Page 19 of The Reluctant Reaper
Her mother was... changed. Short and stout, with shoulder-length red hair shot with gray, her normally tidy braid was carelessly done up, dozens of straggling hairs sneaking loose. Her eyes were still lovely, a clear green like beach glass, but the shadows beneath them were so dark, she looked like she’d been double-punched. She had always looked extremely well for her great age, but today, some of the years showed. But she was still strong and sweet and smelled like soap and honey and home.
Amara stopped staring long enough to remember her manners. “Gray, this is my mother, Freyja Brunhilde.”
“Thanks for having me, Mrs. Morrigan.”
“Hilly, please, everyone calls me Hilly. Has Amara given you the tour?”
“She just started. This is all amazing.” Then, “Oooof!” as she picked him up in a hug. When she put him down, he was flushed and smiling. “Wow! Great grip.”
“We’ll get you set up in one of the guest suites, don’t fret even a little. Unless you’d prefer the Caretaker House? It’s empty right now so you could spread out... or maybe Amara’s tower? Where’s your luggage, dear?”
“The Mustang. Amara said someone would be along to help?—”
“Well, you and Amara can bring it in and sort out the sleeping arrangements.”
“Mom, where is everybody?”
“Are you hungry?” she asked with a bright, bright smile. “We’ve got lots of leftovers. Oh, let’s see... venison stew, some duck, lasagna, lots of sandwich fixings. Or I could make something. Do you like lefse, Gray? They have lefse down in Minnesota, right? It’s good with brown sugar and butter and we have so much! Or are you a vegetarian? There’s salad and pasta and?—”
“Mom?”
“—and you just help yourself and make yourself at home.”
The sick feeling that had hit her when she saw the psychopomps at the RV park had never entirely left. The birds of prey, the crown, La Croix’s urgency, the quiet house, and her mother’s determined cheer were popping too many red flags.
“Mom, what’s?—”
“Later, dear, your father needs to see you right now.”
Needs. Not wants. And he wasn’t here to greet us, either. That’s never happened before.
“Gray, dear, why don’t you head over to the kitchen—take the doorway behind me and you can’t miss it, but if you find yourself in the wine room you’ve gone too far—and I’ll be in there straightaway to fix you something. And I just brought up a batch of mead from the wine cellar, won’t that be a treat?”
“Mom, Gray doesn’t drink.”
“Oh, how stupid! I forgot!”
“Don’t even worry about it, Hilly. I wasn’t in the mood for fermented honey anyway, and I’m almost fully self-sufficient. Amara can vouch for that.”
“Can I, though?” The sarcasm fell flat, not least because she had trouble keeping her tone light.
“And then you can pick out a room. I’ll get Amara settled with her father and be right back, okay?”
“Sure. I’m guessing it’ll take you at least an hour, given the size of the place. I’m pretty sure your house exists in two counties at the same time.”
“Don’t be silly,” her mother replied, then seized Amara’s hand.
“Ack! Easy.”
Her mother hauled her toward the doorway. “Uh, Mom? I know the way.”
Her mother clamped down harder. “It’ll do himsuchgood to see you,” she replied, and her tone—hopeful yet uncertain—alarmed Amara all over again.
“Mom.”
“I’m just so happy you’re home.”
“Mom.”
