My mom took a deep breath, blew her nose, wiped her eyes, and gave me a sad smile, that imploring look still in her eyes. I looked away. “You don’t know what it’s like,” she said, “being Blanche’s daughter. She’s a very powerful woman. Demanding. I gave her my life. I tried to keep my children free, but she came for you too, even though she promised she never would. I thought about killing you all as toddlers, I really di—” Her voice quivered as she held back tears. “Can you imagine that choice? For a mother? You were all so happy. I didn’t want you to experience the pain I knew what she had planned for you. Can you imagine? But I didn’t give in. I fought for you with the little power available to me. And I thought I’d won too. I thought we could all live here, in Arampom, together, as a family. That was the agreement. We could be here together while the whole world turned into Blanche, the whole universe. We could be here together. Who cared if we had to pay tribute to her? We would be ourselves. We could be happy. You have to believe me, Charlie. My plan was working. I had saved us all. Then you walked into that bakery, such a brave boy. A mother never felt such pride and disappointment at the same time. You ruined . . . . But it’s not your fault. It’s Blanche’s. She’s a disease.”
“That wouldn’t have saved Em,” I said in a weak, wispy voice, then coughed and spoke up, “Blanche took Em for herself. Did you have a plan to save Em too?”
“Of course I did. I’m your mother. Who do you think I am? Em was meant to have a vessel. We had one all lined up for her, a cute little mummer girl, but then Naomi betrayed us. She tried to take you for herself and ruined everything. I tried to find another vessel but there wasn’t enough time.”
Naomi had told me the truth after all. She had tried to save me in her own twisted way. “Why are you giving me these totems?”
“I’m the mayor of Arampom now, sweetheart, much to the chagrin of the Prime Nabob and her spoiled son. But I earned this much, at least, for my sacrifice. With what life I have left, I only want to make you happy. I won’t allow Brad to torture your shanika. No one should suffer that indignity, let alone my son.”
“What’s the trick?” I still avoided her eyes.
“Oh my son, that’s a dagger I deserve. There’s no trick. In time, I hope you’ll see that everything I’ve done, I’ve done for my children. Free your bond. Free her from her suffering. Brad can’t stop you. I made sure of that.” She turned and walked out, leaving the totems and bloom on the counter. Beardo and Baldy followed her.
I stared at the objects on the counter. I wanted to believe my mom, but I didn’t know if I could. The safest course would be to assume the worst, that she meant me harm. The bloom could be a cackle poison of some kind. The totems could be tainted in some way, have traps planted inside their whorls.
But I had to take the risk.
Every moment I was stuck here, more innocent people were being infected with Blanche. And I wasn’t escaping this town without Kaliah, nor was I abandoning her again.
I decided to use the bloom Hugo had given me. I took it from my pocket, unscrewed the lid, placed a finger over the opening, and turned the bottle upside down.
The voices ushered in the pain, pain at a cellular level, swimming through me, disassembling and reassembling like a bait-ball of sardines. Zelda’s voice was prominent, curious why I was on bloom. I ignored her, focused on the agate, picked it up, felt it against my skin, let it inspire my Pictionary poetry: Shipwreck Salami Sweat, Shark Tooth Treasure Chest, Corduroy Crab Hair.
I found myself in a Victorian beach scene. Wooden chaises were grouped under umbrellas. Changing tents were spread apart along a line parallel the surf. Some Brad corruptions were dressed for the drawing room—slacks, vests, watch chains—while others were dressed in old-timey bathing suits, striped, with short sleeves and short pants. Others, still, wore dresses.
I found a jagged rock, cut open my palm, and disappeared the Brad nearest me. The others all turned to me at once, then fled. I chased them around with my bloody hand—a perverse game of tag.
Straying from the whorls pain, I was filled with the narrative of Charlotte, the ancestor from the fighting whorl I’d entered, where I’d first been infected by the rekulak, Craig. I was alarmed. Had my mom given me the wrong totems? But after disappearing a few more Brad corruptions, the narrative changed. Charlotte became Kaliah, and the details became more intimate, more real, to the point that I felt embarrassed and ashamed, like I was reading Kaliah’s diary without permission.
I tuned out the narrative as best I could by focusing on my hatred for Brad. He’d contorted and twisted Kaliah’s mind to fit his fantasy, changed her name even. Disgusting.
After disappearing six Brads—there were two dozen, at least, when I’d started—the graft failed, and I left a corruption behind to return to the real world. My rekulak didn’t appear to send me off as usual. I wondered why. Only one of Craig’s infinite heads was trapped in Blanche’s whorl.
I reentered the agate whorl five times before I cleared it of all the Brad corruptions. Each time I entered, the scene became more contemporary, until, when I slapped a bloody hand on the last corruption, the whorl consisted of a group of teenagers listening to a stereo, laughing and drinking rum on a secluded beach.
I grafted to the rest of the totems—paintbrush, antique beer bottle, handsaw—and cleared their whorls of every last trace of Brad, changing
