the full moon. It was secluded to the point of being damned near inaccessible, and it was the only place I could think to put her where no one could possibly find her. Kevin hadn’t been thrilled with the idea, but he’d agreed to it—mostly because he liked Michelle, wanted to keep her safe, and also couldn’t think of anything better. Of course we had to explain about Kevin’s condition to Michelle, Bubba, and Talia, and swear them to secrecy. I wasn’t happy about that development. The fewer people who knew, the safer Kevin would be. But I really didn’t see that we had a lot of choice. I trust Bubba implicitly. Michelle and Talia? I
Dawna and Mona arrived within five minutes of each other. Dawna stayed with me. Everyone else left with Mona in the minivan. I waited for the tow truck to haul away Kevin’s damaged SUV and then gave a statement to the local cops.
It was a long drive back to Santa Maria. Dawna and I hashed out our plans for the next day during the first part of the drive. She promised that she’d make sure everybody got where they needed to go. I was glad to let her handle it. It would probably take most of the rest of the night to arrange, and while she’d be able to take it easy for most of the day, I wouldn’t. Besides, I wasn’t positive I’d be able to pull an all-nighter right now. I was beat.
We finished the ride in silence. I hadn’t killed anybody. Other than that, I had thought the day had gone pretty much as badly as it possibly could.
Silly me, I hadn’t factored in my mother.
It was after one and I was home warming a bowl of pho in the microwave when I got the call. I answered and heard Helen Baker on the other end, and immediately began to worry. No one called at this hour with good news. Before I could ask, Baker told me my gran was fine. The problem, as usual, was my mother.
“I’m sorry, Princess … Celia. I hate to be the one to tell you bad news.”
“It’s okay, Helen. Just tell me. I can deal with whatever it is.”
“Your mother didn’t react well to the news that your sister had passed over.”
I remembered the scene she’d made during the conference call. “I know.”
“She threatened suicide, so the prison kept her under close observation. After a few days, she seemed to be doing better. But when they relaxed their guard—”
“Is she dead?” My voice was flat, not hinting at the maelstrom of emotions I was holding at bay.
“No. It wasn’t a very serious attempt. Her doctor said it was a ‘cry for help.’”
Emotions boiled within me: hurt, anger, fear, anger, despair, anger. I love my mother. I do. But I don’t want to. If I could just hate her, life would be so much easier. If I hated her, it wouldn’t rip my soul to shreds when she did things like this or went to jail, or when she said the kinds of brutal things she’d said during the therapy session. If I didn’t care, she couldn’t hurt me.
But I did, and she did.
“Was there a note?” Why did I even ask? If it was a cry for help she’d have to write a note. I could even guess what it said: something about being abandoned by everyone. No doubt she blamed me. She always did. Fortunately for me, I no longer blamed myself.
“Yes.”
“What did it say?”
She didn’t answer me directly. “Your mother isn’t in her right mind, hasn’t been for a long time.” There was no pity in her voice. If anything, I thought I heard an underlying note of anger.
“I should probably hear it,” I said.
“I don’t think so. And certainly not from me.” Baker was firm. “I’ll send a copy to your therapist; your grandmother can give me the contact info. If your doctor thinks you should see it, she can give it to you.”
It was obvious she wasn’t going to bend on this, and in a way, I loved her for it. Baker and I had looked out for each other more than once. And really, I knew what my mother was likely to say, and I didn’t need the distraction with a major op looming. The mess would still be there when the crisis was over. I’d deal with it then, with Gwen’s help. Assuming, of course, I survived.
I’d been silent for too long.
“You’re not going to argue?” Baker said, obviously surprised. She knows me well enough to know how pigheaded I can be.
“Not when you’re obviously right,” I answered. “Are you sure Gran’s okay?”
“She’s worried about your mother, but she’s also worried about you. She wants to be sure that you don’t blame yourself.”
That was a reasonable fear, based on our history. But this time, it was unfounded. For the first time, I didn’t feel that what had happened was my fault. I blamed Mom. Even forced into sobriety, she couldn’t take responsibility for her actions and their consequences. She would forever believe it was someone else’s fault that she’d been “forced” to lie, or caught in a lie, or caught stealing, or any of the other stupid, hurtful things she had done. Maybe it was cold and reprehensible of me, but I didn’t believe for a minute she was really suicidal. I believed she was desperate for attention, desperate to regain control—but not suicidal.
I was angry and upset, but not at myself. For once, not at myself. Ivy had taught me well.
“I don’t.” I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
“Good,” Baker said firmly. “Because this is
“Thanks, Baker.”
“No problem, Princess. I do hope you’re not planning on being alone tonight.”
“I think Bruno’s coming over later.” Actually, I wasn’t too sure about that, but saying it would get her off the line. I was suddenly very tired of this conversation.
“Just so long as you’re not alone.”
“Helen, I’m fine.” My voice was stronger. “I’ve been dealing with my mother my whole life. This is lousy news, and the timing’s just about as bad as it could possibly be, but there you go.”
That got her attention. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No. But thank you.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. I’ve got really good people working on it with me. We’ve got things back under control. I just need to get some rest.”
“Princess, I’m very sorry about your mother.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
We hung up, and despite my emotional turmoil I was able to curl up with Minnie on the bed and fall asleep.
I woke up at three in the morning to the sound of a key in the front door. I was surreptitiously wiping a bit of drool from my cheek when I heard Bruno call out, “Celie, it’s me.”
I shook myself, trying to clear my head. “I’m in here.” I shambled out of the bedroom feeling muzzy headed and went into the living room.
“Hi.” Bruno tossed his keys onto the coffee table, then looked at me as I reached the bottom of the stairs. “What’s wrong?”
Bruno and I don’t have a perfect relationship, but we know each other very well. And we do love each other. I was more angry than hurt at what my mother had done, but I still needed to feel loved.
He put his arms around me and held me close. It felt so good. I buried my head against his chest, taking in the scent that was so uniquely him. I’d been doing this a lot lately, but it never ceased to make me feel better.
And now I was crying. Damn it. I didn’t want to cry for my mother. Not now. Not ever again. And maybe if it had only been her I wouldn’t have started weeping. But it wasn’t. Tonight this man, whom I loved, was going to risk his life, and the lives of his mother and brother as well as one of his and my closest friends. They were going to try to stop Connor Finn and to protect the rest of humanity from the terror the prisoners in the Needle would release if they managed to escape—which they would if all the wards went down.
I didn’t want to lose him, didn’t want to lose any of them. If I was wrong—if even one thing went wrong—
