Page 18 of Missing Moon
She doesn’t respond.
One of those phases, I guess. Seems like she’s either a breathing mannequin or some random personality that’s not quite the same twice.
I catch Dusk staring at me, so I peer at him. “What?”
“Still trying to process how you look the same.” He scratches idly at his chest. “You into that weird stuff?”
“Ma’s into a lot of weird stuff,” whispers Tammy.
I chuckle. “What sort of weird are you talking about?”
Dusk waves a hand around. “Oh, you were too little then I guess. Mom used to, uhh… I guess ‘magic’ is the only thing to call it. Wasn’t really sure what I saw. I was really young then, too. Don’t really know how to explain it.”
“Oh, umm.” I fidget. “I just eat healthy. Jog. Maybe a push-up or three.”
“Uh huh.” Dusk smiles. “That doesn’t explain you not having an aura.”
Crap. I blink at him, raising my eyebrows. “You can see auras?”
“Whoa, really?” Paxton gawks. “That’s cool.”
“Yeah. Always have been able to.” Dusk purses his lips. “You had one the last time I saw you.”
“What color is mine?” asks Paxton.
“Pink, obviously.” Tammy rolls her eyes.
Paxton giggles.
Dusk grins. “Ehh, I can basically tell what sort of mood or energy a person has based on the colors they give off. Pax is uncomfortable, worried, and I’m going to say a little guilty because she wants to help and doesn’t know how.”
“Umm.” Paxton clasps her hands in front of her. “Well, he’s not wrong.”
Oh, boy. Here we go. This is where I think about that whole magic bloodline thing and realize that a bloodline is an entire family. Not just me.
“Auras. Neat.” Tammy makes an impressed face at him.
Dusk continues to study me. “Indeed. Our family is a bit… weird.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “You can say that again.”
Chapter Five
Nothing is Ever Normal
We spend about twenty minutes trying to communicate with Mom, but we don’t have any luck.
She’s in her own little world. Dusk tries to talk her into coming inside the house proper, but no dice. Eventually, we give up for now and retreat to the kitchen. The room is a complete mess, though there is an island of attempted cleaning that allows access to a mostly open sink and a little bit of countertop space. Seems that Dusk was in the process of cleaning up when we arrived.
“What did you mean when you said Mom did magic?” I ask.
He grabs a pretzel from a bowl in the middle of the table but doesn’t eat it yet. “I was maybe four or five… walked into the greenhouse and saw her doing something with her hands that made light where there shouldn’t have been any light. I remember seeing objects floating on their own, but can’t remember what they were. She tried to tell me I imagined it or had a daydream.”
“Huh. Interesting.”
Was Mom always so vacant? I try to think back as far as I can. Idoremember her being more active when I wasreallysmall. But… I barely remember anything that happened before I was around five. One or two brief glimpses of a favorite doll or something like that. I want to say Mom was morefunctionalthen, but it feels more like a logical assumption than a direct memory.
Dusk munches his pretzel. When he finishes chewing, he snaps his fingers like a memory just hit him. “I kinda remember something trying to grab Clay and run off with him into the woods when he was tiny. Mom did something to him so the ‘monster’ couldn’t see him.”