He knocks at the front door, and I’m afraid to move out of sight of my mom, in case she wakes up. But if I don’t move, Michael can’t get in, and I’ll be stuck here, alone, until she regains consciousness.
At the count of three, I dash to the front door, unbolt the lock, and dash back. Mom’s body hasn’t moved. Behind me, the front door opens. Closes. Bolts.
“What happened?” Michael looks over my shoulder.
“I spiced him,” I say of Caleb.
Michael rubs his chin. “Appears we have much more than a mind-control or programming spell here.”
“It would appear.” I bite my lip and consider my mom. Never has she acted this insane. Has she been fighting his control all this time and whatever we did broke down her barriers? Or worse, encaged her? “What do we do?”
“This is beyond me.” He leans against the counter. “I might guess this is a possession, except, as far as I know, Caleb isn’t dead. He’s serving his time.”
“We should make sure,” I say. “I’ll ask Phillip to look into Caleb’s current situation.”
“Good idea. If anyone can get answers, it will be him.” He straightens and rubs his hands together. “Okay. Help me with her.”
“Where are we taking her?” I ask.
“To my car.”
I jerk. Spin toward him. A clear what-the-broomstick look on my face.
“Would you rather we tie her to the bed, and you become her daily caregiver? Spritzing her with holy water, cleaning up her messes, and enduring her nasty slurs?”
“No.” The mere thought of that scenario awakens a roll of bile in my gut.
“Okay then. To Grandma’s we go.” He grabs masking tape from the catchall drawer. Spins the roll on his index finger.
“Mom said Grandma’s house causes her pain,” I drop my gaze to Mom. She may have a serious… like deeply serious… issue right now, but I don’t want to cause her any more pain than necessary.
“Good,” Michael retorts. “Probably because the house’s protections attack whatever hold Caleb has on her. Maybe, just being there will help banish his influences.”
My back straightens. That’s something I hadn’t thought of. He could be right. I hope he’s right.
He kneels beside Mom and starts binding her wrists with the tape.
“What are you doing?” I stomp forward.
“I for one, don’t want to die in a fiery crash because she woke up in the back of the car during the drive there,” he says.
“Oh.” I relax. Another good point.
“Pack a bag,” he says. “With Mom in this condition, I don’t think you should be staying here alone. Prepare to spend the night, or the next couple of nights at Grandma’s.”
“And we’re just going to show up on her doorstep, unannounced? Like, surprise! We brought our demon-possessed Mom over for a visit.” My hands fly out and up in a chaotic theatrical performance.
“Of course not.” He shakes his head. “I’ll call and give her a heads up before we leave. Now hurry up. I want to get there before whatever it is you did to her wears off.”
“Right.” I rush to my room, grab a large gym bag and stuff several days of clothing into it, making sure to include one special all-black outfit for tomorrow’s service. Sure hope I’m able to get away long enough to attend.
I flip the light off and pause. Turn the light back on. Grab the new apron Luna made me from the hook on the back of the door. I slip it over my head and tie it into place.
When I return to the kitchen, Michael is hanging up the phone. Mom lies motionless at his feet, her wrists and ankles bound… for everyone’s protection. “Grandma is expecting us. She’s preparing a place for both of you. Separate rooms, of course.”
I’d hope so. I don’t want to sleep anywhere near someone who might start spouting horrors from Caleb at any moment.
“You ready?” he asks.
“One moment and I will be.” Michael’s brow pinches, but I ignore his unasked question. I wave my hands in toward me, calling my magick home. “Come. Come back to me,” I whisper.
The scattered mix of spices covering the kitchen floor rises and separates into swirling herbal highways. Each individual type of spice finds its own pocket on my new Luna-made apron.
“Impressive,” Michael says, and I thank him. “You ready now?”
“Think so,” I reply.
“I’ll pick her up and you get the door.” He lifts Mom up and over his shoulder. She slumps like wet fabric. With my bag in hand, I rush forward and open the front door, let him pass, lock the door.
“Hurry,” Michael calls.
I spin to find him waiting on me to open the car door. Dashing past him, I pull the door open and step aside. He lowers Mom into the back, laying her out across the seat. I toss my bag on the floor of the front passenger seat.
“Can I bring my bike?” I ask.
“Hurry up.” He swings his arm in a wide come-here arc. I quickly retrieve my bike from the back, and he stows it in the trunk. Since the trunk lid won’t close with the bike in the way, he ties the lid in place so that it won’t bounce the entire drive.
With the house locked and dark, we pull away from the curb and head for the garden district and the family’s magickally protected house. Thunder and lightning keep us company during the drive.
Grandma and Miri are waiting on the porch when we arrive. Miri’s shoulders and neck are tense, and she holds her hands firmly to her belly, but Grandma is as calm as a nonexistent breeze. Bastian sits patiently at Miri’s feet.
The car rolls to a stop, and Michael kills the engine. Miri covers the distance before I am able to extract myself from the seat. She doesn’t bother with an umbrella, allowing herself to get soaked. She hugs me. Doesn’t let me go.
“All that you have been through,” she whispers at my ear. “You shouldn’t have to go
