The Blue Woods (28 page)

“Thanks to me,” Bree said.

I rolled my eyes. “Bree, I already thanked you like a million times for saving my life.”

“Hey, a girl can never hear too much of that kind of appreciation.” She pointed a second piece of bacon at me. “Why do you want to go to school anyway? You know
he's
not going to be there.”

“I know.” I toyed with a frayed edge of the tablecloth. A fresh knife of pain stabbed through me. Missing Jonah—knowing he was someplace where I couldn't go—was like a tangible monster who had taken up residence in my chest. I cleared my throat. “But it seems stupid to stay home when there's not really anything going on here right now.” It was true. Nerina had been locked in the den all night, making all sorts of long-distance phone calls to the rest of the
Concilio
. Without cluing in any of us, of course. And the thought of sitting around here all day with nothing to do but worry seemed like madness.

“God, you really are a Goody Two-shoes.” Bree shoved the rest of her bacon in her mouth and pushed away from the table. “Take a day off for once in your life.”

The moment she was gone, Lidia slid into her empty chair. I tensed, keenly aware of all the things that were still unsaid between us. She put her hand over mine, but I didn't soften. “
Cara,
when Bree came in with you last night, I . . . I . . .”

I could picture the scene in my mind, and for a sliver of a moment I imagined the chaos and fear she must've felt at seeing me so hurt. I swallowed. “I'm okay, Mom. Really.”

She shook her head. “This is exactly what I didn't want for you. What I tried to protect you from.”

“Well, you can't.” I drew my hand out from under hers. “You can't keep me in a bubble, no matter how many lies you tell or how many trips to Paris you don't allow me to take.”

“Alessia.” The sharp tone in her voice stilled me. “I did what I thought was right. I made a mistake. You have to forgive me.”

I stared into her eyes, their soft brown depths pleading with me. When had my relationship with her become so complicated? How had it gone from being the one thing that I could count on to the thing I was most unsure of? “Tell me exactly what's going on with Mr. Salter.”

She blinked. “Alessia . . .”

“You want me to forgive you? Then you have to be honest with me about
everything
from here on out.”

The only sound in the kitchen was the drip-drip of the coffee machine. We sat staring at each other, finally recognizing each other for what we were: a mother who was as human as I was, and a daughter who was capable of much more than her mother realized. “Okay, Alessia.” She touched my hand again. “You are right. You deserve to know the truth.”

“Which is?”

She hitched one shoulder up. “We are . . . dating, if you want to put a common label on it.”

“Oh, come on. He's here all the time. There's more to it than that.” I tightened my jaw. “Are you in love with him?”

“I . . .” Lidia looked out the kitchen window for a moment before turning back to me. “I am very fond of him. He makes me laugh. I could see myself being happy with him for a long time. So, yes, in that way I guess I do love him.” Her fingers tightened on mine. “But do I love him the same way I loved your father? No. I will never love anyone the way I loved your father. Just as Ed will never love anyone the way he loved Dolly. We have been very honest with each other about that.” The corner of her mouth turned up. “But that does not lessen our affection for each other.”

“Are you sleeping with him?”

Lidia pulled her hand away. “That, young lady, is none of your business.” But I could tell from the two bright spots that appeared on her cheeks what the answer was. And I kinda wished I hadn't asked that question.

I picked at a chip in the table. “It was nice of him to let Jonah use his cabin,” I said finally. “Bree said he stocked up on all sorts of supplies on their way up there.”

“Ed is nothing if not resourceful.” Lidia glanced past me, toward the living room, and leaned in close. “And speaking of resources . . . there is something I need. Back at the farmhouse.”

“What?” I pinched my brows together.

“I know everyone thinks it's dangerous, but I thought that you . . .”

My eyes widened. “Oh, my God, this is the real reason you didn't want me to go to school today, isn't it? Wow, Mom. You've got more in common with Nerina than you know.”

“I do not have anything in common with that woman.” Lidia stood up. “Get your coat.”

