Glimmerglass

Mom was in mid-wail when I hung up.

She tried to call back a few times, but I didn’t answer. Finn came up after the first time and asked me if he should pick up the phone if she called again. The pity in his eyes when he looked at me made me cringe. Had Dad told him my mom was a drunk? Or—ever so much worse—had he been listening to my phone conversation? He was a nice guy and all, but it wouldn’t shock me if Dad had given him other orders that had nothing to do with guarding me.

“Just ignore her, okay?” I asked.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then changed his mind. “Very well,” he said, then slipped out the door and left me to my misery.

I hid in my room for the rest of the day, trying not to rehash my poignant reunion with my mom. I didn’t do a very good job of it, though.

Right around five, I heard the faint sound of the garage door opening, and I realized my dad was home. I was so not looking forward to whatever drama was about to unfold.

I’d assumed my mom would spend the rest of the day drinking herself into a stupor, which should have meant I wouldn’t have to deal with her again until at least tomorrow. But when I stuck my head out my bedroom door, I immediately heard the sound of arguing voices, and one of them was my mom’s. Groan. The idea of remaining hidden in my room was embarrassingly appealing, but I figured it was a bad idea to let them discuss my future—because what else were they likely to be discussing?—without any input from me.

I crept slowly down the stairs, hoping to eavesdrop and get a feel for where things stood before I made my entrance. Unfortunately, their voices were muffled just enough by the walls that I couldn’t understand what they were saying. I paused at the base of the stairs, listening intently, but both my parents went silent. There was nothing for me to do but go in blind.

I pushed the door open and saw something I’d thought I’d never see: my mother and my father in the same room.

My mom was seated on the sofa, a glass of amber liquid clutched in her hands, and my father stood with his back to the room, staring out the front window with his hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t turn to look at me when my mom shouted my name and sprang to her feet, sloshing a bit of her drink over the rim of the glass. I’m guessing she meant to run to me for a smothering maternal hug, but the look on my face must have stopped her.

“You gave her booze?” I cried at my father’s back, and I was so outraged I felt like I might explode with it.

Dad turned to look at me then, and those piercing eyes of his stopped my voice in my throat. There was no magic involved, just the crushing weight of his disapproval. Objectively, he still looked young enough to be my mother’s son—she had not aged gracefully—but the paternal authority in his gaze destroyed that illusion and made me shrink back.

“You are my daughter, Dana,” he said, his voice frosty. “Your mother is not, and is therefore free to make her own decisions.”

“Dana, honey,” my mom said before I could think of an appropriate retort, “let’s not fight. We have a lot to talk about.”

The fuzz of alcohol still showed in her voice, but at least she wasn’t passed out in the hotel room, and she was close enough to sober to retain her powers of higher reasoning. With her, that kind of limbo state could be the worst of two worlds—drunk enough to be maudlin, sober enough that I couldn’t work around her.

I swallowed my bitterness the best I could, crossing my arms over my chest in what I knew was a defensive posture. “Fine,” I said, then clamped my jaws shut.

Dad was still giving me his laser-beam stare. “If you plan to participate in this conversation, I expect you to treat both me and your mother with the proper respect. Understood?”

I blinked in surprise. I wasn’t sure why Dad was mad at me, but that seemed to be the case. I couldn’t find my voice, so I merely nodded my agreement.

“Good,” he said with a curt nod of his own. “Now sit down, and let’s all behave like civilized adults.”

My mom winced, and that was when I realized it wasn’t me Dad was mad at. She sank down onto the sofa, taking a healthy gulp of her drink. I sat on the other end of the sofa and refused to look at her. Dad, of course, remained standing. I think it made him feel more in charge.

“Your father told me what’s happened,” my mom said.

I looked at Dad, trying to gauge how much he’d told her, but his expression gave away nothing.

“We were discussing what’s best for you now,” Mom continued, and Dad’s poker face slipped.

“There is nothing to discuss,” he said in a voice that suggested this wasn’t the first time he’d said it. “You cannot change what’s already happened, and now that Dana is an open secret, it is safest for her to remain in Avalon in my care.”

Mom wasn’t so boozy she couldn’t manage a first-class glare. “Just because you keep repeating it doesn’t mean it’s true.”

Dad’s glare was much more intimidating. “And just because you don’t want it to be true doesn’t mean it isn’t. Can you honestly tell me you’re equipped to protect Dana from assassins?”

She clunked her glass down on the coffee table and stood up, swaying slightly. “Can you honestly tell me you have nothing but her best interests in mind?” she countered.

Gee, I was glad we were going to discuss this like civilized adults.

Dad looked stricken. “I can’t believe you’d think I would put my own ambitions ahead of our daughter! You know how rare and precious children are to the Fae.” His voice was tight and choked, and I could barely recognize the stoic, reserved Fae politician I had first met. “You deprived me of my only child for sixteen years, and now you wish to whisk her away from me when I’ve only just met her. I won’t allow you to do it, and Iwouldn’t have allowed it even if she’d proven not to be a Faeriewalker.”