Page 157 of Veil of Blood and Bone

“What if I don’t want it to be your job?”

I can’t feel my fingers anymore.

“What if promising Mom you’d keep me safe is something you cling to in order to make yourself feel better?” she pushes.

An automatic curse, an excuse, lifts and stalls at my molars. I stare wistfully at the snow and ice-dusted road, but the familiar landmarks are all buried. Nothing but scraggly black twigs draped in white point the way out.

“I’d like to say it’s not a fair assessment and you cut me but there might be a hint of truth to it,” I admit.

Underhanded and true, which is why it burns so much when I swallow it down.

"I'm not your problem, Hel." She hisses the word underneath her breath, sharp enough to cut through the air and draw blood.

I flinch. "I never said⁠—"

"And you're not Mom. Stop acting like her."

This gets better and better. The statement is familiar because I've felt that way about myself for years now. I might as well have claimed the title.

"Did she ever tell you what rune she drew for me? Every time, the same one. Huh?" Audra waits as I shake my head. "Hagalaz."

Hagalaz (ᚺ).

"Fate's wrath," I say dully. "Disruption. Radical transformation."

My stomach plummets because in Norse mythology, Hagalaz is also heavily associated with the Norns, I believe. The goddesses of fate.

"A destiny even the gods can't avoid. So I don't need you to pack up and bolt because you're worried about me. I deal with tougher shit than this every day. What's one more catastrophe in our string of misfortune, Hel?"

The town slowly falls away behind us until it’s a stain on the horizon. A black smudge on a pane of glass. There's nothing left to say. She's right.

I've always wondered who needs who more in our dynamic, and to have it presented with such clarity, sharper than razors, is what I deserve.

“I’m sorry.” She sniffs. “I’m so tired.”

“Then why don’t you rest? I’ve got this.”

“You’ve never been great at driving in the snow. Not with these tires, either," Audra says slowly.

Our tiny apartment is behind us. The one where Mom once sent the landlady into fits by blasting Eminem.

We’d curl up on the couch, or the rug, and watch nineties movies on the laptop. Sometimes we’d read.

“The whiteout seems like it’s worse in town, for some reason. Look? The roads are clear now.”

Black asphalt stretches out for miles in front of us, disappearing beneath low branches of weighty tree limbs. Sunlight disappears in the canopy before showing its face again when the trees thin.

She rests her head against the seat. “Helene, I think running is a mistake. Nothing is ever accomplished by turning your back on it and pretending it doesn’t exist.”

“Look, if this shit follows us to New Orleans, then we'll come up with a fresh plan. But up to the point that it knocks on the door with a housewarming gift, I’m doing what I think is best, for you and for me.”

Fuck Nightshade Hollow.

Fuck the woman who brought us there in the first place, who thought a small town would hide her insecurities better than a city. Fuck the men who showed up and changed the tenor of my existence.

It hadn’t been great until now, but it was mine. It didn’t belong to some heroine who defied the gods.

"Don't you like one of them enough to stay? To try? You haven't had a boyfriend in a good three years," Audra says.