Mom sighs. “I know you’re frustrated that I don’t discuss my past.” She stares at the fabric in her hands for a time, then sets it onto her lap. “After we argued last night, I went to speak with Verus. She’s seen you in the Arena and wants to help. She has a gift for seeing both the past and future. We agreed that she’ll send you dreams of what happened to me.”
I lean back in my chair. “The way she described it in my dreams, the whole thing seemed a little more dramatic than that.”
“It’s called dreamscaping. A handful of angels and demons have the power to show you visions of the past or future while you sleep. Other times they can talk to you, communicate with you while you dream. The morning after a dreamscape from Verus, you can come and ask me questions.” She lets out a ragged breath. “That’s the best I can do.”
I work hard to keep my voice low and calm. I’m so close to the answers I need, why all the drama? “Please, Mom. Why not just tell me?”
“Perhaps after Verus shows you some things, you’ll discover the answer to that question on your own.” Her lower jaw quivers.
I liked it better when she fought me on this. A guilty weight settles onto my shoulders. Whatever happened to Mom during the war, it must have been pretty awful. I force another smile. “Look, the dream thing is fine. Thanks for reaching out to Verus.” I reach across the table, wrap her hand in mine. “When will she send me the dreamscapes?”
“I don’t know. Just promise you’ll find me right after they happen.”
“Sure, I will.”
The phone starts to ring. And ring. And ring. Purgatory only gets washed up, ancient technology. In this case, our phone is a heavy brick of a base adorned with a rotary dial and topped by a handset so large, you could use it as a weapon. I watch the contraption vibrate with each deafening ring and grimace. Cissy must have woken up.
Mom dries her eyes with her fingertips. “Are you going to answer that?”
My upper lip curls. “I’d rather not. I have a pretty good idea who it is.” The answering machine kicks on. This thing is a contraption as large as shoebox that records our missed calls. I’m not sure humans even use crap like this anymore. I never see answering machines on the Human Channel unless I’m catching reruns of Golden Girls or Murder, She Wrote.
Beep. The answering machine turns on with a loud click. “Hey Myla, it’s Cissy. I want to talk about the party! Wasn’t it just so magical? Did you see Zeke and me dancing? Call me. We so have to talk.” Beep.
The edge of Mom’s mouth curls with a grin. “Zeke took an interest at last, eh?”
“Oooooh yeah.” I set my chin on my palm. “I didn’t realize you knew Cissy had a thing for Zeke.”
“Honey, everybody knows Cissy has a thing for Zeke.”
The phone rings again.
Beep. “Myla, it’s Cissy. Sorry to call again so soon. I know this is my third message–”
Mom picks up her sewing, her smile growing a bit larger. “Actually, Myla, it’s her fifth. She left three last night while you were sleeping.”
I roll my eyes. Great.
Cissy’s voice keeps blaring through the answering machine. “I really-really-really need to talk to you about the party. I have so many questions for you. Love you, sweetie!” Beep.
I drum my fingers on the tabletop. “Cissy’s a little boy crazy and I can’t handle her right now. Mind if I unplug the machine for the rest of the weekend?”
Mom full-on grins. “Nope.”
***
The weekend decays into a blur of bad reruns from human television, good sugar cereals, and dreading seeing Cissy at school. Monday morning arrives way too soon. Before I know it, I’m slogging through the front doors at Purgatory High. I barely set foot inside the main hallway when Cissy skip-walks toward me, a huge smile on her face.
Hells Bells. When you’re miserable, there’s nothing worse than someone else’s happiness.
“Gooooooood morning, Myla!” Her little golden curls bounce by her shoulders. Even her hair looks chipper.
“Hey, Cissy.”
“Did you get my messages? I tried to get in touch a million times. Then your answering machine was busted or something.”
I press my palms into my eyes. “Mom and I had a fight and–” What do I say here? I fought with a thrax, my dad might be a ghoul, and an oracle angel is sending me visions of Mom’s past? I sigh. “I’ve been a little down, that’s all.”
Frowning, Cissy places her hand on my shoulder. “Oh, that’s too bad.” I can almost hear her counting to three under her breath, giving my misery a bit of air-time before we move onto the marquee subject. “Okay, then! Let’s talk about Zeke.”
I debate about feigning illness—a sudden bout of the plague might get me out of this morning’s Zeke love fest—but then I remember Cissy’s been obsessing about this guy for at least a decade. Let her have her moment. I plaster on a grin. “Can’t wait to hear all about it.”
I half-listen to her love-babble until she starts demonstrating Zeke’s best dance moves down the hallway. The girls stare with a sneer, the guys with open mouths. I’m seriously debating what would happen if I accidentally tripped her when I get the bright idea to check my watch.