home for all of us still alive, yet you chose to stay with John in the Whispers. You didn’t choose the Living, you chose the Dead.” Her Human eye flickers with anger. “I went to you, so many times. As a child I went to you and begged your advice. You didn’t respond. As a teen I went. Nothing. It was like visiting a tombstone. I stopped going after three years of silence. You’d become a tombstone.” Megan looks away, pushes a tear out of her eye, angry.
“Megan,” I start to say, searching for the words. “I’m sorry, I … I was grief-stricken and … and my mother—”
“Oh, yes. Your mother,” she says darkly, cutting me off. My eyebrows lift, dreading whatever else it is she’s preparing to say. “I suppose you’d love to hear about your mother. Has Helena told you? Has Ann even bothered to?” The blank look in my eyes is her answer. “Of course not. Like everything else, they’ve left it up to me . Well, where do I start? You directed us to your mother. We found her in a … bad state. Faceless. Nothing left but half a spine. I was still young and naïve and you had convinced me to ‘save’ your mother instead of give her what I think she deserved: a fresh grave in which I would’ve happily buried her head so that it may suffer the rest of eternity with only dirt and earthworms for company, after the hell she’s done to this world. But no, of course not. I must ‘honor Winter’s wishes’ or whatever. Winter’s wishes for her mother, whom she suddenly has decided to love …”
Megan stops the fussing of books and papers at her desk and, leaning against it, faces me with a coldness in her eyes that both freezes and burns me.
“So I brought Marigold to the bottom of that cliff and I had her perform a miracle,” she says. “Yes, right there at the base of that cliff, we turned your mother back into a respectable-looking woman. With flesh and bone and hair, we wiped away all her sins. What a lucky lady, your mother. Getting a third chance at ruining a world.”
“Megan …”
“No matter,” she goes on, not caring to relent or grant me sympathy in any form, “she gave herself a new name and Trenton accepted her as a brand new Raise without question. The secret stayed with us. Imagine that.” Her eyebrows lift innocently. “What else do you want to hear? Want me to tell you all about how the people cry and fight and blame me for all their heartaches? Helena, our former Judge, left all that burden to me. I keep forgetting to thank her. Want to know the price for keeping the peace, Winter? The price is anything but peaceful, let me assure you, and no matter how you color it, I’m the bad guy in the end. I pay the price. No one else. The people need a leader.” She swipes the notebook off the desk, pushes it into a cabinet. “The people need a leader,” she grunts again, her back turned.
She has to know my intentions were always good. She has to know I didn’t mean to abandon her and leave her with all this … responsibility, lonesomeness, pain …
“Megan,” I finally say, my voice trembling despite my utter lack of a nervous system. “I didn’t know, truly, I had no idea how much time was passing. I didn’t mean to abandon you. You have to believe me. I—”
“What’d you expect?” she asks, her voice soft now, almost kind. Her hands rest on another stack of papers as she regards me with her chilly eyes. “I’ve had to run this city, and I’ve had to run it alone. I’ve had to make decisions , Winter. Tough decisions, like giving your mother— whom I hate —a new face and a new name and a new life. What I wouldn’t give for two or three of those things I gave her. Tough decisions. Life and death , which I’d imagine your kind to know quite intimately, but the Dead have proved remarkably unhelpful in my affairs, which mainly concern the Living. Now, there’s no more Raises—with the obvious exception of John—and the Dead are falling apart before our
“Megan,” I start to say, searching for the words. “I’m sorry, I … I was grief-stricken and … and my mother—”
“Oh, yes. Your mother,” she says darkly, cutting me off. My eyebrows lift, dreading whatever else it is she’s preparing to say. “I suppose you’d love to hear about your mother. Has Helena told you? Has Ann even bothered to?” The blank look in my eyes is her answer. “Of course not. Like everything else, they’ve left it up to me . Well, where do I start? You directed us to your mother. We found her in a … bad state. Faceless. Nothing left but half a spine. I was still young and naïve and you had convinced me to ‘save’ your mother instead of give her what I think she deserved: a fresh grave in which I would’ve happily buried her head so that it may suffer the rest of eternity with only dirt and earthworms for company, after the hell she’s done to this world. But no, of course not. I must ‘honor Winter’s wishes’ or whatever. Winter’s wishes for her mother, whom she suddenly has decided to love …”
Megan stops the fussing of books and papers at her desk and, leaning against it, faces me with a coldness in her eyes that both freezes and burns me.
“So I brought Marigold to the bottom of that cliff and I had her perform a miracle,” she says. “Yes, right there at the base of that cliff, we turned your mother back into a respectable-looking woman. With flesh and bone and hair, we wiped away all her sins. What a lucky lady, your mother. Getting a third chance at ruining a world.”
“Megan …”
“No matter,” she goes on, not caring to relent or grant me sympathy in any form, “she gave herself a new name and Trenton accepted her as a brand new Raise without question. The secret stayed with us. Imagine that.” Her eyebrows lift innocently. “What else do you want to hear? Want me to tell you all about how the people cry and fight and blame me for all their heartaches? Helena, our former Judge, left all that burden to me. I keep forgetting to thank her. Want to know the price for keeping the peace, Winter? The price is anything but peaceful, let me assure you, and no matter how you color it, I’m the bad guy in the end. I pay the price. No one else. The people need a leader.” She swipes the notebook off the desk, pushes it into a cabinet. “The people need a leader,” she grunts again, her back turned.
She has to know my intentions were always good. She has to know I didn’t mean to abandon her and leave her with all this … responsibility, lonesomeness, pain …
“Megan,” I finally say, my voice trembling despite my utter lack of a nervous system. “I didn’t know, truly, I had no idea how much time was passing. I didn’t mean to abandon you. You have to believe me. I—”
“What’d you expect?” she asks, her voice soft now, almost kind. Her hands rest on another stack of papers as she regards me with her chilly eyes. “I’ve had to run this city, and I’ve had to run it alone. I’ve had to make decisions , Winter. Tough decisions, like giving your mother— whom I hate —a new face and a new name and a new life. What I wouldn’t give for two or three of those things I gave her. Tough decisions. Life and death , which I’d imagine your kind to know quite intimately, but the Dead have proved remarkably unhelpful in my affairs, which mainly concern the Living. Now, there’s no more Raises—with the obvious exception of John—and the Dead are falling apart before our
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