going to figure this out,” she mutters. “Before he gets close to you again. Before he uses any more of those plans on you.”
“I agree,” I say, then gently redirect her before she spirals into full murder-mission mode. “But you still didn’t answer me. How is Iris? She hasn’t seemed herself since we got back. But you know her better, so maybe I’m worrying for no reason?”
Gods, I hope so.
Liz stops pacing, and her mouth twists. The silence that follows stretches just a beat too long before she finally exhales, the sound thin and tired as she leans against the dresser.
“I don’t think you’re worrying for nothing,” she admits. “But I also don’t think it’s anything catastrophic.”
“That’s a very broad middle ground,” I mutter.
She gives me a pointed look. “You’ve met Iris.”
“Fair point.”
She pushes off the dresser and starts pacing again, slower this time, more controlled. “She’s off. Not in a way I think is dangerous. Just…disoriented and unfocused. Forgetful in a way I haven’t seen from her before. She kept repeating herself earlier, then completely lost her train of thought mid-sentence.”
My stomach dips. “Memory issues?”
As I saw with my mother, Hollowborn aren’t immune to human ailments, and my mind immediately goes to thoughts of dementia. Not at all what we need right now.
“Maybe,” Liz says gently when I ask. “Or stress. Or exhaustion. She hasn’t stopped moving since you were taken, according to Stephanie, who kept an eye on things here while we were gone. Iris barely slept or ate. And frequently checked your room to see if you’d come back.” Liz swallows hard. “She blamed herself. Even now, she keeps trying to stay three steps ahead of something none of us can see. But her mood swings? Those are the worst parts of the changes that I’ve seen in the last day.”
That gives me another idea as I lower onto the edge of the bed. “Do Hollowborn get menopause?I mean, she should be well past that, but maybe it’s different for Hollowborn.”
Liz blinks. “…I have no idea.”
“Because honestly? That might explain a lot. And the glitter fanny-pack aggression.”
A strangled chuckle escapes her, though she tries to hide it. “I don’t think glitter violence is hormonally driven, Rowan.”
“Maybe. You’d be surprised. Hormonally imbalanced women can be…interesting, according to Mom,” I mumble, a conversation I remember not enjoying when she was telling me how dying early wasn’t entirely bad. She wouldn’t have to go through menopause. Like that would make me feel any better.
She sits beside me, nudging my shoulder with hers. “Look. Iris is eccentric in the best and worst ways. She hides worry behind theatrics. She hides fear behind flowery muumuus and threats of violence with novelty kitchen utensils.”
A reluctant smile tugs at my mouth. “She told me once about how she scared off a vampire with a spatula.”
“Exactly. So, let’s give her some time to settle back into a new normal. She may just be shaken. You disappearing hit her hard. The aftermath is catching up with her.”
I sigh, rubbing my hands over my face. “I just want her to be okay.”
“So do I.” Liz’s voice softens. “I’m sure before we know it, we’ll be regretting this conversation. The Iris we know will be back, loud and more obnoxious than ever, offering us baked goods.”
“Preferably lemon bars,” I say, letting myself lean into that bit of hope.
She hums. “And chocolate chip cookies.”
