complaining, mind you. My body was just as sore after hours in the wagon as it was after hours on horseback, and, to tell the truth, I was still seriously shaken up by the Bogle attack. I collapsed onto the bed, heedless of the fact that I stank of horse with a hint of dead Bogle. Kimber stood in the doorway for a moment, then said, “Be back in a few,” before slipping out.
“Where are you—” I started to ask, but she was already gone. I was too tired to get up and see what she was up to. Instead, I closed my eyes and tried hard not to think.
I had almost fallen asleep when I heard the sound of footsteps approaching. I cracked my eyes open and saw that Kimber had returned, carrying two ceramic mugs and an earthenware pitcher from which wisps of steam rose. I sniffed the air as I propped myself up on my elbows and caught a whiff of a familiar scent.
“Hot posset?” I asked, my mouth automatically watering. I’d never even heard of hot posset before I came to Avalon, and now it was nearing chocolate at the top of my list of best comfort foods ever.
Kimber looked very proud of herself as she filled both mugs to the brim. “I figured we could use it after everything that happened today.”
I forgot my exhaustion as I wrapped my hands around the mug Kimber handed me. “Where did you get hot posset?”
“From the kitchen,” she answered simply.
Ask a stupid question …
I sniffed at my mug before taking a sip, and the smell of whiskey practically made my eyes water. “Geez, Kimber, how much booze is in this?” She knew I wasn’t a big fan of alcohol, so she usually used only a touch of whiskey for flavor when making hot posset for me. Except when she took it upon herself to prescribe “extra- strength,” that is.
Kimber took a sip of her posset, then gave a satisfied sigh before answering. “Just enough.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t have the energy to protest. I blew lightly on the surface of my posset, then took an incautiously large sip. Not only did I burn my tongue, but that sip kept burning all the way down my throat and into my belly. No doubt about it, this was the extra-strength version. I drank it anyway.
The second sip burned less than the first, and the third less than that. The flavor was rich and heady—no skim milk here—and I started to relax almost in spite of myself. Until I thought about my mom, sitting at home enjoying similar beverages in much higher quantities. My heart squeezed in my chest, and the sudden sense of loss made me feel hollow inside. I’d had Sober Mom for a grand total of about four weeks, and thanks to Titania and her “invitation,” that was all gone now.
“What’s wrong?” Kimber asked, sitting on the bed across from me.
I forced a little laugh. “After everything that happened today, you have to ask?”
But Kimber was coming to know me uncomfortably well. “It’s not that,” she said, not a trace of doubt in her voice.
Kimber knew about my mom’s drinking problem—she was the only person I’d ever told—but that didn’t mean I liked to talk about it. I’d considered my mom my shameful secret for so long and was so used to covering up for her that it was always my first instinct to avoid the subject. I took another couple swallows of posset without answering, hoping Kimber would decide to change the subject. But she doesn’t give up that easy.
“I noticed some tension between you and your mom when we left yesterday,” she said.
I froze with my mug halfway to my mouth. Damn. She was much too observant—and much too understanding—for my own good. I might have thought she wouldn’t have caught the connection between the alcoholic beverage I was drinking and the alcoholic mother I’d publicly given the cold shoulder to yesterday, but no, not Kimber.
Figuring this conversation would end a lot quicker if I just gave in to the inevitable and talked, I told Kimber about my doomed-from-the-start attempt to get my mom to promise she’d stay sober. I stopped frequently for sips of posset, so my muscles felt all loose and comfortable, and my head was spinning just a bit. All signs that I’d had too much posset already. And all signs I ignored as I drained my mug.
Kimber gave me a look of sympathy, although she wasn’t giving me that pitying look some people give me when they see me with my drunken idiot of a mother. It was a look of compassion, and it was one I could accept without shame.
“Parents stink sometimes,” she said, finishing her own posset and setting the mug on the floor at her feet. “At least your mom is around, however screwed up she may be.”
I winced in sympathy. Kimber’s mom had left to live in Faerie when Kimber was twelve. I knew how much that had to hurt. “When did you see your mom last?” I asked.
She scrunched up her face. “It’s been about two years, I think. We went to see her in Faerie over a Christmas break. I guess that means it’s about two and a half years.”
“And she never comes to Avalon to visit?”
Kimber shook her head. “Not once since she left. She always seems glad to see us, and when we visit, it sometimes feels almost like the old days. Only it isn’t.” She reached for her mug, then grimaced when she saw it was empty. “It can never be like the old days again. I can never unlearn that she didn’t love me enough to stay in Avalon.”
I am not a touchy-feely person. But the bitterness and hurt in Kimber’s words inspired me to heave myself off my bed—and wow, that was harder to manage than it should have been—and sit beside her. I gave her the hug I thought she needed. She patted my back and pulled away, smiling sadly at me.
“You don’t need to comfort me,” she said. “We’re supposed to be talking about
“Thanks,” I said, my veins practically buzzing with the aftereffects of my posset. That she would try to make me feel better by opening her own wounds and sharing them … humbled me. And made me feel even guiltier about all the secrets I was keeping from her. She deserved more from me than I was giving her.
Maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was just that the guilt had reached critical mass and forced my hand. But at that moment, my mouth seemed to take on a life of its own, moving without any conscious thought.
“I lied to you,” I blurted. The part of me that had never truly trusted another person started screaming at me to shut up before it was too late.
Kimber blinked in surprise. I guess my confession did sort of come out of the blue. “Oh? About what?”
Kimber put her hand on my back. “About the ‘geis’ the Erlking put on you so you can’t talk about your agreement?” she prompted gently. I could hear the mental quotes around the word
Come to think of it, when I’d first told her that a geis prevented me from telling her what I’d done, she’d been openly skeptical. But I’d been too humiliated by the agreement to tell her the truth. I was such a pathetic coward.
A tear dribbled down my cheek, and I swiped it away angrily. I’d made the decision to lie, and it was too late to cry about it now. “You never really believed me, did you?” I asked in a tear-raspy voice.
“Not for a moment,” she confirmed. Strangely, she didn’t sound angry. Maybe just because this wasn’t coming as a surprise, which I probably should have known from the beginning. Kimber was pretty sharp.
“You’re not mad?” I asked, risking a glance at her face.
“I was at first,” she admitted. “But I figured you were keeping it secret for a reason and that you’d tell me when you were ready. And you don’t have to tell me now if you’re still not ready. I’m not going anywhere.” She made a face. “Well, not anywhere
I managed a hint of a smile. Then I took a deep, steadying breath and told her just what I’d had to promise the Erlking to get him to release Ethan.
Kimber didn’t interrupt my halting explanation. I sneaked glances at her face every now and then, but I couldn’t read her expression. She was certainly surprised, and horrified, but I couldn’t tell if she was pissed or
