“Afternoon,” Beth replied, her mouth full of cucumber mush.
Though the women of Quivira smiled and exchanged pleasantries, there was an underlying tension in the room. I didn’t know if this was because of the recent string of deaths or my presence, but the way they stole glances at me made me wish I’d put on one of those ridiculous dresses after all.
Beth seemed enamored with the whole thing, but I couldn’t wait to get out of there.
I noticed a frail woman, wearing a faded black dress, sitting in an oversized chair in the corner of the room, staring straight ahead, rocking.
“Who’s that?” I asked Beth.
She let out a sympathetic sigh. “That’s Teresa. Dane’s mother. She’s a Mixed.”
“Does she live here?” I asked, tucking in the back of my shirt.
“No, but they try to include her when they can. Spencer said it’s the decent thing to do.”
“Wasn’t very decent of him to knock her up and not marry her,” I murmured.
“Ash!” Beth looked at me with wide eyes, then laughed so hard she almost choked on her sandwich.
Suddenly, Teresa stopped rocking and leaned forward a bit, as though in anticipation. Everyone ignored her, but I was drawn to her. I’d expected Dane’s mother to be formidable, instead, she was heartbreaking.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s a conduit,” Beth replied nonchalantly.
It felt like someone had bashed me in the chest with a shinny stick. I couldn’t believe Dane didn’t tell me his own mother was a conduit. Come to think of it, he’d never mentioned his mother at all.
I crossed the room and leaned down to greet her. Her eyes slowly focused in on my face.
“I know you,” she whispered.
I could see the resemblance to Dane, the fine features, the lovely olive skin, but her eyes were vacant. She was like a long-forgotten doll.
She reached out slowly, like she was submerged in heavy water, but her fingers stopped short of making contact with my collarbone. “I see your markings. But those can’t save you,” she whispered, her mouth barely moving.
“What do you mean? Why aren’t they working anymore? Please, tell me.” I held her hands, noticing dozens of cuts and bruises running up her birdlike wrists and disappearing into her black chiffon sleeves. “Who did this to you?” I asked.
“Love makes you blind to the truth.” She gripped me, her face suddenly filled with terror, eyes moist with tears. “Immortality is a curse.”
My heart thrummed in my chest. “Did Spencer do this?”
“How nice, it’s Ash Larkin,” Lauren said, walking around me and prying Teresa’s fingers back from my wrists. “Spreading joy wherever she goes.” She tried to coax Teresa to relax in her chair. “It’s all right now,” Lauren said softly. “Ash was just leaving.” Teresa’s eyes went vacant again. Lauren stood up tall, straightening her raw silk dress.
“Someone’s been hurting her,” I said as I faced Lauren. I didn’t care if she was Dane’s half sister, she was still a total bitch.
“She hurts herself,” Lauren spat. “That’s what all conduits do. Destroy themselves and everyone close to them.”
“Now, now . . . there’s no need for that kind of talk.” Brennon’s mom stepped forward in my defense with that tight smile. “Ash is our honored guest.”
I looked at the women stationed around the parlor. Lou’s eyes were full of pity, while the woman in the prim blouse pretended to be interested in a stain on the edge of the tablecloth.
That’s when it dawned on me. It didn’t matter that I was a Larkin or the daughter of the vessel; I was a conduit, and everyone expected me to turn into another Teresa. I ran my hands over my arms, over the protection marks. My mom helped me for as long as she could, but time was running out. The best I could hope for on the outside was an institution, and if I stayed here Beth would cart me around to these archaic social events while I was dead inside. Either way, I was screwed. Soon, I would go insane, like Teresa, and none of this would even matter.
“Excuse me,” I said, backing away from the parlor, away from prying eyes.
As soon as I stepped into a stairwell, Dane’s scent washed over me.
Desperate for an escape, I followed the scent down a flight of stairs and to the second door on the right, slipping inside and closing the door behind me.
Dane had a mahogany sleigh bed with rumpled linens, an old armoire with mirrored front panels, a claw-foot nightstand and a bookshelf stuffed to the brim with classics and old textbooks. On his desk were twenty or so fist-sized rocks, lined up exactly a half inch apart. So, he liked rocks and he was a little OCD, nothing wrong with that. I was a complete slob, so we’d make a perfect match.