Page 98 of A Winding Wave of Magic
“What about my mother?” I asked a moment later. “Won’t they go after her first? She’s Penny’s daughter, not me. Shouldn’t she go to Ireland?”
Jonathan looked uneasy at the mention of Sybil. Vaguely, I wondered if she made him as uncomfortable as she made everyone else.
“Honestly, it’s unlikely anyone would suspect she’s a reputable seer, much less the daughter of the Lost Mage.” His brow furrowed. “She’ll be safe enough. I put additional protection on her when I delivered the will. But I’ll be going there after this to shore things up.”
I looked up. “You’re going back to Seattle?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Then I’ll be going with you.”
His eyes widened. “Why?”
I’d thought a lot about it. “My mother. There’s something you should know about her. She does have some talent. One, in particular.”
It was hard to talk about it without shivering.
“I should have mentioned it in February, but I was so overwhelmed.” I took a deep breath. “She Sees death. Years ahead, in great detail. She saw my father’s the moment she met him. Knew their entire life what was going to happen. She probably Saw Gran’s, too. I bet that’s why Gran knew he was coming for her and prepared the way she did.”
“Sybil’s a banshee?”
I nodded. “It’s the only power she ever had. Although I’ve never personally heard her shriek.”
He smiled grimly. “It’s a valuable talent, though not much loved.”
“Only if you don’t use it to help people.”
He didn’t press, and I was glad. Since learning of my mother’s skill on the day my father died, I had never been ableto forgive her for it. Because if you had such a skill, why wouldn’t you do everything in your power to help the ones you loved avoid their terrible fates?
“We need more answers about what exactly your father did,” I said. “The house burned, and its knowledge floated away the ashes. My mother is the only one left who might know anything else. If you’re going to see her, I am too. She has some answering to do.”
30
ANALINDA ELPIS
A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it.
— GEORGE AUGUSTUS MOORE,THE BROOK KERITH
Itexted Reina to let her know I’d be missing our picnic, and I’d meet up with her later for fish and chips by the harbor.Jonathan and I had a lot more to discuss, and my friend understood, given everything else she knew about the strange sorcerer.
“So, the deaths of the Council members,” Jonathan said as he resumed his seat on the couch after I’d fixed us both plates of salami and crudité. “From what I’ve learned, they were similar to Penny’s—mental asphyxiation, memory burglary, arson. Mbotu worked in a clinic in Tanzania. A patient was hiding in the supply closet and watched when she was killed by an invisible force on the exam table. The boy thought she was possessed by some sort of demon and immediately ran to the local priest, who happenedto be a sorcerer. According to the priest, Mbotu’s last words were very clear: ‘Analinda Elpis.’”
I swallowed a bit of carrot. “What does that mean?”
“The first bit is Swahili for ‘she guards.’ The other is Greek.”
Recognition bubbled. “Elpis. Yes. It has varying translations, but generally, it means ‘hope’ or perhaps ‘expectation,’ right? My Greek isn’t great.”
Jonathan nodded. “Elpiswas also the spirit who stayed in Pandora’s box after it was opened. There’s much debate about why she stayed or what exactly she was hoping for—the men or the gods. Hope is such an abstract concept.”
“You don’t think the box is the same one, do you?”
His brows lifted. “The box? No. To start, Hesiod and Homer both set their histories during Bronze Age Greece. And that’s just human history. Not fae.”
I waited for him to connect those dots. “So…”
He rolled his eyes. “Your grandmother didn’t send you a four-thousand-year-old wooden recipe box, Cass. It wouldn’t have survived.”
