When she wraps her arms around me, all I feel is heat. Not the cool, smooth texture of her brown skin, but a growing flame pressing outward, as if I could wrap my arms around root itself.

Hugging my mother in death feels like my magic in life. Hot-bright burning beneath the surface, a near eruption. Weapon turned wound, open and raw.

‘Hey, honeybunch,’ she murmurs, and pulls back. Her flame-tinged hand rests on my cheek.

“Mommy,” I whisper.

She smiles, looking me over. ‘I’ll never say you’re too big to call me that, but you are growing up. Seventeen soon.’

I laugh through tears. I’d completely forgotten. “You keep up with my birthday on the other side?”

‘That’s one moment in time I will never forget, wherever I am.’ She pulls me close, pressing my head underneath her chin. ‘Our Brave Bree.’ She looks over my shoulder, beyond the flame circle. I follow her gaze—Alice has leapt to her feet, with tears streaming down her face.

My mother dips her chin. ‘I knew you would be there for her, Alice.’ She surveys William, then Selwyn. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. ‘It appears I need to thank you all for caring for Bree.’

Movement and sound behind me. Alice crying so hard, I might start, too. “There’s so much I want to ask you. Things I need to know. I need your help—”

She spots her bracelet in my palm. ‘Did you find the hidden memory?’

“I did,” I whisper. “How long can you stay?”

She leans back, pressing a hand against the curls at my temple, with that line between her brow. She pulls at the white strands, frowning. ‘Not long. Ask your questions.’

I know the question I need to ask. Know it now, here, more clearly than ever. “Did you ever call on our root of your own volition?”

Her brows pinch in the middle. ‘No.’

I try to mask my disappointment, but mothers notice everything.

She smiles and hugs me tight. ‘No ancestor can direct you how to live your life in the present. But they will show you their lives, and hope you glean what you need. Keep searching.’ A beat, then she whispers, ‘I know you want to stop death, Bree, but be careful. Grief takes many forms. Be certain you aren’t still in its throes, but callin’ it somethin’ else.’

Her warning strikes at the part of me that is drawn to Arthur and his promises, but I set it aside when I sense that she’s leaving. “Wait.”

She pauses, but I see the light within her growing dim.

I glance over my shoulder, but Sel hasn’t turned away, and I know he’s listening. “The woman that helped you hide the memory. Was that Sel’s mother?”

My mother smiles, fond and sad at once. ‘Yes. Natasia.’

I have to ask. “Do you know where she is?”