She is my mother. She has to be my mother. I remember nothing other than this, but she is holding my hand, so she has to be my mother. Then why is there so much fear? Why does my gut twist inside me like so? My teeth clatter as I follow her out of the woods, my clothes drenched, my hair clinging to my cheeks. I follow her footfalls with misty eyes, sob after sob escaping my lips.
“Where are we going?” I try again, but it’s the hundredth time, and I should have known. I should have known her answer wouldn’t change.
“Quiet, child. We’re almost there.” There’s something to her nasal voice, something I can’t quite point out. She looks over her shoulders. Is she afraid? Is someone following us?
I open my mouth to ask about that, quickening my pace to catch up to her. My hand stretched out, I try to hold on to her pant leg. She slaps my hand away, and in her face, I see that mix of disgust and fear once more.
What have I done? Why does my mother hate me so?
A big house rises from between the trees. It’s well hidden, and the thundering rain keeps all other sounds away. Mom leads me ahead, slipping, skidding in the mud. I look down at her boots, caked with brown, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She walks ahead as if she has her mind full of too many important things.
The cold makes everything hazy. The memory is foggy, like looking into a snow globe. My body still shakes when I stand on a porch, protected from the rain. The cold still makes me clench my jaw hard, the fear keeping me grounded. I don’t know what’s about to happen, but I’m pretty sure it’s something bad.
The door opens. It’s made of wood, thick and dark, and the gaping hole of the entrance makes a chill race down my spine. Not because of the cold, but because I know everything will change.
“Take her,” Mom says, shoving me away from her body and into the darkness.
“Mom!” I cry out. She only glares at me, fire in her pupils. “Mom, what’s happening?” Fear overtakes me, and more tears spring free, choking me, robbing me of breath.
Darkness eats up at the corners of my sight. Mom looks back at me, and there’s peace on her face. I could swear a smile tugs at the corner of her lip. Why is she so happy to get rid of me? What have I done?
“Are you coming back?” The words burst out, but someone is tugging me away, and Mom grows smaller and smaller.
“No.” And the door closes.
The worst part? I feel it in every part of my being, deep into my soul. She’s speaking the truth.
A plate clattersonto the island in front of me. I jerk back from my memories to the present. Donatello smiles, motioning for the pile of pancakes he just placed on the island. “Buon appetito.”
I clear my throat, sneaking a glance at Apollo. He takes a seat, picks up a fork, and serves our plates. He doesn’t sound like he pities me or thinks I’m crazy or anything of the sort. Apollo seems unaffected, and I like it, so I plop down next to him and tug my plate closer.
Donatello sits on my other side and offers me a bowl full of berries. Blueberries, sliced strawberries, raspberries. There are even blackberries, and I haven’t seen those in a while. I pile them on top of my pancakes, then lather everything up with syrup, a smile on my face.
“You eating pancakes or syrup soup, mate?” Apollo’s voice is a mix of mock surprise and amusement. His pancakes have only a dab of butter on top.
I stick my tongue out at him. “Take care of your dinner, sexy.”
He chuckles at me. “The only downside about them is that the first ones always get cold by the time you finish cooking.”
“True that,” Donatello mutters, slicing his pancake into fork-sized bits and spearing berries with it.
I blink between the two, shocked they agree about something. Better not mention it. They might change their mind. Warmth reaches me from the right, and I turn my head to see Apollo blowing at his pancakes.
“Thought you said they were cool?” I ask, confusion etched in my voice.
“They are,” he agrees, blowing again. I catch the pancake turning brown, browner, until a tiny flame sparks. “Fuck,” he mutters before putting the pancake down and killing the ember.
I blink at him. “You burned the pancake.”
“Yeah, my mistake.”
“With your breath.”
Apollo shoots me a glance. “Yeah.” He arches an eyebrow, the confusion on my face mirrored on his.
Donatello chuckles. “She doesn’t know what sort of animal you are.”
Apollo laughs. “Oh, right. Never mentioned. I’m a dragon shifter, mate. Hot breath is part of the package.”