Storm Born. Richelle Mead

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      We both looked up like guilty children. My mother stood in the doorway in a wide-brimmed hat and dirt-covered gloves, further evidence of her gardening. I had a few planters out in the rock garden that passed for my backyard, but she maintained a veritable oasis. Her long, slightly graying hair streamed down her back as she regarded us. Her hair lacked my reddish hue, and her eyes were just blue, not violet-blue. Otherwise, everyone said we looked alike. I wondered if I’d age like her. I hoped so, although I would probably dye any gray away.

      “What are you planning on doing, Eugenie?” she asked in a level tone.

      “Nothing, Mom. Just hypothetical stuff.”

      “You’re talking about going over there. I know what that means.”

      “Mom—” I began.

      “Dee—” Roland began.

      She held up a hand to stop us both. “Don’t. I don’t want to hear it. Do you know how much I already worry about you in this world, Eugenie? And now you want to walk right into their homes? And you.” She turned on Roland, her eyes flashing. “I spent twenty years worrying about you. I’d lie awake, wondering which night would be the one you didn’t come home. I thanked God the day you retired, and now you’re encouraging her to—”

      “Hey, whoa, he’s not telling me anything here. Leave him out if this if you want to thrash somebody. This is just me. He’s not involved.”

      Roland turned on me. “Eugenie, if you insist on going, I might as well go—”

      “Mom’s right. Your fight’s done. This one’s mine.”

      My mom turned on me. “It’s not yours either! Why can’t you just worry about keeping them away from here? Why go after them?”

      I told her. She kept her face proud and stony the entire time I spoke, but I could see her eyes betray her. The severity of the situation wasn’t lost on her, even as her words continued to deny that truth.

      “You’re just like him. Too noble for your own good.” She suddenly looked older than her age. “You’re compensating for some sort of lack of attention as a child, aren’t you?” There she was, slipping into therapist mode again.

      “Mom, she’s fourteen, er, fifteen now. If this were someone kidnapped locally, you’d agree to any measures to get her back.”

      “I’d agree to measures that involved backup, not you alone.”

      “I have no backup.”

      “Except for me,” piped in Roland.

      “No,” my mother and I told him together.

      She turned to me and used that deadliest of weapons known to mankind: the Mom Card. “You’re my only child. My baby. If something happens to you…”

      I was ready for her. “Jasmine’s someone’s baby too, even if her mom is gone. That almost makes it worse, actually. She lost her parents. She has no one. And now she’s trapped, being held hostage by some asshole who thinks it’s okay to kidnap and rape unwilling girls.”

      My mom flinched as though I’d slapped her. She looked at Roland. They exchanged one of those long looks that couples who have been together for ages can do. I don’t know what they communicated, but she finally looked away from both of us.

      “When…you get her back, bring her to me. It doesn’t matter if it’s…gentry or humans. She’ll need the same kind of therapy any other victim would.” I knew she did that kind of counseling with patients all the time, but I’d never thought of her as helping gentry victims. It was very kind for someone who tried to pretend the Otherworld didn’t exist.

      “Mom—” I attempted.

      She shook her head. “I don’t want to know anything else about it until it’s all over. I can’t know.”

      She left us then, returning to the peace of her garden.

      “She’ll recover,” Roland told me after a quiet moment. “She always does.”

      Forced to accept the fact that I would be going over now, he was only too willing to flood me with as much tactical information as possible. It grew dizzying.

      At one point, after I’d refused his third request to go with me, he said, “I assume you’ll be taking your other help.”

      The tone in his voice showed undeniable derision for my “other help.” I knew he didn’t approve, but he had to recognize the benefits. “You know they’re an asset.”

      “So is a grenade—until it goes off in your hand.”

      “They’re better than nothing.”

      He scowled but said no more, instead discussing more logistics with me: where and when to cross over and what weapons to bring. We decided it would be best for me to wait until the moon was in crescent phase, so I’d have a stronger connection to Hecate. She facilitated transitions, particularly to the Otherworld, which might be useful if I needed a hasty retreat. There’d be a nice crescent in about four more days.

      I left their house without seeing my mother again. I hoped she wouldn’t take her feelings out on Roland, and I wondered how much it must suck to love someone who always walked into danger. I decided if I ever got married, I’d choose someone with a normal job whom I could expect to be home at normal hours. Like an electrician. Or an architect.

      Or a veterinarian.

      Ack.

      As I got into my car to depart, I saw the strangest thing. A red fox watched me from the tree line on the far side of my parents’ house. More surprising than seeing it watch me so seriously was the fact that it was a red fox in the first place. They weren’t common in southern Arizona. You were more likely to see a gray fox or one of the silly-looking little desert kit foxes. I stared into this one’s yellow-brown eyes and shivered. Too many weird things were happening lately for me to feel comfortable with a studious fox, no matter how beautiful.

      When I got back to my house, I knew it was time to solicit the “other help.” This was one of the areas where my path had split from Roland’s. He’d been my mentor and had years more experience, but we both knew I’d grown stronger. He could never have done what I was about to do. If he could, he might have understood why I relied on this sort of assistance.

      I closed my bedroom door and then shut the curtains and blinds. Darkness fell, and I lit a candle, letting it be my only light source. I was strong enough to do a summoning without the stage tricks, just as I could cast out a spirit without divine help, but I didn’t want to waste the extra strength today.

      I produced the wand and touched the smoky quartz crystal on it, strengthening my connection to the spirit world. Closing my eyes, I focused on the being I wanted and then recited the correct words. I often improvised words when I cast out creatures—hence my frequent use of expletives—but it didn’t usually matter, so long as my intent and meaning proved clear. For a summoning like this, however, I had to have everything right. I was essentially invoking a contract, and as any good lawyer knew, technicalities were everything.

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