Chapter 8

We’d been talking for some time when Vivienne suggested we take our conversation into the den, a cozy room with overstuffed armchairs and couches, and soft lighting and even softer lap blankets.

She settled into a chair, draining the last of her wine, and I perched stiffly on the edge of one across from her.

“Just a few more questions on that subject.” I glanced down at my fake notes. “What’s your family’s religious affiliation, if any?”

Her brows arched. “Religious affiliation?”

“Correct. You know, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist... Wiccan?”

She shook her head. “We don’t practice any organized form of religion. My mother, Evelyn Rose... I guess some might say she considered herself Wiccan. Most people in town called her a modern-day witch.” She laughed a little.

Her response surprised me. I didn’t think she’d so readily offer any hint at her family’s magical bloodline. “Is that so?”

“She was always mixing potions and tinkering with healing herbs and things like that. Even her café was thought to have magical healing powers.” She made finger quotations when she said magical.

Irritation rose in me. How could she so effortlessly cast off her gifts when I’d give my left arm to be able to use mine? “And you don’t subscribe to the same philosophy?” I sounded distant, formal, detached from this woman who gave me life. “Do you believe in magic, Ms. Alundra?”

“It’s Vivianne,” she corrected me, then picked up the cookie plate, offering it to me. “I believe in the magic things hold. Like music—I’ve seen it do some transformative things for people. I suppose it’s as real as you want it to be, but I personally have never felt the need to buy into it.”

She stood up and wandered to the window. Cold rain splattered against the panes, yet she opened it and breathed in the damp air deeply. “I’ve always made my own luck, and it’s best not to rely on unseen external forces when it counts. They rarely rise to the occasion.”

She cut herself short, seeming surprised at how much she’d revealed.

Vivienne shut the window and returned to the armchair. She lowered her head, staring into her tea. But it wasn’t before I caught the tears that dampened the corners of her eyes. “I must sound like a raving fool. It’s been a trying few weeks. We lost the café, you know.”

I swallowed. Stabs of remorse pierced me with an unexpected force. She was grieving the loss of her family’s café. A café that I’d burned to the ground. I did this. I did this. I am the wicked witch.

I wanted to feel nothing, to see it as the collateral damage it was. A means to an end of getting back at Lorelei and getting Adrius back. And yet, I couldn't stop the feelings of regret burning a hole in my insides. For the first time since it had happened, I realized at a visceral level it had been my family’s legacy I’d torched.

“Neil was a good friend. I’d known him my entire life. He was like a father to me, after Dad passed. A good man lost his life that day. Such a shame.” She sniffled a little, but then sat upright abruptly. With a shaky hand, she pushed back her long, dark hair. “I suppose that wasn’t what you came to hear about either.”

I shook my head. There was moisture on my cheeks. What the... Tears? Was I crying? Over this?

Vivienne looked at me with compassionate eyes. “Sorry for being such a downer.” She leaned forward, and her warm hand covered mine. “Didn’t mean to upset you, honey.”

Something started to quake inside me. I could feel it. Like a dam ready to burst and a torrent of tears about to flow. I jumped up from my seat, knocking over my cup of tea. “Sorry, sorry,” I mumbled. “Where’s the lavatory? I mean, washroom?”

She frowned, looking more concerned about me than the spilt tea. “Down the hall on the right, honey.”

I darted away from her, from the pain I felt with such primal clarity it made me want to collapse. I rushed into the washroom and shut the door, then moved to the sink and leaned over it, pressing my hands against the cool tile surrounding it. Deep breaths.

I want to vomit. I’d done this. I’d ripped apart a town and my mother’s heart. I’d killed countless beings before, and yet not one had felt as horrible as this Neil’s death suddenly felt to me. This was crazy. I was losing my mind. Maybe I wasn’t impervious to the toxic atmosphere of this world. Maybe I was getting some sort of radiation damage from my unsanctioned crossing into their world. It could happen…those damn Shades couldn’t be trusted. Neither could I.

I watched a few more tears roll down my cheeks before I forcefully rubbed them away. Turning on the cold water, I splashed a few handfuls over my face. This could not happen. You are not going to break down. You are here to find information. I willed myself to regroup. The knock at the door was soft.

“Isobel, are you all right in there?"

Don’t call me that. She’s dead. She’s dead. I pulled in a staggered breath. “I’m fine,” I called out.

Get it together. I sunk my teeth into the flesh inside my cheek until I tasted blood. Enough. Then I opened the door and returned to find Vivienne in the kitchen. “I believe I have enough information for now.” I flipped the notebook shut.

Vivienne watched as I gathered my notebook and pen and stuffed them into my bag. Her, bag.

She gave a small laugh. “You remind me of Lorelei. She’s never one for placing her things in an organized fashion either. The two of you have more in common than you’d imagine. Like peas in a pod.”

My stomach lurched. I needed to take some air. A walk. To clear my head. I was acutely and painfully aware there weren’t very many people in this town I hadn’t tried to kill, my birth mother included. I felt a little badly for that.

But I was not here to sympathize with this woman’s choices, only uncover them. Unravel the truth from the lies. Yet the more time I spent with her, the more I found myself wanting to believe her. I hadn’t come to atone for my sins…you can’t undo what’s been done. I came to figure out how or why my life ended up over there, in the care of a callous, unloving witch. These touchy-feely feelings weren’t something I’d banked on.

“I really need to go.” I hurried to the door.

“Where are you headed?”

“School. I forgot a meeting.” I blurted the answer without pausing to think. Surely it would be a satisfactory excuse.

I stretched out my hand to her. “Thank you again for your time. And for the offer to stay here.” I turned to the door, fiddling with the glass knob. It was impossible to grip with my sweaty hands.

Her voice, directly behind me, was still warm and full of compassion and motherly concern. I assume it was motherly concern, because it was the polar opposite to anything I’d experienced with Octăhvia.

“You’re very welcome, Isobel.”

Not my name. Not my name. She would never have done this. She was good. I... wasn’t. Thoughts, emotions, and confusion were a twisted tornado inside me.

“I’ll see you later this evening. Why don’t you meet me at the main house, over on Wilkes Road? We can talk more then.” Her lips pulled into a wistful smile. “Isobel... such a pretty name,” she murmured. “It was the name I’d given my other daughter, you know. What am I saying? Of course, you don’t know.” Her soft laughter washed over me.

My eyes squeezed shut tight as I felt another foreign surge of hot, angry tears burn my eyelids. Then without another word, I rushed out the door into the cold, wet afternoon.