The air outside bit into my skin. Spring was still weeks away, and winter sure was having a hell of a last party. “What do you need from the house?” I asked, my voice muffled by my thick scarf. “And why do you need me to come with you?” When Lidia didn't answer, I threw my arms up. “Come on, Mom, I thought we were being honest with each other.”

“I can't answer you because I'm not sure what I'm looking for.” She clung to my arm as we braved the wind. We crossed Main Street and turned down the road. The farmhouse was in sight now, the weather vane spinning madly in the wind.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Many years ago, your father told me that he had hidden something in the house, something that might help the Benandanti should they ever need it.” Lidia glanced up and down the street. “But he never told me exactly where or what it was. And I thought, with your magic . . .”

“You think I'll be able to find it faster,” I finished for her. “You would've been better off with Bree. I bet she could find something like that in about five seconds.”

“Well, I do not want Bree. I want my daughter.”

Behind my scarf, I half-snorted and half-smiled. It didn't matter if whatever was at the house was useful; she wanted something we could bond over. Although I was pretty sure this was the strangest mother-daughter outing I'd ever been on.

We reached the top of the driveway. I pulled away from her and swept my gaze up and down the street. A bus lumbered past, on its way to Bangor. I looked beyond the house, past the barn ruins, and over the hillside. Patches of brown grass poked up through the crusty old snow. Heath's cabin lay dormant at the edge of the pasture. The hen trailers were quiet. And the forest beyond appeared empty and barren beneath the gray sky. It all seemed normal. Still . . . “Let's get inside fast,” I said, and we practically ran down the driveway.

“Any idea where we should start?” I said when we'd closed the front door and shrugged out of our coats.

Lidia unwound her scarf from her throat and hung it over her coat on the rack. “He would've hidden it someplace he thought was safe. Someplace he thought no one would be able to find it.”

“But if he told you about it, he would've wanted
you
to be able to find it.” I tapped my finger on my lips. “The safest place probably would've been Nerina's bunker, but if it was there, then the Malandanti definitely have it.” Everything had been overturned, torn apart, and undone in the underground lair when I'd last been there, the day Nerina had been taken, the day Heath and I had gone after her and been trapped in the Guild with Jonah as our guard . . . I squeezed my eyes shut. That day seemed like forever ago. I opened my eyes. If I let myself stand here in the living room and think about Jonah, I'd be lost. I had to keep moving, or I'd be stuck still forever.

“I thought perhaps . . .” Lidia took a few tentative steps toward the kitchen. “Maybe it was hidden near the amulet. The one you found in the basement.”

“It's as good a place to start as any.” I followed her into the kitchen and down the basement stairs. It was freezing, the brick walls seeping with a bone-chilling cold. I went right over to the loose brick where I'd found the amulet. None of the other bricks around it seemed to be loose as well, but I felt my way along the wall, testing each brick to see if it would give.

Lidia stood in the middle of the basement, her eyes fixed on the shelves filled with jars of
mostarda
and jams, dried meats from last season, and canned fruits. “I should really take some of these back for Barb,” she murmured.

“
Mother
.”

She glanced at me crouched on the ground, digging my fingers around each brick. “Sorry.” She went to the corner opposite me and began her own search.

We worked in silence for several minutes. My fingers were red and sore from scratching along the bricks, and more than one of my nails cracked with the pressure. I finished the length of the first wall—the one where I'd found the amulet—and turned the corner.

The sound of loud knocking on the front door above us froze my hands.

Across the room, Lidia slowly rose to her feet, her gaze fixed on the basement door. “It could be anybody,” she whispered. “Maybe just one of the neighbors.”

If it was one of the neighbors, then I was a Malandante Dragon. I bit the inside of my cheek. We were stupid to come here, in the bright light of day . . .

Another round of knocking echoed through the house, making my insides shake.

Lidia squared her shoulders and marched to the stairs.

“Mom, no!”

“I'm allowed to be in my own house,” she said, her jaw set. “Stay down here.”

“Mom!”

But she ignored me and disappeared up the stairs, shutting the basement door with a snap.

