Thirteen (Otherworld 13)

And that was that. Nothing more to be done except submit to Nast custody and trust that this time we'd get our due process.

They took us back to headquarters. To the executive boardroom, no less, where Stein said we'd rest--under his guard--until everyone arrived for the hearing.

While we waited, we were allowed to take showers in the executive wing. Then a Cabal doctor tended to Adam's injuries and confirmed that, yes, his ribs were cracked, but already healing nicely. We were back in the boardroom, getting ready to eat, when the guards brought Mom in.

She walked in with her usual confident stride, her hair sleekly brushed, the sword on her back, gaze fixed on me, her smile genuine. When I hurried over and hugged her, she didn't wince, gave no sign she was hiding injuries.

"Hey, baby, you okay?"

I nodded. "You?"

"Better than you, I bet." She kissed my cheek, then checked out my rumpled clothing and shot a glare around the room. "Seems the company advisers decided that while they weren't convinced of my angel-hood, it was best not to take any chances by mistreating me. They locked me up in a lead-lined cell, but I was comfortable enough. I think they were hoping the Fates would spirit me back and they could wash their hands of the matter."

"They let you keep the sword."

"Mmm." She twisted around. It was bound by a sparking red wire. "Major mojo. Cost a prisoner his life. It seems to be holding, though. Unfortunately. How's Adam?"

I'd thought he was right beside me, but now I realized he'd stayed across the room.

"Are you going to introduce us?" Mom said.

"Intro--?"

Adam and my mother had never met. Even as I realized that, there was a moment where I thought I must be wrong. They'd each been such a huge part of my life, but of opposite halves of it. Although I'd had some contact with my mother for years--and Adam had been there when she'd been "around" in ghostly form, with Jaime mediating--they'd never met face-to-face.

I glanced over at him, now pouring soda into cups for both of us. I shoved my trembling hands into my pockets.

"It's okay, baby," Mom said, tugging one hand out and squeezing it. "I know."

That's all she said--"I know." But when I looked at him, I knew she knew what Adam meant to me. My cheeks heated.

"Something's changed, hasn't it?" she said.

I started to nod, then shrugged, feeling like I was eleven years old again, when I'd told her about a boy at school who wanted me to come to the dance and I thought he might like me, but I wasn't sure.

"Maybe," I said. "I think so."

"It has," she murmured. "I can see it in the way he looks at you."

I went bright red at that. As we approached, Adam set down the cups and turned to greet us. He smiled, but it wasn't his usual grin. Not nervous, either. Guarded, maybe? It wasn't what I expected and it threw me a little.

"Adam, this, uh, is my mom," I said.

"Are you sure?" His grin peeked out now. "Because I don't see a resemblance."

Mom laughed and she embraced him, catching him off-guard. As I said, Mom isn't the hugging type, so it startled me a bit, too.

As she pulled back, she whispered in his ear, probably thinking I couldn't hear, "I should have sent her back to Miami. I'm sorry."

"No, that's all--" he began.

"It's not all right," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

When she stepped back, that guarded look had disappeared, and I understood that Adam had been angry with her for taking me along in New Orleans. He didn't want to be angry--and he sure as hell didn't want me knowing he was angry--but he had been.

"Will you eat now?" he whispered as he came over with my drink.

I nodded, took a plate and loaded it up. Fast food--not much else open at this hour--but it's not like I don't eat the stuff by choice anyway.