My heart swelled for Cassie. She was helping, in her small way, the only way she could.
“It sounds awesome,” I said.
“Yeah, if we make it to prom,” Ian muttered.
“Ian!” Cassie cried. “That is, like, blasphemy. Of course we will.” She turned to me. “We will, right, Skye?”
Would we? I wanted to say I didn’t know, wanted so badly for them to comfort me. But I was this group’s leader, and I had to give them hope—even if I was finding it harder and harder to believe.
“Of course we will,” I said. Ian looked dubious.
“If we find my dad first.” He pushed the broccoli around his plate and rested his chin in his other hand. “I just wish I could ask him where he is, you know?”
“Well, that would make things a lot easier,” Aaron said. “Too bad we just have to rely on our own resources.”
Or did we? Something about the conversation jogged a memory for me. The letter from my mother! She had said a time would come when I had questions. And I should ask her. I had no idea what it meant, but maybe it was worth a shot.
That night, while Aaron still slept behind closed doors in Aunt Jo’s room, Raven occupied the couch in the den, and Earth snored softly in her sleeping bag, I took out the small wooden box. There was something magical about the way it was made, as if the etching of the key had glowed only for me.
“Okay, Mom,” I whispered. “I have so many questions I still need answers to. You said I could ask, so . . . I’m asking.” But what to ask first? “Are we going to win?” If she’d had the Sight, maybe she knew.
One of the four intertwining loops of the key’s head glowed, bright and then brighter. My heart sped up. Maybe this would work.
But just as I began to have hope, it faded back to normal. And then it disappeared completely.
Nothing happened. The box sat in my hands, unchanged. Maybe she couldn’t give me the answer to something that hadn’t happened yet. Maybe that wasn’t how this worked. I guess it was possible that even my mother’s power had limitations. Or maybe it was me—blurring the future.
I decided to start with something more basic.
“Okay,” I said. “How can you answer me, when you’re . . . well . . . dead?”
Another loop on the key burned brightly, and suddenly I felt like I was going headfirst down one of those water slides at amusement parks, the tall ones that wind like snakes in spiral loops down to the bottom. But instead of splashing out into a pool below, I found myself standing in the bedroom of the cabin.
A man stood with his arms resting on the antique dresser, his back to me. He wore a blue checkered flannel and had dark brown hair that hung down his neck.
Dad.
“I just don’t like that you’re doing this to her,” he said, his back rising and falling in a sigh.
“Sam,” a woman’s voice said from behind me. She walked right past me, and my breath stopped. My mother had honey blond hair, pinned up in a loose twist. Pieces fell down and framed her face, and when the light from the open window hit them, even I had to admit she looked like an angel. “We’re doing it to protect her.” Her voice was gentle, soft. “She’s not ready yet. If we do this to her, it will be too much. She could die.”
“I know,” he said quietly. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned her head on his back.
“Turn around, Sam,” she said, and he did. The sight of his face hit me with longing. Even now, all these years later, I still missed my parents acutely. Even now that I knew my memories of them were tampered with, weren’t whole.
It made me angry to think about it. But I had a feeling my mother was showing me this for a reason.
“One day she’s going to come into her powers, and she’ll have a heavier weight on her shoulders than any one person before her. She’s going to have questions. And what if we’re not there for her?”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s possible, and you know it. Once the Order sets their minds to something . . .”
“I hate the idea of Skye growing up without us. Without knowing who she really is. We should be there to help her.”
My mother paused, took his bearded face in her hands.
“We can be.”
He looked at her. “Well, sure, if the Order doesn’t get their way, but—”
“No, Sam. Even then. We can be.” She looked into the mirror behind him, and her eyes met mine, as I watched.
I knew, in that moment, that she was talking to me. This—this was what she meant by giving me answers.
“When a Gifted One or a Guardian uses their powers to influence a person’s mental energy,” she said, still holding my gaze, “it changes a little bit of their makeup, and yours, forever. It creates a bond—a connection between the two minds. The more intense and prolonged the influence, the stronger the bond. It’s not intentional—just a natural, accidental sort of side effect to mental influence. An accidental rift in the fabric of an angel’s mind that lets the human see a little bit into their thoughts and feelings. If the influence is only for a short period of time, you might be able to make out snippets and inklings. If it’s for longer, a kind of, well . . . portal is created.” The look on my dad’s face changed as he began to catch on. “You just look into their eyes. . . .”
“You’ve been doing this her whole childhood,” my dad said. She nodded, excitedly.
“I’ve been preparing. We’re going to die, Sam. I’ve seen it. I know it’s a sacrifice, but this will be worth it in the long run, when Skye finds herself caught in the middle of the two sides, without us to guide her, and she needs our help.”
“But how . . . if you’re not there . . . how will she . . . ?”
“Do you have the box you made for her?”
My dad nodded and reached into the top dresser drawer. So Dad kept things in his sock drawer, too. A smile tugged at my lips.
He took out the small wooden box, with the familiar etching of the key on it—the one I held in my hands at that very moment—and they held it between them.
“Give it your energy,” she whispered. “Imbue it with your powers. Protect it, so that it can only be opened if someone has the key.” She smiled at him.
“And only Skye will have the key.”
I watched in awe as pale, twinkling light flowed through my mother’s fingertips—and black smoke shot from my father’s. When they met, the box glowed a bright silver between them. Dark and light.
You never lose your powers, Raven had said. Even after you become human.
I blinked, and I was back in my bedroom. Earth continued to snore, hidden away in her sleeping bag. The moon continued to shine through my window, and the stars continued to wink at me. I was exhausted, just completely drained from the connection to my mother’s thoughts and the events of the past few weeks. Still clutching the box to my chest, I fell into a deep sleep.
I didn’t sleep for long.
“Skye,” the voice whispered, as if made of the darkness itself. “Let me in.”
“No,” I murmured, rolling over and shoving a pillow over my head.
“No?” he repeated. “No. What kind of attitude is that?”
“No!” I shut my eyes tight and began to build, brick by hurried brick, the wall that would protect my mind from Astaroth.
“Now, now, that seems awfully hasty,” he said, his voice like honey. “Don’t you want to hear what I have to say? Could be important, you never know.”
“What could you possibly have to tell me,” I said through gritted teeth, “that I would want to hear?”