My breath shallow, I moved to the next set of bricks, my ears fine-tuned to the floor above me as my fingers worked. The front door creaked open and I heard Lidia say, “
Buon giorno
. May I help you?” in her best imperious Italian accent.

“Good morning, Mrs. Jacobs.”

At the sound of Pratt Webster's voice, my blood turned to ice in my veins. And at the same time, my fingers hit a snag, a place in the wall where the mortar had been scraped clean.

“My name is Pratt Web—”

“Yes, I remember you, Mr. Webster. What is it you want?”

I bent my head, my hair dangling around my face, and slid my fingers into the space where the mortar should have been. With a little tug, first one brick came out and then another. Dust clouded the air, and I pinched my mouth shut to keep from coughing.

“I'm surprised to see you here. I heard the house was being treated for black mold.”

“Well, Mr. Webster, I'm surprised to see
you
here. I thought I made it perfectly clear the last time you set foot in my house that you are not welcome.”

“You can understand my concern when I saw you enter a house that is supposed to be toxic.”

“I don't really see how that's
any
of your concern.”

My hands grappled inside the wall. I couldn't breathe, couldn't make air come through my mouth into my lungs. Bile rose in the back of my throat. God, she was up there with the man who'd killed my father. But I hadn't told her. I'd been so preoccupied with how she'd betrayed me that I hadn't told her about Dad . . . and she had no idea how dangerous Pratt Webster truly was.

Mortar crumbled away, and my fingers hit something smooth and solid. I got a good grip on it and pulled hard. With a shower of powdered brick, a leather-bound book came tumbling out of the wall with such force that I fell back on my bottom. The book fell against my knee with a painful smack. It was a kind of old-fashioned journal, large and square with thick leather binding.

“Perhaps it's my concern because there really isn't black mold in this house.”

“Just what are you suggesting?”

I grabbed the book and bolted up the stairs. “Mom, I found it. I was such an idiot to leave it behind.” I slid to a stop in the living room, looking at Pratt like he was the last person I expected to see. “Um, hi.” I walked to the coat rack, holding the book behind my back. “We really shouldn't be in here for too long. They told us the treatment is super toxic.” I held Lidia's coat out to her, hoping Pratt couldn't see how my arm shook.

“Then why were you here?”

“I left one of my textbooks in the basement.” I pulled my own coat off the rack, keeping my face turned away from him.
Just breathe,
I told myself.
Don't think about stabbing his eyes out.

“Really.” I felt Pratt's gaze on me.

Don't look at him, don't look at him . . .

“Don't you dare talk to my daughter like that, Mr. Webster. In fact, don't you dare talk to my daughter at all.” Lidia stormed to the door and flung it open. “Please leave.”

An angry breath of wind gusted through the door. “So sorry to have bothered you,” Pratt said, his voice so honeyed that it made my stomach turn. He took a step toward the door. “Though I do find it interesting that your daughter's textbook is
glowing blue
.”

I gasped and brought the book around to my front. It was enveloped in a halo of the telltale Benandanti blue. But it hadn't been glowing in the basement. I backed away, the book held in front of me, my hands bathed in its celestial aura. My traitorous hands . . . the book must have unlocked only for a Benandante, the light only have shone when a Benandante held it.

“Get out!” Lidia screeched, and I didn't know if she was screaming at me or at Pratt. I stumbled backward into the kitchen, heading for the back door, but Pratt crossed the length of the house in a microsecond. The instant I reached for the knob, he slammed his palm flat on the door above my head, trapping me in.

“So it's you,” he breathed, his words hot on my face, in my hair, down my neck. “I thought it was your mother, but it's you. Jonah's sweet little girl is a Benandante. No wonder he won't kill you.”

I raised my gaze and finally looked into Pratt Webster's eyes. As I searched their soulless depths, tendrils of rage uncurled in every corner of my body and spiraled outward. “Yes, it's me,” I spat, thrilled to see a healthy drop of my saliva land on his nose. “I'm the Falcon. The one who broke your wings.” Breath came hard and fast, making my insides burn. “I'm also the one whose barn you burned down. And the one whose father you had killed. But you already knew that.”