Page 27 of Wicked Court

“Mom? Where are you?”

I hesitate to open the door to my childhood home.

I’ve learned that, when I get caught up in studies and campus life and leave her too long, she sets up booby-traps around the house. Even when I tell her to expect me, she forgets to deactivate them.

The stale air pricks at my nose, and I inhale sharply as I step inside. It’s an odd mix of neglect and lavender. Her favorite herbal scent is one I never adapted to, either before or after Maverick.

The Calcutta floors echo under my heels as I walk toward the cobwebbed halls leading to her bedroom.

I flick on the switch to the nearest hallway, my lungs filling with relief once I see she hasn’t set up any traps. She’s done everything from pressure-activated floor tiles (triggering a screeching alarm when stepped on) to tripwire alarms, to hiding non-lethal chemistry sprays near entry points, easily accessible to her if someone pushes her to the ground and attacks her.

I feel especially sorry for the staff who touched her electrocuted doorknobs. She uses a low-voltage current running through metal door handles, not enough to cause serious harm, but sufficient to give a startling zap to discourage further exploration.

When I reach her room at the end, I pause outside to listen for any signs of movement before pushing open the door, calling her name once more. The closed curtains create a cool darkness in the room that makes me shiver.

She’s sitting in front of a window in her favorite armchair, knitting slowly, eyes distant as she stares out the window into nothingness.

Her luscious auburn hair has thinned and grayed significantly since my brother died; it’s now tied up in a messy bun on top of her head. Her once vital body seems smaller and frailer when she doesn’t turn around.

She startles when I close the door behind me.

“Oh!” Surprise pulls at her features and she drops her knitting needles with a small clatter. “Sweetie, you scared me.”

“Sorry, Mom.” I smile softly and sit beside her on the chair, my fingertips tracing the soft wool blanket before I pull at it to cover both of us. Despite everything, it feels good to be beside her; it’s like coming home even if it’s haunted by memories better left buried.

“Did you bring the groceries?” she whispers before looking back out toward the greenhouse.

“I ordered them on my phone,” I answer, my fingers clenching against the blanket.

Being railroaded by two villain incarnates at the university did little to motivate me into completing errands. As soon as I found a safe, well-lit place to park in downtown Titan Falls, I submitted a delivery to be here within the hour before heading straight to Mom’s.

“Let’s go to your bed.” I push to my feet and lead her by the hand gently, feeling like an adult more than a daughter sometimes, and guide her there.

“Are you feeling alright today?” she asks, settling against the wooden headboard.

She doesn’t sleep with pillows. She’s too convinced someone will suffocate her if she does.

Her amber eyes search mine as she pats the bed beside her, and I oblige by perching at the edge of the bed. My fingers massage my eyelids to relieve the tension of the day.

“Just, you know... school stuff,” I lie weakly, knowing she won’t pry.

“You’re a smart girl. You’ll get through it. I wish...” Her voice drifts off as if she cannot bring herself to finish the thought.

It could be anything: I wish Maverick were still alive, I wish you still lived here with me, I wish I could move away from here but it’s the only place I know, I wish we could lock ourselves away from the world forever.

The room holds the same antiquated decorations from when we first moved into this house. Dark wooden furniture with velvety fabrics that retain dirt, heavy curtains that block out any natural light. Jewelry boxes and figurines fill the room, many of them gifts from my father before he died.

I lower my hands from my face. “Mom, have you ever seen the Wraithwood family jewels? Or Gram’s collection?”

She pauses in her fidgeting before she looks up at me, uncertainty clouding her expression. “Why do you ask?”

I bite my lower lip and lean forward to take her hands in mine. They feel cold against my skin. My mom’s bloodless touch always sends shivers down my spine, even if it’s just accidental.

“I think they might have something to do with a family story I've been trying to figure out.”

Tales of Wraithwood history are precious to me, since she rarely speaks of the past, other than how she met Dad or how they married young because of an arranged marriage between two families with immense sway in Titan Falls. The Wraithwoods and the Farrows. Gram is Dad’s mother, a Wraithwood blue blood who was always warm and sweet to Maverick and me, but cool and distant toward my mother.

“Did your grandmother mention it?” she asks after what feels like an eternity.

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