Page 94 of The Devil and His Sparrow

Mom didn’t cross the threshold of the sunroom. It was like she thought doing so would be acknowledging Zagan’s gift, and she’d never do that. It was why she’d ignored the invite to tonight’s event, sending the RSVP card back to Bloomings with no response. She wanted no part in anything concerning me or Zagan.

Mom’s fuming eyes were locked on me, and the girl of old reared up inside me, trying to make me cower in the face of the woman.

I cleared my throat and placed a hand on Gemma’s shoulder. I gave her a reassuring smile that she no doubt saw right through. “I’m gonna go talk to her. You stay here and keep dancing.”

My eyes briefly found Zagan’s, and the disdain simmering there couldn’t be clearer. But he didn’t stop me as I crossed the room to where my mother waited. He knew I needed to face my demon, and for once, that wasn’t him.

When I neared the doorway, Mom spun on her heel and stormed down the hallway, already assuming I would follow. Because, of course I would. I always had, and part of me worried that I always would to some degree.

She waited in Gemma’s room, and I found her standing at the window, staring into the night. She hadn’t bothered turning on the light, nor had I. Only the moonlight streaming through the window lit our battleground.

“What were you thinking?” she hissed before sucking in a sharp breath. Just speaking to me seemed to agitate her.

“About what, Mom?” I asked flatly.

She whipped around and pointed a slender finger at me. “Don’t you dare call me that! You aren’t my daughter. You are not the girl I raised. Disobedient. Dishonest. Delusional.” She heaved a laugh and ran a hand over her hair, which had loose pieces falling from her usually pristine bun. “I mean, should I be surprised given the company you keep?”

I tried to take a calming breath, but each of her words were a fresh cut on my heart, stealing my ability to take in a full gulp of air. “You don’t know him. You don’t understand what he’s done for—”

“What he’s done?” she snapped. “What that—that … thing has done? Let me think. He assaulted me, which you didn’t give a damn about. He’s corrupted my eldest into someone I don’t recognize, and that same imbecile is bringing him around children. Kids, Iyla! He’s—He’s … evil! He could be a predator. Do you understand nothing? You are ruining your sister. And for what? Because you don’t know how to keep your legs closed? Because you see one attractive man and become blind to your morals? I’ve never seen someone more selfish.”

My blood boiled, getting hotter and uglier with each of her accusations, the last bringing me to a boiling point. “Why is being with Zagan selfish?” I demanded. “Why is trying to be happy selfish?”

“Please,” she scoffed. “Have you truly deluded yourself into thinking this is happiness? Ruining your life, my life, your sister’s life? How could you do this to her? She is dying, Iyla, and you come strutting in here, showing off some monster, trying to darken her mind with impurities. You make her feel less than, acting like you have everything while she sits here alone, sick and dying.”

My lip trembled, and I bit it in an effort to keep it hidden. I couldn’t let her see that she was getting to me—that she was hurting me. Because that would only give her fuel to keep going.

All her words from over the years came back to me, hitting me with the force of a freight train.

Desire is wrong, and giving into that makes you no better than trash you find on the streets.

Piano isn’t a real career, and I won’t have you dragging our family’s name through the mud just so you can tap away on some keys. Real success comes from a real job.

The world is full of lazy, ungrateful, and sinful people, Iyla. You don’t want to be one of them, do you?

You need to set a good example for your sister. Do as you’re told and she’ll thrive, too.

The sharp words funneled through my mind in a whirlwind, slicing me with each sweep, knocking me down smaller and smaller. But the worst of them all was the idea that reaching for my own dreams was hurting Gemma.

Was I showing off? Was I making her feel bad when I brought Zagan here, making her think I had things she’d never get to experience?

“I love Gemma,” I whispered, tears brimming my eyes too quickly for me to fight off.

“Do you?” Mom demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, all you care about is yourself. All you care about is sleeping around and trying to hurt this family with your acting out. Do you know how stressed Gemma is because of you? Because she knows you’re doing wrong and is worried for you?”

I shook my head slowly as if doing so would keep the words from reaching me.

“You’re killing your sister faster,” she snarled.

The world was falling out from under me. I wobbled on my legs and had to grip the foot of Gemma’s bed to keep from crumbling to the floor. Mom was wrong. She had to be wrong. Words wouldn’t come to my lips, and my brain misfired as it worked to fight against the idea that I had been hurting Gemma all this time.

Shoes tapped against the tiled floor, walking calmly into the dim room. I couldn’t even turn to see who it was. I was stunned, rendered immobile.

A dark figure appeared beside me, facing my mother with hands shoved in his pockets and his posture the perfect picture of ease.

“You,” Mom growled, but for all her effort to sound fierce, I saw her shift backward.

“I know you’re probably struggling,” Zagan’s deep voice rang out calmly. “You’re afraid of losing Gemma. But you should really think about what you’re saying before you lose both daughters.”

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