Page 113 of The Immortal’s Mark

It turns out that when Gregory says we will be going on a mission, he actually means the professionals will go on a mission.

At least, that’s what I figure out when the task force sits down to discuss the situation the following evening at our new safehouse in D.C.

To be fair, it isn’t Gregory who insists I stay behind.

It’s my mother.

“Absolutely not,” my mother says the second I ask about joining the group. “It’s out of the question.”

I avert my gaze and glare at the patterned rug beneath my sneakers, forcing myself to control the surge of emotion that wants to spill out of me in one ugly, humiliating wave.

“Perhaps there is some way the girl can attend,” Lucas speaks up on my behalf. His voice is careful, diplomatic. “I’m interested in Paige getting field experience. We can arrange for her and Darcie to stay back in the van while the rest of us go inside the party.”

“Absolutely not,” she repeats. She doesn’t even have the decency to pretend to consider the compromise. “Darcie stays here.”

When no one else dares to challenge the witch, I can’t take it anymore. I shove off the sofa and stomp out of the crowded study.

It’s a bratty move.

I know it.

But it’s either look like a brat by leaving or for getting into an argument with my mother in front of every member of the task force. Either way, I lose.

Crossing the immense Virginian home, I’m momentarily lost as I try to remember which way to go to the room I’m staying in.

Gregory led me to it immediately after arriving, smiling at my astonishment when I saw that all my belongings not only made it to the new location, but were already unpacked and arranged.

My continued awe of magic dwindles when I remember what my mother just pulled.

I stomp down the hall on my right, find my room, then slam the door shut in a petty display I’m not proud of. I throw myself onto the bed and roll over to stare blankly at the ceiling.

I barely have time to exhale before light taps rap against the door.

“What?” I call, not bothering to soften my tone. I don’t have the energy to be cordial. I’m too busy trying to keep myself from storming back into the study and telling a certain witch exactly what I think of her.

“Can I come in?” my mother’s voice travels through the door.

My whole body goes rigid.

“I want to be alone,” I call back.

The door opens anyway.

And that infuriates me.

I bolt upright.

My mother takes a single step inside. Her expression is blank. “I only want a chance to explain myself.”

“Don’t bother.” I scowl. “It doesn’t matter.”

She sighs and shuts the door behind her.

I fist the comforter under my hands and count to ten.

Once I’m sure I’m not going to scream, I grit out, “I don’t want to talk.”

“This won’t take long.”