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13

WILL

Running my hands through my hair, I hang my head and sit on Callie’s bed for a long moment. I’m dressed. I’m protected. Why the hell don’t I feel ready?

Because I’m scared my mom is so far gone that she risked her life for a drink?

Or because I think she didn’t and that she’s somewhere out there, hurt or possibly dead?

I don't even know which of those is worse.

A tremble moves through my body. A thousand moments of when I was a child and my mom wouldn’t come home move through my mind. Things were easier in so many ways. I didn’t have to worry she’d fall and hurt herself. I didn’t have to worry that she’d drowned in her own puke if I wasn’t there to roll her over. I could just take a deep breath, make dinner, watch a show, and climb into bed with only myself to think about.

But then, in the dark, I’d start to wonder terrible things, like, “What if she doesn’t come home this time?” “What if she’s been hurt? What if she’s been taken?”

I don’t want to feel like that helpless boy anymore. I’m a man, and this time, I can do something about this terrible feeling. Why doesn’t it make me feel better?

Standing, frustration makes my nerves crawl, and I head for the stairs. The thing is, I shouldn’t have had to take care of my mom like that when I was a kid, and I sure as hell shouldn’t be having to take care of her now.

But I would.

Because I love her.

When I reach the living room, Callie waits by the door. She looks so damn small and vulnerable in these moments when she thinks no one is looking. It makes me long to drag her away from this all. To keep her safe in a way I can never keep my mom safe.

It's a sobering thought.

Her gaze moves to me, and her shoulders draw back, as if she wasn’t just feeling overwhelmed by her new world. I let a mask of indifference fall over my face. The last thing she needs is to worry about me, too, and then I head straight for her, keeping my head held high.

"I've got a glamour. I've got the protection spell and this watch Hank made. I'll be fine. I'm going to go check some of the places she tends to go when she's drinking," I say, almost as much to myself as to her. I know Callie trusts me to do what I need to. But I'm not sure I trust myself as much.

Callie wraps her arms around my waist. "I know you have to go look for her. I'm just worried about the two of you."

I take her by the shoulders and peer down into her eyes. "Go comfort, Hank. There's really nothing we can do for his mom, so he’s the one who needs you."

Callie's face crinkles with emotion. "In an odd way, her alcoholism might have saved her." It's the same thought I've been having myself.

“Imagine that,” I say, and hate the anger in my voice.

Callie leans up and kisses me really gently. “I can’t imagine how hard it is to have a parent who struggles with alcoholism.”

I nod tightly. No she can’t. Most people can’t. And they're lucky for it.

“But I do know that I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

This time, I kiss her. It’s supposed to be a soft kiss, but it changes in an instant. And I know, even if she doesn’t, that I’m holding her so tightly because she feels like the only thing not slipping away in my life.

When I release her, she’s breathing hard. “Be safe.”

“I—” I almost say I love her. “You be safe, too.”

The door closes behind me with a soft click. There are only a few places mom likes to go when she drinks. Her favorite is the local bar, but I’m going to hope she’s not that dumb. She’s not magically strong. She can’t just glamour herself, and the whole damn place is probably crawling with the king’s thugs.

So, I’m going to the next logical place instead.

It takes a while to walk there, but it’d be too dangerous to take one of our cars. Too likely that someone would spot the recognizable vehicles. So, I walk, taking the paths I know are less traveled and looking over my shoulder every step of the way.

When I reach my childhood home, I only pause for a moment to take in the silent structure. It’s dark, and I have the instinct deep inside that she isn’t here, but I take my key and go in, just in case.

It's probably dangerous coming here, but the first place I would've expected her to go is home. Nostalgia crowds my emotions as I walk through each room. If I thought this place was rundown as a kid, it’s nothing in comparison to how it is now. I’d convinced myself that she was doing okay because the last time I visited, the living room and kitchen were decently clean, and she had food, but the rest of the house screams of neglect.

When I get to my room, it’s exactly the same as when I was a teen. The same rock band posters on the walls. The same flannel blanket on the bed. The only difference? An undisturbed layer of dust.

I close the door and check her room. It’s filthy, clothes strewn everywhere and bottles of booze in every damn corner. Despite trying not to let it, anger at myself overtakes me. How can I let her live like this? I shouldn't be moving on with my life when she's living in squalor.

I turn to leave the room, shutting the door to her private sanctuary. I'm not sure what I can do to make this better. I can't live with her all the time; I have my own life to live. But perhaps once all of this is over, I can get a cleaner to come in and take care of the house, and I'll make more of an effort to visit and help her break up her relationship with the bottle.

After the house turns up nothing, I head for the liquor store. She has to buy her alcohol somewhere, and this is the closest one to home. I'm sure she'll try it before anywhere else.

Going into the store, I don’t pause as I weave through the shelves. I came on enough runs here when I was a kid to know where things are.

