Page 2 of The Tracker's Secret
“You’d better start talking and explaining what this is all about,” I said.
Mom’s dark eyes finally met mine. The tears spilled down onto her cheeks as she blinked and swallowed hard. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“Rip off the Band-Aid, Mom. I had a hell of a surprise already. Maybe that means I’m strong enough to survive whatever else you’ve got,” I said, my voice ripe with anger.
I had never talked to her like that, but it was clear she’d been lying to me and would’ve continued to do so if the mage had been able to “renew the spell,” which meant it wasn’t the first time he’d done it. Mom had been insisting I come to visit her for days, but I’d been too busy and had avoided her insistent calls. Now, it turned out she hadn’t been desperate for my charming company.
With one shaking step, Mom came away from the refrigerator. Her hands were clasped in front of her as she wrung them together nervously. “I only wanted the best for you. I didn’t want this to happen.”
A low rumble started in my chest. Mom cowered, pushing her back against the refrigerator again. I pressed a hand to my breastbone. I sounded like I had swallowed my Camaro’s engine. What the hell was up with that?
“What is happening to me?” My voice had gone back to normal, but it rang with fear.
“You’re changing.” Mom’s words sounded like some sort of curse, like something I should be terrified of.
Changing into what? That was what I needed to ask, but Mom wasn’t the only coward here. It seemed I’d inherited the trait from her, because, instead, I avoided the question.
“And that mage,” I pointed in the direction of the living room, “he was here to...?”
“He was here to stop it, like he’s done every year since you were born.”
Since you were born.
I glanced under the table, considering the possibility of hiding there for the rest of my life. I wouldn’t lack shelter or food. Mom was a great cook. It wasn’t a bad idea at all.
Changing into what? I still shied away from the question that mattered most, but Mom finally grew a pair and shot the elephant in the room right between the eyes.
“You’re a werewolf, Antonietta.”
I’d known it was coming. Yet, I couldn’t accept it.
“NO!” I shouted, though deep inside, I knew it was the truth.
Even as I shook my head, a part of me bristled at the news, feeling acknowledged as if, all along, it’d been waiting to beseen.
“What kind of joke is this?” I demanded, letting my denial take the wheel. “I can’t be a werewolf. I’m... I’m...”
I stared at my hands where claws had been just minutes ago. They were still there under my skin. I felt them like tiny beating hearts at my fingertips, pulsating, pushing, aching to be released.
Mom exhaled deeply, and wearing a resigned expression, she approached and sat across from me. She looked like someone who had given up a well-fought battle, someone who hated to lose but, at the same time, found relief in knowing the struggle was finally over.
“I have been lying to you and everyone else for over twenty years,” she said, her eyes growing dark and distant as if she’d been transported to a different place and time. “I’m not proud of my mistake, of everything I kept from you and your father.”
I know what she is going to say. I know what she is going to say.
No, you don’t. It’snotpossible.
As she spoke, I shook my head over and over, wishing I had come to lunch when she first asked me so that none of this would have happened, so I wouldn’t have to let her words break my heart into more pieces than I thought were possible.
“Antonietta, you... you aren’t Peter’s daughter.”
No!
Dad.A sob escaped me.
“I had an affair. It didn’t last. There is no excuse, but your father and I were going through a rough patch, and I was still young and foolish. It was over as soon as it began, but even though he broke things off and he went away, you remained.”
He broke things off, not her.
