The Faery Keepers (17 page)

             
“Morning, honey.”
She looks up at me for a second, ackno
wledging my presence, then goes
back to the paper.
Dark smudges ring her eyes and her hair
’
s a tangled blond mess. She hasn’t gone to sleep yet.

             
Good,
I think to myself,
then she’ll be more cooperative.
Hopefully.

             
“How was your night?” I sit down across from her, setting down my cup.

             
This time she
really
looks at me. “Not so good. Mr. Jerkins passed on, unfortunately.”

             
“Oh. I’m so sorry mom.”

             
Mr. Jerkins had Alzheimer’s. Mom had taken a liking to the batty old man when he’d first been admitted, despite his mood swings and various other complications they’d run into. She often came home and told me stories about him. How he’d mistaken her for his wife, long deceased, and she just played along, letting him have that possible last joy in life. She definitely looked as if his death had hit her hard and the dark circles around her eyes took a new meaning. Maybe this isn't such a good idea to bring up dad right now.

             
Her eyes shine with tears. “Your granddad had Alzheimer’s,” she says, catching me off guard.

             
“What?” I say, flabbergasted. I never knew I’d had grandparents. Well I had to, obviously, or mom wouldn’t be here. But still. She never talks about our family. What else hasn’t this woman told me? It’s like we’re the last of our whole clan the way she leads on.

             
“He died when I was young. Really young. Long before I had you. It made me realize that I wasn’t a kid anymore, going through that. Mom couldn’t bear it, she committed suicide. It’s not on the official report, but I know in my heart that she did. My parents had me late in life, sweetie. They were well over middle aged by then. But I keep hoping that medicine will go above and beyond and finally put an end to all of this . . . pain. The sickness. A silly dream, I know. But one can wish, can’t they?” Her tears spilled over and were streaming down her chin and falling with little
splish-splash
noises on to the table.

             
“Why are you telling me this?” I sit back in my chair, eyes wide, unsure what to do.

             
“I don’t know, Katie. It’s just all flooding back.”

             
“You know if you hate it at the hospital so much you can find a better job and maybe I could find one, too. To help out, and all.” I say it softly but she flinches.

             
“No, no,” she protests. “I don’t want to take away your childhood. I’ll be fine, really. It just reminded me so much of my parents.”

             
“Why haven’t you told me this before?” I inquire, resisting the part of me that wants to tell her that I’m
not
a child. Not anymore.

             
“Mothers have a way of protecting their children for their own good. Whether they know it or not.”

             
Now it’s my turn to flinch. But she doesn’t notice. Her eyes are far away, delving into the past I know nothing about. Should I bring this up now? Indecision wafts through me.

             
Yes, yes I should. It’s now or never.

             
I take a breath. “Mom? There’s something I wanted to talk to you about . . .”

             
“What is it?” her gaze snaps back on me like a rubber band let go after being pulled taut.

             
“Can you tell me about. . . Dad?”

             
She recoils, spluttering.

             
Hastily I add, “Please, I
know
you’ve been keeping things about him from me. Is it so wrong for me to want to know about him? I know it’s hard for you. I do. But weird things have been happening lately and I think he has— had something to do with them, but I’m not sure what. And I’m hoping that you can tell me.” It all spills out so fast I barely have time to draw a breath between words.

             
It takes her a moment to process the jumble, but by the look on her face when she does, I know she isn’t happy. “What things have been happening? Katelyn?
You tell me right now!
”

             
“No. Not until you give me some answers.” I grit my teeth, jutting my chin out stubbornly. “I want to know,”
gulp, here it goes,
“what dad had to do with
Faeries
.”

             
Her eyes flash threateningly for a millisecond before an eerie calm schools her features. “
Fairies?
What on earth are you talking about, Katelyn?” There’s something off about her tone. Something . . . alien. I know immediately that she’s lying.

             
Anger boils in my veins. “Don’t look at me and act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, mother! You know full well, and you aren’t telling me! You think I can’t tell that you’re lying to my face?! How does that explain
this
?!” I exclaim, thrusting my right arm at her . . . to find that my Mark isn’t visible.
Shoot.
How did Derek tell it was there, again?

             
But it seems that I don’t need to show her twice. All the color drains out of my
mother’s
face, making her dusting of freckles very prominent, as her eyes fall on the crease of my right inner arm. I blink and sure enough, clear as day, there’s the clover, complete with its pearly white wings.

             
I glare at her triumphantly. “You expect me to
believe
you after you’ve seen this? You’re as white as a ghost, mom.”

             
She puts her face in her hands, shaking her head slowly back and forth murmuring something unintelligible. When she looks up at me a bit of her color has returned to her cheeks. Albeit not much.

             
“Your father was many things, Katelyn. I knew exactly what he was,” she says finally in a tired voice.

             
I resisted the urge to scream, to shout horrible, nasty things at her. She
had
known. All this time.
And she hadn’t told me
.

