She glanced at the Bridegroom. “Not you.”
He started moving toward her and she hurriedly closed the door.
“Not who?” said her mother.
“Nobody. Nothing.”
Climbing the stairs left Alex winded and dizzy, but she still had enough sense to be embarrassed when she opened the door to the Hutch and let them inside. She’d been too out of it to realize just how bad her mess had gotten. Her discarded blankets were crumpled in a heap on the couch, and there were dirty dishes and containers of spoiled food everywhere. Now that she’d had a breath of fresh air, she could also tell the common room stank like a cross between a swamp and a sick ward.
“Sorry,” said Alex. “It’s been… I haven’t been up to housekeeping.”
Mercy set to opening the windows, and Mira began picking up trash.
“Don’t do that,” said Alex, skin prickling with shame.
“I don’t know what else to do,” said Mira. “Sit down and let me help. You look like you’re going to fall over. Where’s the kitchen?”
“On the left,” Alex said, directing her to the cramped galley kitchen, which was just as messy as the common room if not worse.
“Whose place is this?” asked Mercy, removing her coat.
“Darlington’s,” Alex said. It was true in a way. She lowered her voice. “How did you know I was here?”
Mercy shifted uneasily. “I, uh… may have followed you here once or twice.”
“What?”
“You’re very mysterious, okay? And I was worried about you. You look like hell, by the way.”
“Well, I feel like hell.”
“Where have you been? We’ve been worried sick. We didn’t know if you’d gone missing or what.”
“So you called my mom?”
Mercy threw up her hands. “Don’t expect me to be sorry. If I disappeared, I hope you’d come looking.” Alex scowled, but Mercy just jabbed her shoulder with her finger. “You rescue me. I rescue you. That’s how this works.”
“Is there recycling?” Mira called from the kitchen.
Alex sighed. “Under the sink.”
Maybe good things were the same as bad things. Sometimes you just had to let them happen.
Mercy and Mira were a surprisingly efficient team. They got the garbage packed away, made Alex shower, and got her an appointment at the university health center to get on a course of antibiotics, though she didn’t go so far as to show them her wound. She said she’d just been dealing with some kind of flu or virus. They made her shower and change into clean sweats, then Mira went to the little gourmet market and got soup and Gatorade. She went back out again when Alex told them she’d had to throw away her boots.
“Tar,” she said. “They were ruined.” Tar, blood spatter. Same difference.
Mira returned an hour later with a pair of boots, a pair of jeans, two Yale T-shirts, and a set of shower sandals that Alex didn’t need but thanked her for anyway.
“I got you a dress too.”
“I don’t wear dresses.”
“But you might.”
They settled in front of the fireplace with cups of tea and instant cocoa. Unfortunately, Alex had eaten all of Dawes’s fancy gourmet marshmallows. It wasn’t quite cold enough for a fire, but the room felt snug and safe in the late-afternoon light.
“How long are you here for?” Alex asked. It came out with an ungrateful edge she hadn’t intended.
“First flight out in the morning,” said Mira.
“You can’t stay longer?” Alex wasn’t sure how much she wanted her to. But when her mother beamed, so happy to be asked, Alex was glad she’d made the gesture.
“I wish I could. Work on Monday.”
Alex realized it must be the weekend. She’d only checked her email once since she’d holed up in the Hutch and hadn’t read any of Sandow’s messages. She’d let her phone go dead. For the first time she wondered if the societies had continued meeting without Lethe to oversee them. Maybe activity had been suspended after the attack at Il Bastone. She didn’t much care. She did wonder if her mom could afford a last-minute cross-country flight. Alex wished she’d extorted some money from Lethe along with that grade bump.
Mercy had brought notes from the three weeks of classes she’d missed and was already talking about a plan of attack before finals. Alex nodded along, but what was the point? The fix was in. Sandow had said he’d make sure Alex would pass, and even if he didn’t, Alex knew she didn’t have the will to catch up. But she could pretend. For Mercy’s sake and for her mother’s.
They ate a light dinner and then made the slow walk back to Old Campus. Alex showed her mom the Vanderbilt courtyard and their shared suite, her map of California and the poster of Leighton’s Flaming June, which Darlington had once rolled his eyes at. She let Mira coo over the sketchbook she’d tried to make herself pick up once in a while for the sake of appearances but admitted she hadn’t been drawing or painting much.
When her mom lit up a bundle of sage and started smudging the common room, Alex tried not to melt into the floor in embarrassment. Still, she was surprised at how good it felt to be back in the dorms, to see Lauren’s bike leaning up against the mantel, the toaster oven topped by boxes of Pop-Tarts. It felt like home.
When it was time for Mira to head back to her hotel, Alex walked outside with her, trying to hide how much it took out of her just to descend the few steps to the street.
“I didn’t ask what happened and I’m not going to,” said Mira, gathering her glittery scarf around her neck.
“Thank you.”
“It’s not for you. It’s because I’m a coward. If you tell me you’re clean, I want to believe you.”
Alex wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I think I may have a job lined up for the summer. But it means I won’t be coming home.”
Mira looked down at her shoes, handmade leather booties she’d been getting from the same guy at the same craft fair for the last ten years. She nodded, then brushed tears from her eyes.
Alex felt her own tears rising. How many times had she made her mother cry? “I’m sorry, Mama.”
Mira drew a tissue from her pocket. “It’s okay. I’m proud of you. And I don’t want you to come home. After all of those horrible things with those horrible people. This is where you belong. This is where you were meant to bloom. Don’t roll your eyes, Galaxy. Not every flower belongs in every garden.”
Alex couldn’t quite untangle the wave of love and anger that rushed through her. Her mother believed in faeries and angels and crystal visions, but what would she make of real magic? Could she grasp the ugly truth of it all? That magic wasn’t something gilded and benign, just another commodity that only some people could afford? But the car was pulling up and it was time to say goodbye, not time to start arguments over old wounds.
“I’m glad you came, Mom.”
“I am too. I hope… If you aren’t able to manage your grades—”
“I’ve got this,” Alex said, and it felt good to know that thanks to Sandow she wasn’t lying. “Promise.”
Mira hugged her and Alex breathed in patchouli and tuberose, the memory of being small. “I should have done better,” her mother said on a sob. “I should have set clearer boundaries. I should have let you have fast food.”
Alex couldn’t help but laugh, then winced at the pain. No amount of strict bedtimes and trans fats could have kept her safe.
Her mother slid into the back seat of the car, but before Alex closed the door, she said, “Mom… my dad…” Over the years, Mira had made an effort to answer Alex’s questions about her father. Where was he from? Sometimes he told me Mexico, sometimes Peru, sometimes Stockholm or Cincinnati. It was a joke with us. It doesn’t sound funny. Maybe it wasn’t. What did he do? We didn’t talk about money. He liked to surf. Did you love him? I did. Did he love you? For a while. Why did he leave? People leave, Galaxy. I hope he finds his bliss.