Page 89 of A Bolt of Magic

My mother nods and glides from the room, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

The moment she’s gone, I turn to Kian, keeping my voice low. “My mother seems to like you.”

“She does indeed. I’m sorry about your grandmother.” He gets this look.

I give him what I know will be a sad smile. “Thanks. It’s terrible news.” I look to the door my mother just walked through, not so long ago. “I don’t trust her, Kian. She loves the idea of you being a king. Loves your power. It’s going well, perhaps too well,” I whisper urgently. “My mother agreeing to everything, being so accommodating about the alliance. I smell a rat. Hell, I smell a whole nest of the things. We need to stay on our guard.”

Kian nods. “I was thinking the same thing. Everything is falling into place a little too easily.” His green eyes meet mine, serious and alert. “We’ll be careful. We need to—”

The sound of approaching footsteps on the wooden floor cuts our conversation short. We both go silent, settling back into our chairs just as my mother reappears in the doorway.

Her whole demeanor has changed. Her eyes are bright, and she’s smiling broadly.

“You’re in luck, my dear!” she says, clasping her hands together. “Your grandmother is having a rare moment of clarity. You should hurry and go see her right now while she’s lucid.”

I frown, feeling shocked. This is the last thing I expected. I was preparing to have to fight with my mother to see my grandmother.

“McColl, dear?” She lifts her brows. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes, yes, sorry.” Relief floods through me so powerfully that it nearly brings me to my knees. “Thank you,” I push out.

“You go on. It may not last. Don’t you worry; I’ll keep Kian company while you visit,” my mother continues smoothly. “Her bedroom is—”

“No.” The word comes out sharp and crisp. “Thank you for the kind offer, but Kian can come with me.”

My mother’s eyebrows rise. “McColl, dear, your grandmother, in her current condition, is not good with strangers. She might be afraid of him. He is a fae, after all. No offense, Kian.”

“None taken.”

I shake my head firmly. “I want her to meet him. This might be the only chance, and you said she’s having a rare moment of clarity. I don’t think it will be a problem if I explain to her that he is my dear friend.” I stand, making it clear this isn’t negotiable. “I’m sure you agree, Mother. Let’s go, Kian.”

My mother purses her lips but eventually nods. “Very well. If you insist.” She gestures toward the hallway. “Follow me.”

The walk down the hallway feels endless. Each step brings me closer to seeing the woman who was more of a mother to me than my actual mother ever was, but also closer to witnessing what this horrible disease has done to her.

My mother stops at a wooden door and pushes it open, revealing a dimly lit room with heavy drapes drawn across the windows. The air smells of lavender and something medicinal that makes my throat tight.

“I'll leave you to it. You will find me in the living room when you’re finished,” my mother murmurs, then disappears back down the hallway.

I step into the room, Kian close behind me, and have to bite back a gasp.

The figure in the bed is nothing like the grandmother I remembered. She’s so small that she practically drowns beneath the heavy quilts, her once-robust frame now bird-like and fragile. Her hair, which had been silver when I left, is now completely white and thinning, wisps of it spread across the pillow. Her face is so lined, so aged, that for a moment, I wonder if we’re in the wrong room.

But then she turns her head toward us, and I see her eyes. Those same hazel eyes that used to twinkle with mischief and wisdom. Though, even they have changed, somehow. They’re dimmed, as if a light inside has been turned down. I can’t quite put my finger on it. It must be the sickness.

“McColl?” Her voice is hoarse, cracked with disuse. “Is that you?”

“Grandmother,” I whisper, sounding more like the little girl I once was.

“My darling girl, is that really you?” Her voice is stronger now.

Tears blur my vision as I rush to her bedside, dropping to my knees beside the bed. “Yes, Grandmother. It’s me. I’m home.”

She reaches out with a trembling hand, and I take it in both of mine. Her skin is paper-thin, her fingers cold despite the warmth of the room.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispers, her eyes drinking in my face. “Then again, you always were.” Her eyes lift and turn hazy with a memory I am not privy to. They lock back with mine. “You’ve grown more beautiful somehow.” She smiles.

“I’ve missed you so much,” I choke out, pressing her hand to my cheek. “Every single day.”

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