Page 113 of Shadowblood Souls
The woman who’s only been a name to me before now flinches in her armchair beneath the tall windows. Her book falls from her hand to thump on the floor.
My eyes skim over her, absorbing my first real view of the woman I’ve wondered about so much.
Her hair, a mix of fawn-brown and gray, curls lightly where it’s tucked behind her ears. Her oval-paned, wire-rimmed glasses slide down her nose with a flinch, revealing pale eyes with crinkles of age at the corners. A cozy sweater and faded jeans clothe her softly rounded frame.
I can’t help thinking she looks almost motherly, even in her startled state. Like the moms I’ve seen on TV screens, sending their grown kids off to college or comforting them through breakups.
It isn’t hard at all to imagine her offering a warm hug or reassuring words—I mean, if she wasn’t staring at us like we’ve nearly given her a heart attack.
Andreas has raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry for sneaking up on you like this. We were hoping to speak with you—we don’t mean any harm.”
As long as she doesn’t try to harm us, he means.
The rest of us stay perfectly still, watching. Engel nudges her glasses up her nose to study us through them. Then her hand swipes downward in an odd motion I don’t totally understand.
It looks almost like she’s reaching for her mug, but instead her fingers dip between the arm of the chair and the side table. Just a brief skim before she’s folding her hands in her lap.
Jacob tensed beside me for a second, but once both her hands are in view and empty, he relaxes again, just a smidge.
“Do you know who we are?” he asks, managing to sound more curious than hostile, although I don’t think he’s capable of completely erasing the demanding note from his voice.
A hint of a smile curves the woman’s lips, enough to send hope flitting through my chest.
“My shadowblood children, all grown up,” she says in a crisp but gentle voice. “I haven’t seen pictures in years, but you haven’t changed that much since the last time.”
That voice. The faintest of recollections, not even really a memory it’s so vague, wisps through my head like the hazy impressions I got in the playroom at the old facility.
I’ve heard that voice lilting in a lullaby before—I’m sure of it.
Now that I can see the living room properly, it occurs to me that it looks an awful lot like that playroom. Log walls, suede seating, a fireplace where flames are crackling away over pine logs.
An image so familiar yet distant it sends a pang of homesickness through my chest.
If we ever had a real home, it was something like this.
As I take that in, Engel’s brow knits. “It’s only the five of you?”
She doesn’t know about Griffin. The realization jabs me in the gut like he’s dying all over again.
I swallow thickly, but Dominic speaks before I can. “He’s gone. Four years ago—we tried to get out, but it didn’t work.”
“Ah.” Engel appears to hold her emotions close, but a flicker of sadness crosses her face. “I heard about the attempt but not the entire outcome. My condolences.”
She leans forward slowly, and it occurs to me that she must feel just as wary of us as we are of her. She doesn’t know how much we know or what we think of her.
Picking up her mug, she gets to her feet. “I can be a proper host, even if the visit was unexpected. Before we get into the talking, how would you like some hot chocolate?”
A whisper of a memory passes through my head of buying a cup once while on an outside mission. I remember the sting of burning my tongue better than the actual flavor.
But the fact that she’s offering at all sends a quiver of elation through my chest. “That would be nice,” I say automatically.
Jacob casts a wary glance around at the rest of us, and I know what he’s thinking. As friendly as she’s being, we need to watch her—and probably we shouldn’t actually consume anything she gives us even if it looks safe.
Still, I can’t help relishing the idea of simply holding a mug radiating heat and breathing in the sweet steam rising off it.
As Engel approaches the kitchen, the five of us move like one being, both giving her space and keeping our own out of our honed sense of self-protection. We cluster to the right of the island as she passes by on the left and then gather around its far side, leaving it between her and us like a barricade.
I get the sense that she wouldn’t mind us sinking onto the cozy seats in the living room, but none of us is ready to relax anywhere near that much.
