*
“Mama?” She called out, making her way down the stairs and into the living room. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath her, announcing her presence louder than her still feeble voice could.
“Come, Cerise, have a seat,” Opaline replied. Her voice was stiff, formal even. Cerise felt like she were a teenager again and that she had done something that merited a grounding. It was a stronger feeling than any of her pretendings had been all year.
When she peered into the living room, her mother was indeed not alone. Sitting opposite her in a rocking chair and clutching a coffee cup was a modest looking woman dressed in a faded brown linen dress, similar to the one Cerise had put on, with her identically faded brown hair tied up in a tight bun and not a stitch of makeup on her face. She looked normal enough, just another average woman from their home county, but as Cerise went to take a seat of her own, something about the woman struck her.
Her entire presence seem too bright. In fact, Cerise found it hard to look straight at her. She had to look at the woman in a sideways way or her eyes felt like they were burning.
“Aine,” her mother said, gesturing with tight, focused hand movements. “This is my daughter, Cerise. Cerise, I’d like you to meet Aine. She’s an....old friend.”
It struck Cerise that Aine must be older than she looked, but then it simultaneously struck her than Aine really didn’t look all that young either. It was hard to say with her eyes stinging so much. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Aine,” she said, looking mostly at the floor.
“Likewise,” Aine replied, barely moving her lips. “Your mother has told me much about you...and...of course...about your daughter.”
Cerise froze. This was too much. She couldn’t talk about Jaclyn. Not now. Not with some stranger that she couldn’t even properly look in the eye. She tried to remember her mother’s fortitude, but it was fleeing her faster than she could gather in air.
“Aine,” Opaline said quickly, cutting in to save Cerise from floundering. “It has been very hard on Cerise, dealing with this matter. I think it would be wise to be a touch more delicate.”
“You’ve coddled her enough, Opaline.” Aine stood and set her coffee mug down on the end table. “Something must be done about all this and if she doesn’t have the strength to do it herself...”
“Do what myself?” Cerise asked, her voice quivering. She tried to keep the waver out, but it stubbornly remained.
Aine’s face looked cold now, but Cerise still couldn’t set her eyes full on her. “Word has gotten out about the half-shade, Miss Mooreland. Word that she’s gone to the other side. People are calling for her head...for your head in lieu of it. For my head, if we don’t step in and stop this damnable little apocalypse from getting any further.”
Opaline moved forward, but Cerise pushed past her, grabbing Aine by the wrist. Her hand burned, but she ignored it. “You lay one finger on my daughter and I swear...”
Aine jerked her wrist, trying to pull it away, but Cerise held firm. She squeezed, pressing at the tiny bones, trying to crush them and feeling the heat race up her arm and through her body.
“Let go of me!” The woman screamed. Her tight bun was coming loose and making small crackling sounds.
“Swear to me you will not touch my daughter.” For the first time in ages, Cerise felt powerful again. She felt a strength in her rage and she liked it. “Swear to me.”
“This is bigger than you,” Aine replied, turning up the heat.
A gust of cold autumn wind rushed through the open window. The sheer force of it tore Cerise and Aine apart. Cerise lunged for her again, but prepared now, Aine jumped back, dodging her.
“That’s enough, Cerise,” Opaline said, her voice brokering no argument. “I will not have you treating our company in such a manner.”
There were plenty of protesting voices in Cerise’s mind, but she sat, carefully examining her hand, now blistering from the burn of Aine’s wrist. She narrowed her eyes at the prim woman, who was fixing her bun in a small hand mirror.
“Perhaps we can all agree to discuss what is to be done about Jaclyn in a more civilized manner?”
Cerise still did not speak. Her eyes did not leave Aine now. The burning sensation remained, but now she was determined to ignore it.
Aine shook her head, still looking into her mirror. “The matter at hand is the end of the Harvest. The end of this world. I think the time for civilized approaches has past, and judging from her display, Miss Mooreland feels the same.”
“I respectfully disagree,” Opaline replied, taking a sip of her coffee and looking between the two women with a determined expression. “Such a time has never passed.”