Page 109 of A Winding Wave of Magic
“Who’s this one?” she asked. “Boyfriend? I know you, don’t I?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said, unable to keep the sharp edge off the last word.
“Jonathan Lynch.” Jonathan offered a hand to shake. “Your mother’s attorney, Mrs. Whelan. We met in February, if you recall.”
Just like that, I was thirteen again, rolling my eyes at her latest excuse for incompetence. She honestly couldn’t remember the executor of her mother’s estate? They must have spent hours together.
“Oh, right. Yes, I remember.” My mother’s eyes narrowed, but didn’t take his hand. “Is there something new with the estate? Why are you here?”
“I would have called, but…” I waved a hand around the dilapidated room as if that would indicate something about why she refused any modern forms of communication. “It was a last-minute trip.”
“Cassandra is on her way to her new position,” Jonathan supplied, though he said nothing about Ireland. “When I told her I needed to speak with you again, she wanted to join me.”
“What? Why?” Sybil blinked between us, looking like a rather cross goldfish.
I’d had enough.
“Did you See Gran’s death?” I asked bluntly. “If so, we need to know what you Saw. It’s important. Or were you just wasting your time swindling more poor plain folk?”
That blue gaze turned as hot as any fire. “Did you show up after fifteen years just to belittle me for how I make my living, Cassandra?”
“DidIshow up?” She might as well have slapped me across the face. “I’mnot the one who left in the first place.I’mnot the one who abandoned her kid six months after her dad died.I’mnot the one who couldn’t be bothered to drive a few hours to take care of her own mother's affairs after her death!” I turned to Jonathan. “This was a mistake. She doesn’t know anything. And even if she did, it wouldn’t matter because she doesn’t have a conscience. She never did.”
“A conscience?” Sybil tipped her head back and cackled to the ceiling. “Goddess, you are just like her, aren’t you? ‘Seers are the world’s conscience.’” Her imitation of Gran’s accent was excellent. “Do you waste your life alone, like she did, Cassandra?” She stared pointedly at my gloves. “Afraid of all the big bad thoughts in the world, all the things people do and think that they shouldn’t? Well, I’ll tell you the truthIknow, little blackbird. There is no such thing as right and wrong. Just life and death. That’s it.”
“My goddess,” I said. “What happened to you?”
“Life.” Another plume of incense wafted around her. “And death. In ways you’ll never understand.” Her gaze flickered to Jonathan. “Then again, I could be wrong. Maybe you’ll learn it the hard way, just like I did when your father died.”
I knew without touching she was Seeing Jonathan’s death. Both Jonathan and I took uneasy steps backward.
Jonathan cleared his throat. “Mrs. Whelan, if you don’t mind. Cassandra’s question about your mother’s death. There is an investigation. If you did happen to?—”
“See the shadowed man who strangled her?” my mother cut in. Her lip curled in a pained sneer. “Yes, I Saw it. Every day since I can remember, I’ve seen it.”
“Since you canremember?” I practically choked.
Her eyes flew back to mine. “Oh, yes. It was quite the bedtime story. What little power I had manifested so early, you see, so when Mother used to rock me to sleep, I’d cry and cry. It was the same every night. Penny and her shadowed man. A raven in the dark.”
And you did nothing to warn her?I wanted to scream, but I could barely think, let alone talk.
I was twelve again and confronted with apathy so strong, so entrenched that it made the whole world seem gray.
A hand found mine. Jonathan’s, strong and stable. Even through my glove, his concern flickered, along with his strength.It will be over soon, I promise.
Sybil’s gaze snapped to our connection. “You’d better be careful with that one.”
“Would you mind telling us about it?” Jonathan cut in. “Or perhaps showing it to Cassandra? It wouldn’t take long, and then we’ll leave you be if that’s what you need. But we need those details. Please.”
I thought for sure she would say no if only to spite him. Sybil, once a mercurial beauty, was now shriveled by her bitterness.
But to my surprise, she turned and plucked a set of keys from a rack on the other side of the door. “My house is just around the corner. Come if you must.”
We followedSybil to a quiet street lined with craftsman houses. She walked ahead, seemingly oblivious to the drizzle falling from the now-black sky. Jonathan stayed beside me, tugging his raincoat close again. Drops of dew accumulated in his hair and shone brightly under the glare of the streetlamps above us.
“All right?” he asked in a low voice.
“Fine,” I muttered. Following my outburst, the apathy toward my mother I’d honed as a teenager was sliding into place.
