Vampiric: Chapter Six, Part 3

“You want to learn a new trick?” my mom asked as she twirled in the middle of the room. It was the first coherent sound she'd made for what seemed like hours. She had just been spinning and giggling to herself, occasionally muttering something under her breath in a high pitched voice so it came out like series of squeaks.

That she had said anything sensible took so long for me to register after the string of nonsense I had been ignoring, she stopped her spinning to watch where I had spread out under the window in what was surely fake sunlight—it didn’t even feel warm.

“What trick?” I replied, sitting up on my elbows.

As was characteristically her, she raced, light-footed, to plop down beside me, her eyes wide and excited. She leaned close and whispered in my ear, “Reading.”

“What?” My first thought being she was kidding. I mean, reading? I must have misheard.

“Reading,” she repeated softly, the energy inside her causing her to start bouncing on her haunches. “It's really fun, but you can't tell anyone about it because it's top secret.”

Top secret? If she hadn't sounded as lucid as she did, I would have thought she was pulling my leg. The way she made it sound, it seemed more like something for a spy. Not for air elementals.

“Why is it so secret?” I asked, for lack of any other question or comment.

“Because you're reading thoughts,” she said vaguely as I sat up. “They're immediate thoughts, other thoughts are trickier to find and I haven't heard of anyone who figured out how to get that deep. But it's still really useful. You can find out if what someone is saying is really what they mean. It also tells you what kind of mood they're in.”

“What about seeing memories?”

“That's viewing, silly. Don't you know that one?” She waved it off. “That's as simple as pulling. If you can't do those, you definitely can't do reading.”

“I can; I learned viewing by accident;” I left out it was while I was hoping I could be more like her. “And pulling I learned by necessity.” If eavesdropping could be considered necessity. And I believed one could make a strong argument that satisfying curiosity was a necessity.

“Good,” she said, nodding, “you'll need the combination of the two to learn reading.”

“How so?”

“Well, if you stop rushing me, I'll explain it to you,” she sassed, crossing her arms and puffing her lips out.

“I'll shush,” I promised, zipping closed my lips.

“Okay.” She sat there, still. I watched her, waiting for her to say something more. All she did was look around, occasionally making a face at me for no apparent reason.

“Well?” I inquired, jarring her to attention.

“Sorry,” she squeaked, her eyes growing large and a hand flying to her lips. “I forgot, so sorry. How can I make it up to you, Sweetie?”

“By teaching me reading,” I said slowly, wondering if she was serious. She had just told me to shush so she could explain it. I told myself I wouldn’t be upset with her; I didn’t know how serious her mental damage might be and I was lucky she was lucid enough at times to teach me anything.

“I am serious,” she stated suddenly. “And I thank you for not being upset with me.”

“I never said you weren't serious. Nor did I ever say anything about being upset with you.”

“You didn't say it, but you thought it,” she said smugly. “That's reading.”

Reminding myself not to think anything negative, I questioned, “Are you going to explain how?”

“Like I said, it's a mix of viewing and pulling;” she shrugged, as if it were the simplest concept in the world. “You grab what they aren't saying, but instead of watching it, you just pull it to you. Even when they aren't offering it to you,” Mom explained, nodding in a very matter-of-fact way. “So I'm going to think something about you—something I haven't told you. You tell me what I'm thinking.”

I watched her face, concentrating on seeing what she was thinking. Something shimmered over her head. Before it changed or dispersed, I pulled it toward me, hearing her voice inside my head. It scared me at first how clear it was. I took a moment to wonder if my own voice sounded as loudly in her mind as her voice sounded in mine. Tuning back in, I realized her thought was ending and I had missed a huge chunk of it. Replaying it, I didn't know if I would be able to contain myself. It touched me. More so than I thought was possible.

“You mean it?” I asked her.

“What did I think?” she insisted, calm though there was a nervous edge to her voice.

Wiping away a tear that had escaped my eye, I answered, “That leaving Dad and I was the hardest thing you ever had to do, and you're sorry you can't be better all of the time now. That you always wanted to see me, but you never wanted me to see you like—” The words were stuck in my throat before I could finish.

Her thin arms wound around me, pulling me closer to her. She rubbed my back and I knew she meant it, every word. Though the last words were stuck in my throat, her thoughts kept replaying in my mind:

Leaving you and your father was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I'm sorry I can't be well all the time, but I try. I have always wanted to see you grown up, but I never wanted you to see me like this. I must say, though, that I'm proud of you. You've learned a lot, and you've taken care of me. You have exceeded my every hope for you, and I know you'll make a lasting impression on the world, just as you are meant to.

Had anyone else told me that, I doubt it would have moved me so. But, coming from her, my mom, it meant the world.