Page 50

Among the gaggle of voices, Kyle’s words stand out:You’re gunna cover us all in shit.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am. Because if there’s one thing I’ve decided, it’s this: Elissa Mirzoyan can’t die. Not in that hole. Not while my heart still beats.
She ain’t like the others.
If Kyle’s right about anything, he’s right about that.
Still thinking about what just happened, I lift my headand find that I’ve wandered into the Memory Wood’s most sacred grove. A short distance away, in the shade of one of my Memory Trees, stands Mama.
II
With the autumn light dying, the russet shades of our surroundings are losing their vigour. But Mama doesn’t fade. Her hair is like liquid gold, so warm and brilliant it makes my tummy go fuzzy. It’s not the only thing about her that seems brighter than the day. She glows with energy, as if the sunshine in her heart has leaked through her skin. Watching her, I’m bewitched. After my morning with Annie yesterday, and my afternoon with Elissa today, it feels like I’m overdosing on magic.
I do this, sometimes, to the people I love. There’s a word I read once:deify. I’m not sure it’s exactly right, but it’s pretty close; Mama, to me, has a purity beyond the reach of normal human beings.
She’s wearing blue jeans with flared bottoms, a North Face gilet over a plaid work shirt and mud-spattered desert boots. There’s mascara on her eyelashes and a maroon smear across her mouth. She looks like I want my wife to look, if I ever end up getting married.
Unusual to find her out here. She doesn’t venture into the Memory Wood often, and only ever to pick herbs or mushrooms or to forage a bit of firewood.
A stick cracks under my foot and she flinches, wheeling around.
‘Elijah,’ she says, and I can see from her expression that I’ve startled her. Over her shoulder is a sun-faded orange rucksack that looks vaguely familiar; there’s a hand-sewnpatch on the side, like the ones they make for NASA missions. Mama adjusts the straps until it sits more snugly against her spine. ‘You know you’re not allowed in these woods. What are you doing out here?’
I think of the Gingerbread House, and Gretel, and how she tried to trick me into bringing her a phone. ‘Just playing.’
‘Have you seen Kyle?’
‘Earlier.’
She tilts her head. ‘Is he being kinder to you?’
‘He’s being OK. I think he’s frightened.’
‘We’re all frightened, Elijah, in our own way. Your brother’s no different.’ She lifts her gaze to something behind me. I stiffen, realizing that she’s calculating my path between the trees. ‘How long have you been out here?’
‘Not long.’
‘Did you do your reading?’
‘Yes, Mama.’
Her shoulders relax, and I can tell she’s finished admonishing me.
Tugging the collar of her gilet a little tighter, she says, ‘There’s aheavinessto the air, don’t you think? I thought the storm would break today, but all we’ve had is this spotty rain.’
‘We need a good downpour.’
‘We do. It’ll blow away all the cobwebs, freshen up the sky. Elijah, I don’t want to find you out here again, understand? This place, these woods …’ She hesitates, her eyes clouding over. ‘Promise me.’
‘I swear it, Mama.’
It’s an easy promise to make. She didn’t ask me to stay away, just to make sure she doesn’t find me. Trouble is, with Mama, even the slightest of wool-pulling feels sneaky. ‘What’reyoudoing here?’ I ask.
‘Thinking.’
‘About what?’
‘About you, about Kyle. About your father.’