Well, as normal as I ever was.
But when I open my eyes, of course we’re still here. Aidan is still here. And worst of all, Mom is staring at him. She pulls her hand from mine and covers her mouth instead. Because she’s just noticed Aidan’s eyes. The eyes that look exactly like mine.
“Someone please tell me what’s going on here,” she whispers breathlessly, her eyes darting back and forth between us.
I’ve never wanted to tell anyone anything less. I mean I’ve never kept a secret from Mom. (Not unless you count the past few months, when she wasn’t really Mom at all, but a shell of herself while the demon took up residence, and I definitely don’t count that.) This whole not-telling-Mom-about-everything-that-I’ve-discovered-about-myself-and-about-everything-that-happened-to-her feels really, really unnatural. I’ve spent sixteen years telling her everything.
But once I tell her, everything will change. Will she still look at me the same way when she knows what I am? Will she still laugh at my jokes, make fun of my clumsiness? Will we still argue over who gets the last slice of pizza and cook together using recipes we printed off the Internet? Will she still tell me she loves me more than anything else?
A lump rises in my throat. Part of me thinks she’d rather hear Aidan offer up some diagnosis than the truth. At least she’d know what to do with a diagnosis. But there’s no cure for being born a luiseach.
I sit up, blinking away my tears. “How are you going to prove it?” I ask slowly. My second full sentence aimed in his direction.
“Trust me.” He looks directly into my eyes. Trust him? He’s the one who put my mother’s life in danger. Who turned my entire life upside down, turned me into Alice falling down the rabbit hole. Does he even care that he’s about to change everything again?
“Sunshine,” she begs with a gasp. I wish I could hug her, but I’m attached to so many wires and tubes that I can’t figure out how to put my arms around her. “Please explain this to me.” The sound of her voice makes me realize I have no choice but to do what Aidan says. Because I can’t go on keeping the truth from my mother. Gently I pull her down to sit on the edge of the bed beside me. I square my shoulders and swallow the lump in my throat and start talking.
I start with the fact that Aidan is my birth father. Before she can launch into her own tirade of questions—How did you find my daughter? How could you abandon her as a baby?—I rush ahead, explaining I’ve inherited certain special traits from my birth parents.
“What kind of traits?” Mom asks sharply. “Recessive genes carry all kinds of traits.” She’s speaking so quickly that all of her words run together. “Look at your eyes. And I suppose you might have inherited certain medical conditions—but I can’t think of any genetic explanation for what happened to you this afternoon—”
“It’s not that kind of condition,” I break in. “I mean, it does explain what happened to me this afternoon, but not for any medical reason.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Mom shakes her head, standing up once again. She walks around the bed and stands over Aidan, still seated calmly in his chair. Mom is tall, taller than I am, but Aidan is taller. (Clearly I didn’t get my vertical-challenged-ness from him.)
“Allow me to explain, Katherine—”
“Kat,” she interrupts, her arms still hugging her own chest.
“Kat,” he echoes. “When your daughter arrived at the hospital today—” I exhale, grateful he referred to me as your daughter. “She was met by an onslaught of spirits that had recently been released from their mortal coils, victims of the accident on the freeway.”
Mom’s mouth drops open. I think she wants to protest, but something in Aidan’s voice keeps her quiet. Even when he’s talking about spirits, he sounds every bit as calm and rational as a college professor talking about facts and figures.
“The presence of so many spirits at once overwhelmed her.” He continues, “It takes a great deal of training to handle multiple spirits, and even among the well trained, few of us are prepared when taken unaware like that.”
“Few of us?” Mom echoes. “Few of who?”
“Luiseach,” I say quietly. “Luiseach.” I repeat the word, louder this time. “It’s an ancient species of guardians who’ve been around as long as humans have been living and dying. It’s their job to help spirits move on after people die. And to exorcise spirits who’ve gone dark.”