Cat Adams - Demon Song

The lights blinked once.

The other prisoner must have decided that Mom was the cause of her fall, because she was stomping toward us. I was all set to block her path when she was thrown backward again. Once more nobody came to her aid, and this time she narrowed her eyes and stared at Mom, probably wondering if she was using telekinesis.

“Are you … guarding Mom?”

Another blink caused everyone to look up and around. Wow. I didn’t know Ivy had it in her to expend this much energy in one session. But it would explain why Vicki couldn’t give me a good answer on whether Ivy was okay. In a prison setting, she was likely draining herself to exhaustion at every turn. I was both happy that someone I trusted was staying with Mom to help and distressed that she so obviously needed help.

I led Mom to the table and got her seated. Gran was nodding sadly as she touched her daughter’s hand. “This is what I wanted you to see, Celie. I don’t know what’s happened to her. They claim they’re not using any medication on her and that nobody is hurting her. But look at her. What are they doing to my baby?”

Tears formed at the corners of Gran’s eyes and I blinked back my own salty wetness. I had a feeling I knew what was wrong. But I was more afraid of that than if someone was hitting her. I touched her chin and turned her face toward mine. “Happy Birthday, Mom. It’s Celia. Can you hear me?” I spoke the words both out loud and into her mind. But there was nobody home to answer.

Her eyes were unfocused, staring somewhere over my shoulder. I looked up to the sparkling formation near the ceiling. “Did someone hurt her before you got here? Is that why you came?”

The overhead fluorescent lights blinked … and then blinked again.

No? That made my brow furrow as a shout came from the other side of the room. “Fix the damn lights! I’m getting a headache!”

“Who are you talking to, Celie?” Gran’s voice was nearly a whisper, as though she was afraid who would overhear.

“It’s Ivy,” I responded with a smile in a similar whisper. “She’s here and has been watching over Mom.”

I understood why Gran was whispering. We were getting way too much attention. The guard at the door was moving closer and two security cameras were spinning in our direction. The staff had already spent plenty of time on me at the entrance. The pale skin and fangs had bothered them no end, despite the fact that I’d walked in during broad daylight and passed through both the outer and inner magic perimeter. I’d even passed the holy-water test and had a cross shoved onto my wrist. But that didn’t mean I didn’t make them nervous. The more things that went wrong now, the more likely I would wind up in the cell next to my mother.

“Oh, honey, that’s not good. Ivy’s only a child. Things go on here she … shouldn’t be exposed to.”

“It’s okay, Gran. She’s helping . Really. She’s keeping Mom safe from the other women. And I don’t think you can stop her.” I didn’t add that there were quite a few things Ivy had seen in life that she probably shouldn’t. After Dad left, Mom had spent most of our childhood drinking, drugging, and sleeping around.

Rather than say something I shouldn’t, I stood and walked over to the guard near the door. “Excuse me. How would I go about talking to the doctor or nurse here? I think my mother is reacting badly to the medication they’ve given her.” It seemed safer to say that than what I truly believed. I was afraid my turning more siren had kicked in my mother’s abilities, too. Here in jail, she couldn’t see the ocean. That was going to be a problem. But I didn’t want to announce she had the same blood. Especially not after my rather public trial.

The woman was older, heavyset and dark skinned, with long hair worn in a bun at the back of her neck. She stood just about tall enough to stare at my neck, but I could tell immediately that she was all business and could probably teach me some new things about pain if I stepped out of line. She opened her mouth and I was transported out of California and straight south of the Mason-Dixon Line. “Honeychil’, your mama started doin’ that all on her own. I handle the medication calls on her block and I guarantee not a single pill has passed her lips. I’m worried about her, too. She’s not made for this place. She’s going downhill faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. It’s like she’s pining away, ready to join that pretty little girl of hers on the other side.”

The guard’s absolute acceptance and knowledge of Ivy spooked me even more. “You can see the ghost?”

“Oh, hell, yes. The women in my family are channelers from back before the War of Northern Aggression.” I honestly could say I hadn’t heard that term for the Civil War since … well, since high school. “You probably see a sparkly cloud, right?” I nodded. “I see a skinny little thing of about eight with long hair and a sad expression. Determined, though. Ain’t nobody gonna hurt her mama.” She made a motion with her chin toward the prisoner with the dreadlocks. “And I’m not inclined to stop her from trying. Nothing in the rule book says I have to stop a guardian angel from guardianing.”

Despite the mangled language, I agreed. “She was a pretty heavy drinker, though. Could that be affecting her?”

The guard shrugged. “Body should have detoxed in the first week. I never say never, but I haven’t seen it before.”

“And you’ve been a guard for—?”

“Twenty-three years now. Two federal prisons, two state, and now here. I like it here best. Not many real badasses in this place, despite what Goldilocks over there believes she is.” She gave me a small, evil smile. “She wouldn’t know a badass until after one laid her flat. Frankly, makes me smile to see that tiny little girl whup her butt.” Then she shook her head sadly. “Unfortunately, in that time I haven’t seen whatever’s wrong with your mama.”

She shook her head and stared at Mom. I followed her gaze to take in the flaccid features and lifeless feel. She made tsking noises and let out a sigh. “This place is killing her and I don’t know there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

7

Lieutenant Rogers,the southern guard, promised to put our cards in Mom’s cell for when Mom was “feeling better.” Then I’d dropped off Gran after promising I’d speak to the administrator of the jail, who had already gone home. There had to be something we could do to get Mom back to normal. I might find her a royal pain in the ass when she was drunk, but even that was better than how she was now.

I was finally on my way to Birchwoods, only an hour late. I’d called Gwen and asked if she could stay. She’d agreed and hadn’t even given me one of her veiled admonishments about time management or consideration for others. That meant it was pretty serious.

I was praying under my breath as I approached the guard station that the person handling the gate was anyone but Gerry.

No such luck.

He opened the door to the tiny shack and put out a hand for me to stop. I hadn’t talked to him since the whole Eirene thing. I had no doubt it was going to be awkward at best. He’d been head of security until he went berserk on me after the trial. Then he’d been demoted back to gate jockey. But maybe if we both pretended it never happened, we could eventually heal. I was at least willing to give it a try.

I rolled down the window. The sun was low enough on the horizon that it stung. I leaned my head backward as casually as possible to stay in the shade. “Afternoon, Gerry. Dr. Talbert is expecting me.”

There was a long enough pause that I was forced to look at his face. His lips were a tight line and I could swear I could hear him grinding his teeth. “Celia…” The way he said it made my discomfort rise.