Page 185 of The Mirror of Beasts

She flicked the wax seal open, pulling the single sheet of paper out. Her eyes skimmed over the short message there once, then again. She showed it to Caitriona.

Olwen took a tentative step toward her. “Neve?”

“Neve, you’re killing me,” I said. “What does it say?”

“Your father and I would have done anything to see you grow up, and have only ever desired to keep you safe. But there are more enemies in this world than you know,” Neve read. “They killed your father, and now, unless I finish this, they will take you from me as well. Please do not try to find me. Return to your aunt. I love you.”

Neve seemed almost stymied by her own hope as she looked up at us.

“Your mother sent the pooka,” Olwen said, thinking aloud. “To keep watch over you.”

“She should have come herself,” Neve said simply, crumpling the paper in her fist. Caitriona took it from her, before she could destroy it, slipping it into the pocket of her jeans. “She didn’t even tell me my father’s name. Only that he’s dead.”

“When you find your mother, you can ask,” I told her. “You can ask her about anything and everything.”

“She said not to,” Neve said softly. “She doesn’t want to be found.”

“Are you going to let her decide that?” I asked. “I want you safe too, but I know you’re capable of making your own decisions.”

Caitriona’s expression turned contemplative, her eyes narrowing with focus on the Bonecutter. “Where can we begin our search?”

“I thought you might ask.”

The Bonecutter retrieved a massive tome from one of her many sagging bookcases and brought it over to the worktable. It exhaled a thick cloud of dust as she flipped the heavy cover over. “Now, I believe I may have an idea of where to begin looking for your mother, Caniad …”

I listened in as theories were spun out of sightings and rumors, clasping a hand over the weathered bracelet around my wrist. Olwen touched my hand with a questioning look, but I returned it with a shake of my head.

I had promised Neve that I would help her find her mother, and I would. I was thrilled for her to have the answers she craved, and to have the opportunity to seek out more. But some part of me felt only loss.

What family I’d had was gone, and the one we’d built among us four was breaking apart. Wherever Neve and Caitriona began their search, I knew I couldn’t follow them. Not yet.

For now, a different fate awaited me.

My gaze drifted back toward the empty staircase, watching for someone who never arrived.

THREE MONTHS LATER

Boston, Massachusetts

No matter what they say, or how much they lie to themselves, people don’t want the truth.

They want the story, or that secret wish, already living inside them. Not because they’re in denial, or even delusional, but when it’s too hard to believe yourself, there’s comfort in hearing someone else promise things will get better. That your pain wasn’t for nothing. That the potential in you will bloom. That your heart will heal.

The tinny wind chimes coming through my cell phone’s speaker faded into a dreamy melody. A battery-powered candle dimmed and flickered, warning that it was almost out of juice. After another six-hour shift slinging tarot cards for tourists at the Mystic Maven, I was just about there as well.

I brought Myrtle’s beaded shawl up around my shoulders again, watching my client closely as he studied the cards spread in front of him with an increasingly distressed look.

Franklin, the red-haired college student who worked at the Stop&Shop market down the street from my apartment, had become a repeat customer in the last three months. It was hard not to feel increasingly distressed myself every time he appeared in the appointment book.

The two of us were locked in a seemingly endless cycle of the same questions, in the same dark, cramped room, with the same crystals collecting dust on the shelves around us. And while I appreciated being able to pay my electric bill, it was getting harder and harder to keep the charade up. The sight of his freckled face tonight had drawn a long sigh out of me I hadn’t bothered to hide.

He ran his hands through his riot of curly hair with a low sound of frustration, then jabbed a pale, freckled finger at one of the cards.

“Aw, man,” he began miserably. “The Devil card again? What does it mean this time? Is it her? No, it’s the other guy, isn’t it?”

The Devil was in the position of external influences, and he was there to tell Franklin for the dozenth time that he had some bad patterns of codependency and other toxic traits in his former relationship that weren’t worth fixing. Olivia, his ex, had seemingly figured that out months ago and was now happy in a new relationship.

I’d been very careful to avoid telling him any of that, both because there was no actual divine force channeling a message for him through me and a deck of cards, and because, apparently, I no longer had the heart to crush anyone’s spirit.

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