Oh, shit. I was dying.
Karn whirled to meet the werewolf’s attack, but he couldn’t defeat Drake in full fury. Drake knocked the bastard to the ground and wrenched off his head with his bare hands.
Karn turned to dust.
Honestly? Slightly anticlimactic. Except for me getting stabbed. That was an unexpected twist to the story.
“Moira.” Drake dropped to his knees, tears in his eyes.
“I . . . th-think . . .” Pushing the words out of my mouth was such a trial. I felt so cold now, and my mouth felt stiff. My vision was graying, but the pain was receding. I lifted a trembling hand to his cheek. “Love. You.”
Then I died.
Chapter 28
“Mr. Keyter is a vampire,” said the woman. “I am not . . . in case you were wondering. Brigid saved me, and she tried to save you, but . . . well, you’re being stubborn.”
The voice was familiar . . . and yet not. That voice seemed to be missing something.
Sarcasm.
I searched my memory banks for something to attach to that voice. Dove.
She was alive.
Relief flowed through me.
“Anyway. For some reason, Mr. Keyter had sent the staff out for the evening. Isn’t that odd? No one else got hurt, Moira, so you can stop worrying. I thought you would like to know that the household staff is fine—because you’re you, and you feel insanely responsible for anyone who gets inside your orbit.
“Oh, yes. You should know two things about Mr. Keyter. One, he is an excellent vampire. Two, he was a closet nudist. He fits in extremely well at the vampire senior citizens community. He visits you, too. I just hope he hasn’t regaled you with that story about him and Mrs. Stoffenblatz in the hot tub. It was so TMI.” The voice paused. “P.S., I have not forgiven you for being brave and saving the werewolf you love. It was entirely selfish. You really need to work on those little personality flaws of yours.” I felt fingertips on my shoulder and the brush of lips over my forehead. Then that voice whispered in my ear, “Those witches make excellent cheesecake. And if you don’t wake up, Moira, I will eat all of it. Every crumb.”
When I opened my eyes, I was sitting at a school desk. I recognized the room well enough. My mother’s classroom in Building A. But I had no fear, no panic.
I knew my truth now, my heritage, and the reason my mother died.
For me.
For our family secret.
“You’re tryin’ much too hard to be dead,” said a pleasant Irish male voice. Ruadan sparkled into being, and looked super-casual in jeans, T-shirt, and black Converses, for an ethereal visit. He leaned against the big square desk. “When my mother can’t fully heal you, there’s a problem. And it’s you. If you’re wondering, Karn didn’t get you with the unicorn blade. I switched out the real blade for a fake one ages ago. The real one is protected and where no being can get at it. I promise.”
“Good. I don’t ever want to see it again.” I sighed and looked around the room. No ghosts here. “I would prefer to not be dead.”
“Are you sure?” He glanced around the room. “You picked an odd spot to hide your soul in.”
“I’m hiding?”
“’Twould seem to be the case.” He eyed me. “Maybe you’re lookin’ for closure.” He gazed toward the classroom’s doorway.
My mother entered. She wore a blue summer dress and strappy sandals. And her red hair was pulled into a ponytail. She looked young, younger than I was now, and she was beautiful. Just as I remembered. Somewhere in my very adult mind was the excited wonderment of my five-year-old self. Mommy was alive! I was out of and around my desk in a flash, flinging myself into her open arms.
“I’m sorry, so sorry, for all that you’ve been through.” She pulled back and placed her hand against my cheek. “I wanted to be with you, to raise you, and to introduce you to our heritage. I wanted things to be different for you. My parents meant well . . . but they let fear drive their choices. I don’t know if learning about being a unicorn would’ve changed things, sweetheart. I don’t think so.” She smiled. “Don’t be afraid anymore, Moira.”
“It’s really you?” I asked. “I’m not just . . . hallucinating?”
“You are not crazy,” she said fiercely. “Stop thinking like that. And throw those pills away. You don’t need them. Besides, you have him, don’t you?”
My heart skipped a beat. “Drake.”
“Oh, yes. Love is so wondrous. So worthwhile.” She let go of me and stepped back. “He’s waiting for you.”
“Mom—”
“I love you, Moira. But you have a life to live. Now, go. Be happy, babe.” She smiled at me, a smile full of love and promises and hope and the world. Then she turned and walked through the doorway. As she passed through it, the dark weight of my fear, my lifelong companion, the awful thing I carried around and treated like a monstrous friend . . . lifted from me . . . and shattered . . . and then it was all cosmic dust.