             
She seems to see the accusation in my face. “I know what you must think. But it was only to protect you. Your father and I didn’t want this world for you. When we got married and I was carrying you, he left the Order. He wanted to live a normal life. As normal as he could after so many years with those people. I saw past all of the awfulness of it. I was in love. He promised me it would be different.

             
“At first it was. We got married and bought this house. For a while everything was quiet. He hadn’t heard from the Order in
months
. We
thought
we were safe. We weren’t.

             
“A month or so before you were born, he received a call from one of his old . . . colleagues.  He brushed it off, telling me it was nothing to worry about. But I did worry. We were about to have you and the phone call was an unhappy reminder of what your father had left behind. I should have known then that what he was involved in wouldn’t have left him that easily. The Order was peculiar that way. Once you were a member, you weren’t allowed to opt out. You were in it for life. Graydon—your dad, used to joke about it being like a cult afterward. But I wasn’t stupid. That group
was
like a cult, but a hundred million times worse.

             
“A week later, your dad was killed. I knew it wasn’t a coincidence. The Order strives to rid the world of anything that's supernatural, like they’re God’s emissaries, doing His work here on Earth and making it pure for humans. Anything that has a hint of darkness about it, like the
Fey
, they murder ruthlessly. When your dad left them, I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew something like that was going to happen . . .” she trails off.

             
It’s a while before I can find my voice again. “Are you saying that dad—dad
killed
things? Beings, not things. How could he—he do that?” I’m stuttering, something I haven’t done since I was six.

             
“You have to understand, Katelyn. Your father was never really interested in being in the Order. Most of them were. They thought of themselves as vigilante workers. They thought what they were doing was
right
in every sense of the word. Evil like that was not allowed here. It was a threat to human life. And that made everything they worked for fine in their eyes. Your father was different. Believe me when I say this, sweetheart.”

             
“Okay, I understand what you are saying, but what does all of this have to do with
me
? Why do I have this Mark?”

             
“I—I don’t know what to tell you Katie, honey. I’m not sure why these things happen. Your dad would be better help than I right now. He would know what to do. I’m afraid I don’t know much
about
that world.”

             
I want to demand how that is possible. Shout at her that she was married to him, how could she not know about these things? Surely she knows
something
useful. But I bite my tongue before I get myself into trouble and stop the flow of information I am finally getting from her. Beggars can’t be choosers, and all.

             
“Can I ask you one more question?”

             
“Sure.” She looks utterly drained from the effort of dredging up the past and I’m momentarily sorry that I brought this upon her. In more ways than one.

             
“Do you know that Maggie is Marked, too? How long have you known about all of this? About me I mean.”

             
“That’s more than one question,” she gives a sore attempt at a smile. It looks more like a grimace.

             
I stare at her levelly.

             
A sigh. “Yes, I’ve known about Margaret for quite a while. It’s hard to keep such a thing from someone who’s known about the Other World for a long time. And I suppose you know the answer to your second question now. I found out about all of this after I was dating your father for about six or seven months. Things started getting more serious so he decided it was time to tell me. When you were born, he knew immediately what you were. A Faery Keeper, so to speak. You were to watch over the things that he’d so brutally murdered most of his life.

It’s quite ironic if you ask me, for someone’s own flesh and blood to be destined work for the exact opposite of what they’d tried so hard to cull from the world. Albeit involuntary.”  She laughs darkly as if it’s a great cosmic joke. Which I suppose it kind of is. 

             
There’s an awkward silence for a few moments where she goes back to her paper and coffee. Then, as if giving up on the whole institution of it, she folds the paper and sets it aside on a spare chair. “Would I be correct in guessing that the boy you both went out to breakfast with is also a Faery Keeper?” she asks, hazel eyes fixed upon me shrewdly, like she’s trying to watch for any twitch or flush of my cheeks that may give away any lie.

             
I decide to tell her the truth. “Yes.”

             
“Mm-hm.”

             
“What, mom?”

             
“I don’t know if I want you getting mixed up in this nonsense, honey.”

             
Liquid fury zings through my veins. “It’s not as if I
asked
for this to happen!” I exclaim. The injustice of it all!

             
“No, no,” she says hurriedly. “I know you didn’t ask for this. What I am saying is that I don’t like it. I don’t want to lose you like I did your father. Can’t you understand that?”

             
“Yes, I
can
comprehend it, mom. It’s just that I don’t think I have a choice.”

             
She shakes her head sadly. “Don’t you see, Katelyn? There is
always
a choice. We can move away if you don’t want to do this. Far away from all of this insanity.”

             
“It would only follow me,” I say with such a sure and dead certainty that it scares me. “Besides, I can’t just leave Maggie. And Derek. They need me
here
. Do you think that dad ever fully thought that he could leave his past behind? Who he
is
behind? He obviously didn’t. The same goes for me, mom. I can’t just run away from this.”