Anna Dressed in Blood - Kendare Blake [54]
I told her what Gideon said and asked for her help making the herbal blend, which she said she’d do. I notice that she’s looking a little frayed around the edges. There are dark, pinkish-purple circles under her eyes, and her hair is dull. Usually it shines like a copper pot.
“You okay, Mom?”
She smiles and looks over at me. “Sure, kiddo. Just worried about you, like always. And Tybalt. He woke me up last night, jumping at the attic trapdoor.”
“Damn it, I’m sorry,” I say. “I forgot to go up and set the traps.”
“It’s okay. I heard something move up there last week, and it sounded a lot bigger than a rat. Can raccoons get into attics?”
“Maybe it’s just a bunch of rats,” I suggest, and she shudders. “You’d better get somebody out there to check it out.”
She sighs and taps the steering wheel. “Maybe.” She shrugs.
She seems sad, and it occurs to me that I don’t know how she’s getting on here. I haven’t helped her with much on this move—not around the house, not with anything. I’ve barely even been there. Glancing into the backseat, I see a cardboard box filled with enchanted candles of various colors, ready to be sold in a local bookshop. Normally I would have loaded them for her and tied the proper labels on with lengths of colored cord.
“Gideon says you’ve made some friends,” she says, looking into the school crowd like she might be able to pick them out. I should’ve known Gideon would spill. He’s like a surrogate parent. Not like a stepfather, exactly—more like a godfather, or a sea horse who wants to stuff me into his pouch.
“Just Thomas and Carmel,” I say. “The ones you’ve met before.”
“Carmel’s a very pretty girl,” she says hopefully.
“Thomas seems to think so.”
She sighs, then smiles. “Good. He could use a woman’s touch.”
“Mom,” I groan. “Gross.”
“Not that kind of touch,” she laughs. “I mean he needs someone to clean him up. Make him stand up straight. That boy is all wrinkles. And he smells like an old man’s pipe.” She fishes around in the backseat for a second, and her hand comes back full of envelopes.
“I was wondering what happened to all my mail,” I say, flipping through them. They’re open already. I don’t mind. They’re just ghost tips, nothing personal. In the middle of the stack is a large letter from Daisy Bristol. “Daisy wrote,” I say. “Did you read it?”
“He just wanted to know how things were going for you. And to tell you everything that’s happened to him in the last month. He wants you to come to New Orleans for some witch spirit skulking around the base of a tree. Supposedly she used to use the thing for sacrifices. I didn’t like the way he talked about her.”
I smirk. “Not every witch is good, Mom.”
“I know. I’m sorry for reading your mail. You were too focused to notice it anyway; most of them just sat on the mail desk. I wanted to handle it for you. Make sure you weren’t missing anything important.”
“Was I?”
“A professor in Montana wants you to come and slay a Wendigo.”
“Who am I? Van Helsing?”
“He says he knows Dr. Barrows, from Holyoke.”
I snort. “Dr. Barrows knows that monsters aren’t real.”
My mother sighs. “How do we know what’s real? Most of the things you’ve put away could be called a monster by someone.”
“Yeah.” I put my hand on the door. “You’re sure you can get the herbs I need?”
She nods. “You’re sure you can get them to help you?”
I look at the crowd. “We’ll see.”
* * *
The hallways today look like something out of a movie. You know, the ones where the important characters walk in slow motion and the rest of the people just whip by as different flesh- and clothes-colored blurs. I caught glimpses of Carmel and Will in the crowd, but Will was walking away from me, and I couldn’t get Carmel’s attention. I never saw Thomas, despite going to his locker twice. So I try to stay awake during geometry. I don’t do a great job. They shouldn’t be allowed to teach math so early in the morning.