A woman’s face formed in my vision. Her eyes were closed, yet I recognized her strange, orange, scale-like skin and the thick hair that fell in waves over her shoulders. Panic made my heart beat with a wild cadence. Theht.
The one being I feared more than any other.
The goddess opened her eyes. She had not one pupil, but three. The oblong spheres connected in the middle, then fanned away from each other like an asterisk. She stared straight into my soul, past all my inhibitions, past my fears and weaknesses. She found the secret desires of my heart. A slight smile creased her mouth.
“Deathbringer,” she whispered, “I see you.”
I wanted to cry out. I would do anything just to hide from her gaze. The pain in my chest increased until I felt sure I would die.
Time passed. I didn’t know how long.
A sound came from somewhere. Ticking. Father’s old clock. I realized that I lay on the office floor. My head pounded, and the bitter taste of bile was in my mouth.
The smell of something burning caught my attention. I focused and found my elven figurine lying on the rug. Glowing a faint, dull orange, it singed a hole in the carpet fibers surrounding it. I tried to sit up but found my body uncooperative.
What had happened? Where was Mom?
I searched the room and found her lying motionless not far from me. Her face was pale white, almost gray, as if all her blood had been drained, and her normally rosy lips matched her skin. I looked for the rise and fall of her chest, or some indication that she was alive, but saw no movements.
My breathing came out in ragged gasps as I forced my body to crawl toward her. Each movement sent fresh waves of pain through my head, but I pushed past it. Fear clenched my heart as I neared my mom.
I never should’ve done the spellcasting. It was such a stupid idea to try it on her without Faythander magic. I should’ve known better. I should’ve known better!
Panic made time slow to a crawl. The pain was almost too much, but I managed to make it to her side. I reached for her with shaking hands, praying I hadn’t killed my own mother.
Please, God, let her be alive.
Chapter 14
Tears burned my eyes as I reached my mother’s side. I knelt over her and listened for breathing. Except for the ticking clock, the room remained silent. I reached for her neck to feel for a pulse. Her cold skin alarmed me. There was no pulse.
I moved from her neck to her wrists. She had to have a pulse. I squeezed her wrist tighter than I’d intended as I searched for her pulse. More than anything, I wanted to see her eyes open.
No, no, no. This can’t be happening. I can’t watch my own mother die.
“Mom,” I pleaded, “please, wake up!”
All my training from med school vanished as I sat over my mother. What was I supposed to do? My hands shook as I felt for her pulse once again.
Please, please, please…
I’d killed her. I’d killed my own mother. I’d told her to trust me, and I’d killed her. My heart turned to a dead weight. What had I done?
Control your breathing. Inhale. Exhale.
Compressions. Yes, that came next. Kneeling over her with interlocked fingers, I placed my hands in line with her breastbone, locked my elbows, and started pumping.
One, two, three…
I repeated the compressions several times, stopped to listen for breathing, then started again. If this didn’t work, what more could I do?
Suddenly, Mom inhaled. Her eyes popped open to reveal dilated pupils. Gasping, she grabbed my shirt collar.
At first, relief washed over me. She’s alive. I didn’t kill her. Then, I took a closer look. My mother didn’t look like herself. Her eyes reminded me of a wolf’s—hungry and wild—and I had to pry her fingers away from my shirt.
“Mom, it’s me.”
Her eyes darted past me, as if seeing the room for the first time.
“You’re at home, remember?”
She tightened her fists. With her eyes wide and her teeth clenched, she looked ready to rip my throat out.
“Mom, calm down. It’s okay.”
She crawled backwards, away from me, until her back hit the wall.
“I’m here to help you. Just listen to my voice.”
What had happened to her? I’d never seen a patient react like this. Had she relived her memories? Or had something else happened?
“Mom, it’s me—Olive, your daughter. You can hear me, right?”
Finally, she seemed to focus on me. “Olive,” she whispered, and then she collapsed.
I sat in Methodist Hospital’s waiting room. Sterile smells of antiseptic clung to the vinyl chairs. I’d been waiting for almost two hours to hear any word. After Mom had collapsed, I’d had enough sense to call an ambulance. Since then, I’d been playing the waiting game. Mom hadn’t woken up, though she was breathing, which was better than the alternative.
Trying to keep my mind occupied, I’d pulled out my Faythander texts, but they had done no good. My mind wanted to replay the last couple of hours over and over again. Blaming myself came naturally. What had I been thinking? I’d almost killed her.
I looked up from my book as my mom’s doctor approached. His coarse, graying hair stuck up in patches, and his thick-rimmed glasses sat atop a large nose that didn’t seem to fit his face. He smiled and extended his hand.
“Dr. Kennedy?” he asked. He spoke with an accent. Russian, perhaps?
“Yes, that’s me.”
“My name is Dr. Markov. Your mother is Kasandra Kennedy, correct?”
“That’s correct.”
He took a seat in the chair across from me. “Can you tell me what happened to her?”
I cleared my throat. I’d already come up with the story in my head, but I
