He took her head. Why can’t I cry?
“Okay,” I said finally.
“Her dad should be here soon,” Kian put in. “Maybe you should wait for him.”
“Is she a minor?”
He nodded. “Eighteen in February.”
“Then let’s secure the scene and wait for the detectives to arrive.” The younger one followed his partner upstairs, leaving us on the front step.
Ten minutes later, my dad dashed toward us, his chest heaving. I’d never seen his face that shade before. He hunched over for a few seconds, hands on knees, before he could get the breath to ask, “Edith?”
It was all the questions wrapped into one. Kian loosened his arms, but I didn’t get off his lap. My mom was the one who asked if she could hug me, and I couldn’t get the words out at first. My dad’s hair was a mess and his glasses were fogged up. He took them off so he could see us better.
“Mom’s dead,” I said. Two words, heavy as osmium.
“Oh God, honey.” From his expression, I could tell he didn’t know what to say, what to ask, and my words were balled into a Gordian tangle.
“Are you Alan Kramer?” A man in a wrinkled suit stood outside the brownstone, wearing a grave but purposeful look.
“Yes.”
“Please come with us. We have some questions for your daughter.”
In the end, they asked Kian and me several times exactly what we saw. We recounted the story separately and together. No, we didn’t see anyone fleeing the scene. Yes, we both had class before coming home. Kian picked me up at Blackbriar; we came straight home. I resisted the temptation to give the detectives a description of the bag man. It was late by the time we finished, and our apartment was a crime scene.
“We’ll … get a hotel room,” Dad said. “We can stop at a pharmacy and buy some essentials, like pajamas and toothbrush—”
Kian cut in, “You’re welcome to stay at my place. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
He seemed older than twenty at the moment, but age was more than chronology. I didn’t have the strength to doubt him, so I clutched him close instead. I turned to my dad. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather do that.”
“Okay.” It was so strange for him to acquiesce that readily, like my mother had been the reason for the steel in his spine.
Kian drove us to his apartment from the precinct and parked a few blocks down. On the way, I stopped at a corner drugstore. They had toiletries and I found T-shirts and novelty shorts to sleep in. Silently, I dropped the few items into my dad’s basket and he paid. Nobody felt like eating, just as well, because Kian had cup noodles and a box of tea. He made each of us a mug, and my dad seemed every bit as shell-shocked as I felt.
He didn’t lecture us about staying up too late or give me a speech about how Kian wasn’t to be trusted. Instead, he kissed my cheek and went to the guest bedroom and shut the door with a quiet, final click. Bereft, I sank down on the sofa.
“This isn’t a dream,” I said to Kian.
Sadly he shook his head.
The dam burst. Tears streamed down my cheeks as the ache for my mom blossomed in my chest. I remembered our lunch. Lobster rolls. It feels like we should celebrate. To new beginnings. Now, like the Teflon crew, she was gone, but—
I never wished for this. I never did. Never.
Mom, no.
I protected Vi instead of my mother; that was my choice. But all this time, I thought the man with the sack and the awful children were hunting me. If I’d known, I would’ve used my favor to make sure she was safe. I’m so sorry, Mom. I imagined them knocking on our door, after Mr. Lewis’s protective measures failed, hiding their nightmare skins under an illusion of normalcy. Mom would’ve invited them in. But if I’d warned her, she wouldn’t have believed me.
She never wore makeup because she didn’t feel pretty. So why try? If I hadn’t gotten to know her better, I never would’ve learned that about her … or the curling iron story about my grandmother. My mom always had ink stains on her sweaters. She …
… died in a pool of blood. Did she suffer? Or was it quick?
She never taught me about electrical wiring. I never showed her how to do her face with the autumn mineral makeup we bought together. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—Kian wrapped his arms around me, but he didn’t try to staunch my sobs. He stroked my back, my hair, and let me weep until I couldn’t breathe.
“They’ll never know. The case will go cold, someone will file it.”
“You said…” His voice caught. “That you were ready to give me up. If there was anything I could do, if I could, I’d trade places with her for you.”
Hard shudders racked me from head to toe. “Idiot. No swaps, no deals. I want both of you. I don’t want this, Kian. I can’t have this. I just want it to be over. I don’t want to play this game anymore.”
“It can’t be undone,” he said, as if I didn’t know that. But maybe in our world, there were certain mutable realities, and death was more of a swinging door. “Sometimes people use favors to bring loved ones back, but … they’re never right. I’m so sorry.”
Oh.
“Is there any way to make him pay?” The words came before I could stop them, before my brain could remind me that it was my quest for revenge that carried me here.
“Who?”
“The old man with the sack.” I realized then; I’d never told him. He knew about the thin man, but this monster, I had kept all for my own.
It might not do any good, but I told him everything then. Too late, too late. My muscles locked, as I waited for him to yell at me and tell me this was my fault. But his face paled instead. He covered my hand with his, eyes grave.
“If Dwyer sent him, there was nothing you could do. Telling me wouldn’t have changed anything. It kills me to admit it, but I bartered away my last coin keeping you safe.” He didn’t mean currency, of course, but the last thing any immortal would want, whatever that was. “I wish I could’ve protected your mother, too, but it doesn’t work that way.”
One person, one favor, I know. Hope you didn’t sell your soul for me. That would mean he couldn’t escape his masters, even in death. I don’t want to be the rocks in your pockets, dragging you under. Oh, Kian, don’t let me drown you.
I might. And you’d let me.
“Don’t look like that,” he begged.