Page 90 of Edge of Stars

Before I process any of it, she’s done it.

Before I can comprehend that my heart’s still beating, Hecate has put a giant hole through my mother’s.

Before I can consider that the earth is still turning, Veronica Valari has fallen to it, no longer concerned with how our family will dominate it.

Before I can process the sight of my sister running and dropping to her side, still muttering solutions like she’s reading from a first-aid manual. As if packing a grimoire-sized wound is going to stop all this blood. And put back every one of her vital organs, which we can now see entirely too much of…

“She…needs…help.” I plummet next to Kell as I choke it out. In the same motion, my head shoots up. My frantic stare rakes the beach again. “She needs help!” I scream at Zeus and Poseidon, hating them with the same breath. Their expressions are as harrowed and hopeless as before.

“Mother. You have to hang on,” I intone, now wondering why I’m going for the same fruitless mindset as Kell. What stage of grief is this? The denial? When does that come in?

No. I’m not grieving, because this isn’t grief. Because Veronica is still looking up at us both. Focusing on us. Reaching for us.

She’s here. She’s here. She’s as formidable and driven as ever. I take her hand and pull in on its strength, so tough and tenacious that she’s shaking with it. And she can still breathe. Deep and fast. Whatever she did to herself, before flying up to Hecate…it must have been some kind of forcefield she never let us know about. The secret behind her tenacity on the Hollywood battlefield.

Blood is only for the makeup team to stress over.

How many times did she use that one on all three of us? After every skinned knee, snapped fingernail, and blown audition. A hundred more examples are bombarding my spirit as Kell spews the woman’s own words back at her now, and I even compliment Kell with a watery laugh while waiting for Mother to do the same.

She doesn’t.

Not even the smallest version of her humor, a half smile that had the power to make whole days for me, seems near her thoughts. She holds us both a little harder before an answer finally does tumble from her.

“Kell. Please shut up.”

My sister sags, a mountain of emotions dropping on her at once. But her lips quaver with gratitude as she nods in acquiescence.

“You girls…have to listen to me. We don’t…have much time.”

The lightness leaves Kell’s mouth. The rest of her posture slips lower as well. “Now you’re coming with the bullshit, Mother? Seriously? When we’re back home and it’s your turn to pay for lunch, we’re buying out the Delilah. And ordering caviar.”

“And I’m getting champagne,” I put in, unable to control the shivers that set in from my toes up. “Well, the most expensive apple cider on the menu. And the lobster rolls. And three desserts.”

“Just…as long…as one of them is the pear crumble.”

The last of it spills from her on a collection of heavy huffs, increasing my conflict. I don’t know what to say now. What to do. Who to scream at. Pear crumble. That can’t be her finale. Why does it feel like the finale?

“Of course,” I say, increasing my clutch as hers starts slipping. “Crumble for everyone, Mom. With extra ice cream. Mom?”

Kara echoes me as Mother’s gaze slides shut. Her eyelids flutter once our shouts sink in, but she gulps hard when forcing her eyes back open.

“Oh, look at you two,” she whispers, jumping her glassy gaze between us. “My gorgeous…amazing…girls…”

But while her voice swerves all over the energy spectrum, from strong to weak and back again, her grip wavers. Her fingers turn to sticks of ice. Kell and I wrap our hands around hers, but it’s no use. The red resilience and bold strength upon which she literally flew across this shore…are draining from her as fast as the blood that’s staining the stones beneath her.

“The fire…it’s not mine anymore.”

She jerks her head higher, which angles her face into the moonlight. The extra illumination makes it possible to view so much more of her face now—and the one thing I’ve never seen on it before. Tracking down across both her temples, there are tears. Not many. But too many.

“You two…have the fire now. The gift.”

I shake my head.

Kell does the same. “Mother,” she bites out, then louder. “Mother. What are you talking—”

“It’s a gift, Kell. You understand…right? It must be cherished. Valued…”

She obviously wants to say more but is strangled by her own inhalation, which turns into violent coughing. I pull down gobs of air, longing to yell at her to look up again and see me breathing for her—I can do it for us both, Mom; look at me, look at me—but she drops her head back to the ground and concentrates solely on the stars overhead.