Born Wicked

XV

"I'm worried about you," Gran says to me.

I nod. My misery is palpable. I saw it on my face when I looked in the mirror this morning.

Last night had been rough, to put it mildly. I'd come home, unable to eat dinner, not wanting to talk about anything, and went to bed early. Not that that had done any good. I tossed and turned, unable to focus on relaxing so I could sleep.

Bullies, dead parents, secrets, the Guild, Ethan, and a power inside me that I donn't even come close to understanding. I'd finally passed out at about three am, only to have nightmares that I couldn't remember when I woke, sweaty and twisted in my bedding at six.

I look haggard. My dark hair making my sleep-deprived face look pale and grey, which makes the smudges under my eyes look purplish. The best I could do was try some make-up and pull my long, wavy hair off my face and into a loose, messy coil on top of my head. I had hoped the yellow tee shirt I put on would help disguise the faded look I have this morning. I guess not.

"Jay-Lynn," Gran puts her warm, weathered hand on top of mine where it sits on the table. "Try and eat your breakfast, at least."

I look down at my plate of eggs and pancakes that she made me and my stomach flips. But one look at Gran and I try to put some of it into my system. She looks worried, I love her too much to make her worry.

We sit in more silence as I force myself to eat a pancake and a few forkfuls of scrambled eggs, when Gran finally says, "I would teach you myself if I had a choice, Jayme-Lynn."

I feel all doe-eyed and raw when I look up at her words. I swallow my eggs. "I know, Gran." I murmur.

She wipes a tear off her cheek, and as hurt and afraid as I feel, guilt washes over me, followed by shame.

"I'm sorry," I mumble.

She shakes her head. "No, sweetheart. I'm sorry. The only thing I can do is my best to protect you. Do you understand that? You're all I have left."

That's what does it. I lean over the oak table and hug my grandmother tight. "I know. I love you, Gran."

She rubs my back and whimpers a little before pulling away. She offers me a weak, tear-filled smile. "You look so much like your father," she says wistfully. "But you're just like your mother."

I smile weakly. "Really?"

The first part of what she says, that I look like my dad, is true. I have his dark hair, his grey eyes and the same stubborn tilt in my jawline. John Price wasn't anything if he wasn't stubborn, Gran always says. My mother, Mattie was the opposite. Blond like Gran with brilliant blue eyes, and short and petite.

She reminded me of a pixie, like Tinker Bell. Little with a lot of sparkle to her. I guess that was her magic. She was earthy and warm and always laughing and smiling. I have very few memories of my mother angry or upset. She was happiness personified. I'm more of a brooder. A suffer-in-silence type. Like my dad.

Gran smiles wistfully. "You may be stubborn and moody like your dad, but you're thoughtful and gracious like your mother. You love like she did," she says and I feel my chest tighten. "And don't mistake it, dear one, Mattie was headstrong. She matched your father well."

I laugh. In all the crazy happening in my life right now, I feel lighter than I did moments ago. Whatever reasons the Guild has for despising me, whatever problems the Sorcers and their children have caused me, I know my parents and my grandmother only did what they felt they had to, to protect me. I trust in their love. It's all I've ever had.