Page 45 of Wings of Lies
Were they angry?
I blinked my heavy lids, wanting to see who was before me. But the endless night and bright light shrouded them.
“What are you?”
My lips twitched. What a funny question. “I’m a girl, if you couldn’t tell.” I was naked—or had been before they covered me. Even if my arms laid across my breasts, they pushed between my arms, too big to hide.
I couldn’t make sense of this.Why was this stranger so curious about me?
They sighed, frustrated. “Can you tell me anything about yourself?”
I could tell them lots of things. Could tellhim, I realized. Things that would get my mother and me killed. Things that she protected me from so that’d never happen. Secrets she kept from everyone—absolutely everyone. For good reason, too.
“My name’s Lucille. I hate my father. My mother lied to me. And my life is a ticking time bomb. Here.” I ripped off the metal chain still hanging around my neck and gave the stranger my amulet. It no longer held my mother’s soothing power. I didn’t want it anymore. Who cared if my mother would throw a giant fit once she found out? It was just a reminder of her secrets and a reasonable payment for the warmth and cover this stranger gave.
She said she had it made by some witch. The crystal itself was imbued with a type of magic that allowed it to absorb power to be used later. It could fetch a hefty price, even if the stranger never figured out its magical aspects.
He took it from my hands, continuing to stay silent.Was he staring at it? Did he pocket it?
“You need to stay,” he said, pausing. “Lucille.”
I continued to squint at the light, trying to see his face.
“Did you hear me? You need to stay with your mother.” His voice hardened.
“O-kay,” I said, confused.
He grabbed my arm. It was hot through the material. “I mean it. Go back home and stay put.”
“Okay,” I said, wanting my sluggish mind to make sense of this. He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. I did need to go home. My mom was probably out of her mind by now.But stay put?We’d most likely run again.
The thought had me itching to touch my newfound inky strands of anger coiling in my core. I hated running and hiding and all the isolation. I hated that the one person I trusted most could lie to me and keep my origins secret. I hated that if the amulet still held power, I would’ve snatched it back.
“Good,” he said, satisfied.
The light and heat blipped out of existence. My eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dark. I lifted my head. There were no footsteps, no movements through the woods, almost like he was never there to begin with—just gone.
Without the heat of the light, my limbs became cold again. Reluctantly, I stood on shaky legs, pulling the heavy cloth around my body. I would’ve thought I made it all up if it wasn’t for the cloak. I searched the forest, hoping to find the stranger, and then figured it was best to get back to the house before my mom came looking.
My mom stood on the threshold of our small house, holding a folded blanket. The glow of our front porch light shined on her silky black hair. She tapped her foot, and I figured I better walk faster. I wished I could just walk around her to the door and not deal with this. But even though my mom was a small woman, she had been trainingand handling me for nineteen years. If she didn’t want me to pass, I wouldn’t.
Bitterness hit the back of my tongue again. I waited, knowing what was coming.
“You can’t run off like that, Lucy.”
“What else am I supposed to do, Mom? Burn down another house?” I snapped, satisfied by her flinch.
She pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes.
“Or maybe I should withhold a key detail of your life and cover it up as some kind of deranged story and see how it messes you up?” The tickling itch responded to my anger and what sounded like cracking ice. It was the same sound I heard before, but the itch was a new sensation. I knew my mom felt it, too, as she lifted her hand.
“Wait,” I said, taking a step away from her. Her hand hovered in the air as I stared at it, questioning. Did I want my mother to shove calming emotions down my throat?
I stared at her hand, already knowing the choice I’d make. The choice she was begging me to make within the crinkle of worry on her forehead.
“Okay, but I meant what I said earlier, Mom. I want you to teach me how to control my emotions and powers,” I whispered. Then, I walked into her arms and rested my head on her shoulder. A wash of calm seeped into my back from her tender touch.
My mom was the best thing to protect me—protect us from myself and others. And now it made sense why.
