“And you woke up this morning, three weeks later, with the burning urge to ask about it?” She snapped at me annoyed. She stood up then walked across the large room toward the front windows. I knew she was trying to sense it, the draw of the spell. I waited, now more concerned than before. I started to tell her about the man when her body went rigid. She didn’t move and neither did I as I watched her.

What was only moments felt like an eternity when she finally turned around to face me. The look in her eyes was one so foreign it took me a moment to read it correctly. My mother had never shown any fear. Seeing it now was unique and slightly terrifying.

“That’s not a caster spell,” she said softer than normal.

“What is it then?” I asked growing frustrated.

She lifted her shoulders then dropped them. “I have no fucking clue,” was her unexpected response. How did she not know what it was and what could place a barrier like that other than a caster?

“Seriously? What else could it be? It’s keeping a man out for a reason. One specific man. There is magic in it. I felt it, you can feel it,” I was making solid points, but she just shook her head.

“That’s not magic,” she said.

That made no sense. Of course, it was magic. “How can it not be magic?”

She turned back to look outside and then crossed her arms over her chest and shivered. My mother had never looked fragile or weak until this moment. Oddly enough, I didn’t care for it much. She was shallow, beautiful, wicked, and powerful. I was comfortable with that knowledge. But I realized, in that moment, that seeing her appear weak bothered me. I didn’t want her to be vulnerable and that shocked me more than anything else we were discussing. She had never shown me love or motherly affection, yet I had wanted her to. Most of my childhood I’d ached for it, even when I knew she was evil. She was my mom. It had to be that inner little girl who was bothered by my mother appearing weak and vulnerable.

I stood there watching her and processing these new feelings while trying to decide on whether to tell her what the stranger said, how he had looked, how he had vanished into thin air, or keeping it all to myself. When she didn’t say anything after several minutes, I made my decision.