Darkmoon(81)
“Son of a bitch — ” Connor began, and actually began to rise from the sofa. I reached up to grasp his wrist, even as my father looked at me and said quietly,
“Angela, this is your choice. We can’t make you do it. On the other hand, Connor can’t stop you if you decide to take the risk. Just — ” He paused and reached up to grasp the turquoise amulet he wore on a brown leather thong around his throat. “Just remember how much suffering this curse has already caused. Think of what we’ve all done to get to this point.”
How could I forget, when I knew I’d be another one of those Wilcox wives gone too soon into the dark if something didn’t change? Connor subsided but watched me with anguished eyes. Possibly he was in the worst situation of all, knowing that I would surely die if I didn’t break the curse, but also understanding that I risked not only myself but the twins if my attempt failed. If that happened, he would lose everything.
Oh, Goddess, I moaned to myself, not knowing what I should do. I was only one person, but if I should lose the twins….
It was as if she had spoken within me. The worst thing to do is to do nothing at all.
But was it, truly? Even if I died, the twins would live.
But they are still only two. What of all the others to come after you, generation after generation, if this curse is not ended now?
Harsh logic, the kind I wished I could ignore. I couldn’t, though. Not and live with myself. If all the signs and portents had pointed to me, pointed to this one particular day, then I had better do them proud and give Nizhoni the talking-to she so clearly deserved.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do whatever I can. But I hope you’re up to giving me some coaching, because I really have no idea what I’m supposed to do.”
Connor slumped beside me, face blank. I could read the defeat and worry in every line of his body, and I reached out and took his hand in mine.
“They’re right,” I said softly. “This has to end. We’re scared. It’s okay to be scared. But we can’t let it stop us. Do you really want our children and our children’s children to go through this all over again, generation after generation, with no end in sight?”
Raising his head, he stared at me for a long moment. We could’ve been the only two people in the room, although I was dimly aware of Lawrence and my father sitting still and quiet, waiting for us to work this through on our own.
“No,” Connor said at last. “I don’t. I want this to end.”
“Do you trust me?” I asked him, an echo of a question he’d asked me so many months ago.
His fingers, strong and warm, squeezed mine in return. “Yes, I trust you.”
* * *
After that the atmosphere became a little more relaxed, my father getting up from his chair to fetch us some long-overdue water, Connor leaning against the back of the couch, looking as drained as if he’d just run a marathon. But I knew he wouldn’t fight me on this any longer, had realized we couldn’t let this singular opportunity slip by.
As my father came back with two tall glasses incongruously decorated with strawberries — probably a thrift store or yard sale purchase — Lawrence said, “You asked for my instruction. I can assist you with this part at least, help train you in the sort of meditation that will help you when it comes time to walk the paths of the otherworld.”
“Today?” I asked faintly. Even though we’d probably been here no more than half an hour, I was already feeling drained, brain and body exhausted by the revelations Lawrence and my father had just shared.
Lawrence smiled in understanding. “No, you are tired. You can come back in a day or two. We have a little time, and I can tell that your mind needs its rest.”
After taking another sip of his ice water, Connor murmured to me, “So do you want to go?”
I shook my head. “Not quite yet,” I replied in the same undertone. The water glass was sweating under my fingers, the humidity in here higher than it would be in a house with regular air conditioning rather than this swamp cooler. I drank as well, glad of the cold fluid coursing down my throat. Raising my voice a little, I said, “I’d really like to talk to my father in private.”
* * *
It turned out that the house where we’d been talking was Lawrence’s, and the other one belonged to my father. I wasn’t sure if he actually owned it or not, or whether they were both technically Lawrence’s and my father just lived there. Their setup probably wasn’t all that formal.
After Connor gave me a quick encouraging squeeze of my hand, letting me know it was okay for me to leave him for a few minutes, my father and I emerged into the blistering heat and then went into the house that was his.