TWENTY-FOUR
I didn’t know how I came to be home, or in my room. When I came to myself, a different pair of arms, just as strong, just as sheltering, held me, rocking me gently.
“Peter,” I breathed his name, and his arms tightened around me. He planted a kiss on the top of my head. Images of my mother’s torn body nearly sent me back into shock, and I struggled against his embrace. “My mother, my mother,” was all I could say.
“It’s all right, honey. Everything’s going to be okay. I’m here. Your family is here.” As he said the words, my family’s presence filtered into my awareness. Ellen stood over me, at the foot of the bed. Oliver had positioned himself near the window, facing me, with his back toward the light. Iris sat by Peter’s side of the bed.
“I am here as well,” said Emmet, a tall shadow in the far corner. Strangely, his presence reassured me the most.
“You should sleep now,” Ellen said as she came around to my side. Her voice sounded hoarse and lacked its usual warmth. Dark circles had formed under her eyes. I realized she had been crying. Of course, Tucker. She reached out.
“Please don’t touch me,” I said, and she pulled her hands away as if they’d been burned. Her eyes, already red, moistened. I had both shocked and hurt her. A part of me felt bad for causing pain to the woman I had thought I knew, but the image of my mother’s final moments had been burned into my mind. I couldn’t bear Ellen’s touch. “I’m sorry. I would just like everyone but Peter to leave. And Emmet,” I added.
“Of course, Gingersnap.” Oliver stood. His face showed concern for me combined with a touch of confusion and hurt.
“But sweetheart, you have had some kind of shock,” Ellen protested. “I should stay and keep an eye on you. Make sure you are all right.”
I found myself balling up, moving away from her touch, pushing myself more securely into Peter’s arms. “I’m fine. The baby’s fine. We’re both fine.”
Ellen stopped dead in her tracks and looked to her siblings for guidance.
“You need to take care of yourself. I’m sorry about Tucker.”
Her eyes flashed at me, showing an emotion that fell somewhere between ire and despair, but then her lids tightened and her expression hardened. “Thank you. I assure you I will find out who did this to him.”
“Come on, let’s leave the girl to rest a bit,” Oliver ordered, drawing Ellen away from me and heading to the door. “Iris?” She stood without saying a word, but reluctance was written all over her face.
She joined her siblings at the door, but turned back to me. “We love you,” she said and followed the others out. Emmet crossed and shut the door behind them.
I struggled in Peter’s grasp enough so that he loosened his hold and I could face him. “My mother,” I started, “I think they killed her.” No, I was suddenly certain they had killed her.
Peter’s face broke into a worried smile. “Mercy, you don’t know what you’re saying. They didn’t kill your mother; she wasn’t killed at all. She died.” He paused. “I know you’re worried about having the baby, that you will be like your mama and you won’t make it, but that isn’t going to happen to you. You are so strong—”
“No.” I looked over at Emmet, but his face remained a blank slate. “My mother didn’t die giving birth to me. She was murdered at the Tillandsia house. Today.”
“The Tillandsia house?” His forehead creased, and he shook his head to show he had no idea what I was talking about.
“The big old place, past Richmond Hill. With the black-and-red door. The one you have been working on for Tucker. The dome skylight in the entrance. It shattered and collapsed on her. They caused it to collapse.” I shuddered at the thought of my mother’s bloodied body.
He brushed the hair from my forehead. “That place is just a big old dilapidated Georgian. It only has regular old windows. No dome. No skylight. Not even any higher windows that could be mistaken for a skylight. Nothing modern like that at all. Nobody’s been hurt there. I was there myself until a half hour ago when Oliver called to tell me you weren’t well. You had a bad dream, that’s all.”
With wild force I twisted from his embrace and tried to sit up. The room spun around me, but I managed to lean up on my elbow and face Emmet. “Tell him,” I commanded. “Tell him what happened. You saw it. You saved me.”
“I’m sorry. I can tell him nothing. You had fallen over in the garden, and I found you there. I carried you up to your room, and then called your family. I am afraid whatever you experienced was a hallucination.”
“Why are you are lying?” I shouted at him.
He reacted as if he were dealing with a sick child. He shook his head silently at Peter, and then looked at me with soft and sympathetic eyes. “I don’t mean to cause you further upset. I would confirm what you are saying if I were able to do so.”
I knew I hadn’t dreamed or imagined it. Peter was wrong. My mother hadn’t died giving birth to me. It was a blatant falsehood. I had a sudden inspiration and felt around my neck. My fingers found the locket, proof that my mother was alive, or at least had been on the day she’d given it to me. In my vehemence to show it to Peter, I broke the chain that held it. My certainty of what I’d witnessed faded instantly. “Here. Take this. Open it.”
I dropped the locket into his palm and leaned against my pillows. His fingers were too large, too calloused to open the locket easily, but after a few tries he managed to work open the clasp. “What can I say?” he asked. “You sure were a beautiful baby. You and Maisie both.”
I reached out and swiped it from him. I looked down on the pictures, one an image of my infant self, the other of Maisie at the same age. The photos of my great-grandmother and Careu, the golden young man with the confident eyes, had disappeared. I snapped the locket shut and held on to it for dear life.
Another wave of vertigo washed over me, forcing me to close my eyes. “I must be sick,” I said, more to myself than to my companions.
“I’m afraid so,” Peter said. “And it’s been making you have some terrible dreams. Now would it be all right to call Ellen in? Let her do what she does to make you better?”
Even with my eyes closed, I could feel Emmet’s gaze boring into me. “Don’t you see how magic never daunts him as it would a normal man?” they demanded silently. “Don’t you see that he is no more real than I am?” The question quickly faded, only to be replaced by a sense of his concern for my well-being.
I didn’t say a word. I nodded my assent, but in truth I wasn’t sure if the question I’d answered was Peter’s or Emmet’s. Exhaustion overtook me, and I had fallen dead to the world by the time Ellen reentered the room.