Alpha, I Won’t Let You Banish Me Again
“In the gwarden in the fwairy place.”
“In the gazebo. In the Fae Land. Yes.”
She nodded, very serious. She had known about my mother since we stopped talking about her in secret, in the careful, edited way that four-year-olds know about complicated grandmothers. She had asked, twice, whether Gwandma was “a little bit dead” and I had told her no, both times, with as much certainty as I could put into my voice.
“There is a way to wake her,” I said. “Mommy found it. It’s a very old spell. And the spell needs two people, baby. It needs me, because I have the fire. And it needs you, because you have the ice.”
Bab Populer