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What was he trying to say?

“Your mother's signature is on all these documents.”

I had read it with my own eyes. And never before had I felt so confused. I must have stood there like an idiot in front of the two of them.

And I still feel the anger flooding through me.

My own mother signed something like this.

Destruction. Elimination.

Whichever way you look at it, she, along with twenty other Council members, agreed that members of the Quatura society who practice Umbra can be legitimately murdered. And these contracts are still valid to this day.

Of course, Bastien had to find these documents. Of course, Alice saw them. And her look. God, as if I were pathetic, pitiful.

I don't know what to do. Confront my mother with this? Hardly. She's living in her own bubble right now. Not much longer, and she'll be officially the Head of the Councils.

I don't know much about her. I thought I knew her, but now I feel like a stranger raised me.

The thing with Rosalynd... and now this.

What am I in her little game? And how long can I keep playing along before it completely consumes me?

The Mansion

Garry Schyman

Sunday, November 30, 1997

Entry 16

“What is this, Alaister?”

She looked at me, that bitter glint in her ice-blue eyes.

And me? I couldn’t help but stare at the vial of shimmering black liquid in her hand.

“It helps me focus on training,” I managed to say. My voice wasn't trembling like it used to, because I felt neither fear nor all the other unbearable emotions.

“Are you completely out of your mind, now?!” she yelled, and I flinched. “That’s…”

I took a step toward her, and she fell silent, looking at me in confusion.

“We don’t have to talk about what it is.”

That look on her face. I'll never forget it.

“It helps me, so it helps you.”

It had to happen, and I let it wash over me. One blow, then another. And my cheeks glowed. A warm burning sensation.

“How did you get your hands on that stuff?!”

She didn't even look at her hand like she had back then. All she looked at, full of disgust and confusion, was me. Her own son.

“Books, Mother,” I replied in a calm tone, despite all the anger I felt toward myself.

She came closer, her face full of fear. “Where?”