“Welcome,” Frank greets from behind the counter as he studies me closely.

Does he suspect I'm wearing a glamour? Or is he suspicious of all new faces? I can't blame anyone for the second, given the situation in town. Especially those who know magic is real and the face behind the one he can see.

I meet the older man’s gaze and try not to react, even though I’m a little surprised. He hasn’t aged well since I was a boy. Sometimes, he’d chat with me while I came on a run or give me a snack from the counter. Probably so I wouldn't tell anyone he let me buy mom's booze.

But a part of me always hated him, even though none of this was, or is, his fault.

“What can I get for you?” he asks, his gaze still too keen.

Even though he knows my mom and I well, the glamour keeps me concealed, so I try to play my part. Opening my phone, I pull up a picture of her. “Have you seen this woman?”

"Yeah, son." Frank looks ashamed. "She was in last night right before closing. Got a couple bottles of her usual and took off."

Thank goodness, at least that means she wasn’t taken. Though it doesn't help me find her right now.

"Thanks," I say and head toward the door.

His voice stops me. "I know you don't look like you right now, and I hope you're spelled to high heavens. But you should know I stand with you. I support the princess."

I freeze without turning and nod my head, then head out the door. If I acknowledge more than that, I open myself up to him possibly lying and turning me over to the king, or to him being hurt because someone figured out he said that. There are eyes everywhere, and he'll understand that.

Later, I'll have to figure out how he could tell I'm me. Perhaps it's simply that I'd be the only person looking for Mom.

It's best for me to move on.

I don’t know how to feel about the whole situation. A man who feeds my mom’s addiction supports us, well, Callie. Possibly. Should I celebrate? Every person on our side is a good thing, right?

A smirk curls my lips. I guess it’s better than the opposite.

I walk behind the houses and head through the tree line to the beach. Mom loves to drink on the beach and has specific spots she prefers.

A lot of places. Unfortunately. And most of them aren’t easy to see unless you’re looking for them, which is why she goes there. She cares a surprising amount about who sees her drinking.

It takes me two hours to find her. Surprisingly, she's under the same pier Callie hid under many weeks before. That moment with Callie was such a weight off my shoulders. This moment… it’s different.

I’m so damned relieved to find out my mom is alive and well, but I also hate that this is what we’ve come to. The fucking world is ending, and my mom is out drinking and hiding from all of it.

I suppose a part of me is resenting her for it. She's still managing to escape while the rest of us are doing everything we can in order to cope and make things right.

Unable to help myself, I think of Hank’s mom. She wasn’t doing anything wrong, and she’s been caught. She’s a good woman who actually took care of her kids. She still does, even though they're all grown now.

"I much prefer the last time I found a woman under this pier," I mutter without meaning to.

My mom stiffens at my words and turns to look at me. Guilt rushes through me. It's unfair of me to compare her to Callie. They're different women with different needs and strengths. And something took Mom's long ago.

Her eyes are bloodshot and glazed. Her hair is a mess, and her clothes are dirty.

It’s… sad. There's no other word for it, even if I want there to be.

“Will,” and my name is filled with pain. Tears fill her eyes, and she looks like she has no idea what to do.

“I’m glad you’re okay. No one was sure if you’d been taken.” My voice rises just a little. “Or if you were alive.” My voice cracks, revealing how much this has got to me. I wish it didn't do that. All it does is make her believe I'll always come pick up the pieces.

Though there's no doubt it's true. I always come running when she needs me.

"I’m so sorry." She covers her face and sobs quietly.

I settle into the sand beside her, not sure what to say or do. I can’t tell her it’s okay because it’s not, but I also don’t want to kick her when she’s down. I resist the urge to put an arm around her. I always long to comfort her, but I know I can't do it for fear of her thinking this is an acceptable way to be.

She's a mess. She's made horrible decisions. She basically left me to raise myself.

But she's the only parent I've got. What can I do other than help her?

I do what I’ve always done.

"Come on, Mom. Let's go home." I don't have a choice. I can't take her back to their caves, even if I did know where they were. I can't take her to my childhood home, either. It was too much of a risk, stopping by there earlier. She can't stay there, even with wards. They know that location. The only reason we've been safe in Callie's house is because it's been rented out for years by a human. The king has no reason to realize a witch has moved in there.

I walk with my mother's hand in the crook of my arm. We talk as we make our way back to Callie's. We're out of room, but we can drag a mattress from the Firehouse and put her in the living room. What other choice do we have? With everyone there, someone will always be able to keep an eye on her, and she needs that. It isn't perfect, but it'll do.

Mom gasps when we walk into the wards. "This looked like a boarded-up version of this house. I never would've paid it any attention."

With a chuckle, I open the front door. That’s the intent of the wards. They stop magic, too. James is full of useful magical knowledge like this. I'm glad he's on our side and not still helping the king.

"Come on in, Mom. Welcome home."