Free Page of Swords (The Demon's Apprentice Book 2) by Ben Reeder

would a life preserver, and I loosened my arms when I realized how much smaller she seemed than I remembered.
    One of her hands came up to stroke my hair, and her voice sounded in my ear.
    “Chance, honey, I’m sorry I let this happen to you,” she whispered hoarsely.
    “No, Mom. It’s not your fault either.”
    “So, are we going to blame this all on your father?”
    “Yeah. Pretty much.” We pulled back a little and I gave her a weak smile. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Mom. Please, I need you to forgive me for that.”
    “Son, there’s nothing to . . . but you don’t see it that way, do you?”
    I shook my head.
    “Of course I forgive you. I never told you what I knew, either. Can you forgive me for that?”
    “Yeah, no problem, Mom. But why didn’t you tell me? I mean, I was a warlock. It wouldn’t have been a big deal to me.”
    “I didn’t know that sweetie. The world I had to step into and . . . learn to accept when I went to the Conclave was so different from what I knew, I was pretty sure I’d lost my mind. I tried once to tell a friend about it, someone I thought would understand it. She was a Wiccan high priestess, and she knew more about mysticism than anyone I knew. But when I told her about the Underground, and the Conclave, she thought that I was telling her about a past life. I tried to tell her this was all here and now, that it was very real, and do you know what she told me, honey? That past life visions can seem very real when they happen, but that we need to remember that nothing in them can hurt us, and to wrap ourselves in white light, and so on. Can you imagine what I thought my apparently normal teenage son was going to say?”
    “If you ever have one, I'll ask him. But, how did you know, Mom? About tonight?”
    “Your girlfriend came over to tell me. You never told me you were dating a cheerleader, sweetie.”
    “I'm not, Mom. Did she tell you that?”
    “She didn't have to. I could see it in her eyes.”
    “We're not dating.”
    “She obviously doesn't think that. She was practically in hysterics when she knocked on the door.”
    “It's . . . complicated, Mom.” I stood up and offered Mom a hand.
    “It always is when you're fifteen. Are you going to be all right for a little while? I need to go pick up your sister from Wanda's.” My nod seemed to reassure her a little. “There are leftovers in the refrigerator.”
    Fifteen minutes later, Mom was pulling out of the driveway, and I had a plain black t-shirt on. The clock over the sink showed the fat little chef’s big hand on the eleven, and his short hand on the six. Outside the window, the neighbor’s white garage was turning grey in the predawn glow, and the birds were warming up for their morning performance. I was supposed to be getting up now, not rummaging around for a replacement for dinner.
    Mom’s fridge yielded a decent substitute for dinner and breakfast in the form of cold moussaka, a blend of potatoes, onions, and beef mixed into a casserole. It was better hot from the oven, but it reheated well enough in the microwave that I called it good.
    I was halfway through my first bowl when I heard Shade’s bike pull up in the back. I looked out the window in time to see her stop on the narrow grass strip between the edge of Mom’s chain link fence and the asphalt alleyway. She flipped her visor up with one hand, but she didn’t straighten from the handlebars. Even from across the yard, I could see the doubt on her face, even though all I could see was her eyes and her slightly upturned nose. It didn’t hurt that she looked incredible in black leather. But seeing the uncertainty in her eyes kicked a switch on in my head, and I was out the back door before I knew it.
    “Am I welcome in the home of my Pack's advisor, gothi ?” she asked, her tone formal. The brittle edge to her voice felt like a knife in my stomach. I answered by opening the gate for her and stepping back.
    She got off the bike and pulled her