Page 28 of The Secrets of Jane: Reborn

“Mom,” I seethe through clenched teeth, trying to grip the carved wood, my fingers creating a squeaky whine as it slides along the polish. My vision blurs from tears, my chest constricting. “You shouldbe here.”

That deep, aching loss of knowing I’llneversee her again is a chasm in my soul, a cruel robbery of what should have been my mother’s presence. Even after all this time, all this pain, allthis suffering, all I have of her are stagnant mementos, like these dahlias.

I really will never see her again.

Not in this life.

I’ll never share the tale of how I escaped with a siren, about Kathleen, or see her hair gain silver streaks, or smell her faint perfume, or hear her say‘Jane’with trepidation when she thought she lost sight of me, because now that I’m older, I see how desperately she wanted to keep me safe in a city far too easy to get hurt… of how dangerous it was that my father is Charles Ritter.

My chest hurts. That same regret burns my veins like acid; if I had stabbed Mom’s killer when I first saw him, right as he had grabbed his blade… I just didn’t think he’d actually stab mymother. Dadalwayshad people around?—

I revoke my hand to grip my face a littletoohard; my shudder muffled through my fingers. My fingernails dig into my cheeks, violent retribution tightening my windpipes. I want tostabsomeone.

My lips curl in as my shudder morphs into something similar to Maryanne’s cries, and I slowly move away from the chair, my watery eyes unblinking as my jaw trembles, my breathing shaky. Even through this immeasurable pain, there’s a calm that steadies me as if I never used to be afraid.

My purpose has never been clearer.

The entire life my family wassupposedto relish in was utterly ruined for thecuntsthat broke us apart. Coalfell became such a new normal that its mirage temporarily blinded me, even if I remember how home issupposedto look.

Oh, how I willgutthese men.

I need it?—

The door to the room opens, and where I might have once spun quickly on my heels like a mouse afraid of its own tail, Iinstead slowly pivot, already knowing that I’d grab the candle stick next to me if I needed to use it.

The Council doesn’t mean shit anymore?—

What the fuck?

Cypress?

The rhythmic taps of her leather boots click on the stone floors. Faint whispers of conversations outside breech through the open door until, on rusted hinges, it shuts on its own. The rubies inside radiate like candles doused in oxygen, casting a rich red glow as if the light is filtered through stained glass.

My heart races like I’m seeing this woman for the first time. I can’t stand the way she glides, or the way the whites of her eyes surround her entire iris.

“What are you doing in here,” I state through tight lips, glaring at the witch.

Cypress scans the room, lingering her attention on the chair next to me, her black eyes suffused with power. “There is something that needs tending to.”

A gust of wind blows through the open holes in the ceilings, lifting dirt from the floor, rustling hooks from ropes that clink along the stone, and strands of my hair twirling in my face.

The room darkens as her black irises eat away at the white, giving her two glistening onyx voids for eyes; the rubies in the walls only seem brighter, her milky pallor now almost pink from how the entirety of the room reddens. I hardly blink, afraid that any closure of my eyes will result in Cypress suddenly appearing before me when they open again.

That resilience I just felt, admittedly, is very weak right now.

How am I supposed to handle a god if I can’t handle her?

“That is the appropriate thought, Jane.” Cypress sits in a chair with such elegance that it’s as if gravity doesn’t affect her. “We have a lot to cover, don’t we?”

My head slowly moves as my eyes dart around like I’ve drank too much coffee.She’s so fucking creepy.“Is this really necessary?” I ask, clearing my shaky voice, vaguely pointing around. “All of this?”

“Quite, actually. It’s how my magic works, Jane, and how I can read a singular wave ofeverythingrelevant to you. Including how I can tell that your heart is most hungry for thetruth. I am here to confirm that your father spoke with veracity, and now, it’s time that you’re givenpurpose.”

Oh, gods. I don’t need purpose anymore if it’s fromher.

“There are very few things I’d be willing to die for,” the witch continues. “And one of them is to prevent Misery from taking over the Balar Coasts. My god needs these lands. If there is one thing I do not lie about, it’s my role to ensureyoudon’t end up as Misery’s catalyst.”

When those black voids seem to peer right at me, I feelhaunted. Soren’s gaze might dig deep into me, but Cypress seems to seethroughme, like she can see my past, present, and future all in this very room.