Page 60 of Raven

Nothing. Not a thing. The room felt empty, a void where my mother's vibrant energy should have been.

I placed my hand on the handle, pushing it slightly, ready to be told to close the door. But it swung open, revealing darkness just like our flat. I leant in, feeling for the light switch.

The room was empty. Just a very well-decked out boudoir. The space smelled like my mother, though, her scent thick but not fresh. She hadn't been here in hours.

As I moved to leave, a voice stopped me cold. "Raven."

I spun around at the sound of my name. It was Sue, her face etched with worry. "Where's my mother? She didn't come home last night. She isn't home now."

Her eyes widened, horror dawning on her face. "Oh god, nobody told you? Trixie was meant to come and tell you. She..." She shook her head. "It doesn't matter." She pushed me back into my mother's room, closing the door behind us.

"No one told me what? Sue? What's happened to my mother? Where is she?" My voice cracked, panic rising in my throat.

Sue trembled, her eyes filling with tears. Even without my abilities, I could see the emotions threatening to drown her. "She was attacked last night. Oh, hell, someone was supposed to come and say."

"Attacked? What do you mean? Where is she?" My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a painful reminder of my mother's absence.

"She's in the infirmary."

"Was it a client? Something hurt her?"

"No." Sue shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "No. It was after work. It was..."

It didn't matter. My mother was in the infirmary. I pushed past Sue, back out the door, almost colliding with a woman in a business suit, another human down here for their fill. I shot her a glance, barely registering her startled expression.

Sue was running behind me, impressively fast for someone in heels. "Raven ... wait"

"How the hell did my mother get beaten up?" I growled, my panther stirring beneath my skin.

We pushed through people, their faces blurring as we passed. I wanted to break into a full run, but the crowded hallways made it impossible.

Sue offered hurried excuses as we barrelled through. "She was in town. The humans' town."

"What?" I froze, my heart pounding as I stared at Sue. "What the hell was she doing there?" A sickening realisation hit me. "Oh God. She was on the Worst Side? In Speake?"

Sue's nervousness radiated off her. "It's not my place to tell you. This is between you and her."

I heaved in another breath, my fists clenching at my sides. "She was paying off my fine, wasn't she? She was there trying to sort it out." I shook my head, anger and guilt churning in my gut. "Fucking hell. What was she thinking?" Without another word, I bolted from Sue, racing to the other end of the Underground where the shipping container infirmary stood like a grotesque monument to our violent world. I burst through the doors, startling the receptionist.

"Raina McCullough," I demanded, my voice a barely controlled growl.

The woman raised her head, recognition flickering in her eyes. "Raven ..." She hesitated, her expression softening. "Your mother is--"

Sue had caught up, panting. "I know where she is. Come on."

My mother was in one of the critical bays, tucked away in the labyrinth of dark corridors. This was where shifters like us ended up when the unthinkable happened. We didn't get sick, didn't need medical attention often—unless it involved silver or something that required urgent care. But then again, most others here didn't get sick either. Witches healed themselves, vampires were already dead, and the fae had their own ways. This place was for the desperate cases, the ones teetering on the edge between life and death.

Sue pressed the buzzer on the door, and after an agonising moment, a low hum signalled our entry. The door slid open with a hiss.

My mother lay on the fifth bed along, tucked into a little corner like a broken doll. A small light illuminated her battered form, but the rest of the place seemed suffocated by gloom. It was clean, though—clinically dark, as if the shadows themselves had been sterilised.

"Jesus Christ," I choked out, rushing to my mother's bedside. The sight of her ... If I couldn't scent my mother, if my panther didn't instinctively recognise her, I wouldn't have known this broken figure was her.

Her face was so swollen it was barely recognisable, eyes closed and bulging beneath puffy lids. A vicious gash carved its way across her cheek, still angry and red. Dark, mottled bruises blossomed across her skin. Around her throat, ugly marks—someone had tried to strangle her.

My knees buckled, and I gripped the edge of the bed to keep from falling. The room spun around me, rage and despair battling for dominance in my chest. This was my fault. My mother, my fierce, indomitable mother, lay broken because of me. A low, keening sound escaped my throat—part human anguish, part panther's roar. I reached out to touch her hand, my fingers trembling as they hovered over her bruised skin, afraid that even the gentlest touch might cause her more pain.

"Mum," I whispered, my voice cracking. "What the hell happened?"

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