“I spoke to her last night. We knew each other before the war.”

“When you were doing what exactly?” Forcing a smile, I motion my hand in small circles, encouraging her to finish the thought.

Mom sighs. “I know you’re frustrated that I don’t discuss my past.” She stares at the fabric in her hands for a time, then sets it onto her lap. “After we argued last night, I went to speak with Verus. She’s seen you in the Arena and wants to help. She has a gift for seeing both the past and future. We agreed that she’ll send you dreams of what happened to me.”

I lean back in my chair. “The way she described it in my dreams, the whole thing seemed a little more dramatic than that.”

“It’s called dreamscaping. A handful of angels and demons have the power to show you visions of the past or future while you sleep. Other times they can talk to you, communicate with you while you dream. The morning after a dreamscape from Verus, you can come and ask me questions.” She lets out a ragged breath. “That’s the best I can do.”

I work hard to keep my voice low and calm. I’m so close to the answers I need, why all the drama? “Please, Mom. Why not just tell me?”

“Perhaps after Verus shows you some things, you’ll discover the answer to that question on your own.” Her lower jaw quivers.

I liked it better when she fought me on this. A guilty weight settles onto my shoulders. Whatever happened to Mom during the war, it must have been pretty awful. I force another smile. “Look, the dream thing is fine. Thanks for reaching out to Verus.” I reach across the table, wrap her hand in mine. “When will she send me the dreamscapes?”

“I don’t know. Just promise you’ll find me right after they happen.”

“Sure, I will.”

The phone starts to ring. And ring. And ring. Purgatory only gets washed up, ancient technology. In this case, our phone is a heavy brick of a base adorned with a rotary dial and topped by a handset so large, you could use it as a weapon. I watch the contraption vibrate with each deafening ring and grimace. Cissy must have woken up.

Mom dries her eyes with her fingertips. “Are you going to answer that?”

My upper lip curls. “I’d rather not. I have a pretty good idea who it is.” The answering machine kicks on. This thing is a contraption as large as shoebox that records our missed calls. I’m not sure humans even use crap like this anymore. I never see answering machines on the Human Channel unless I’m catching reruns of Golden Girls or Murder, She Wrote.