Prey and Mercy

II. Mortal Mother Dearest

"Too many candles." Its an estimate; I'm just throwing things out there. How many candles are too much?

Leonora closes the closet door on the shrine we keep in the back of the house. "Stash the wine."

"Did you make sure to hide the tomes?"

It's a good two hours before we're both pacing the kitchen, exhausted. I can  smell the pungent, although tart, bouquet of wine on Leonora's breath and my eyes helplessly flicker to the miniature goddess statue she tried to shove beneath the couch. Perseus has his collar on, his spell binding pendant replaced with a charming golden bell.

He meows at me upon passing and rubs his head up against Leo's ankles.

"Do you think mom will bring Scott?" I can't help but ask. I just finished parting the curtains, fluffing the pillows, and sweeping the floor. There's an acute ache in my back from the chores but I know that for mom it's worth it. It's always worth it.

Leo claims she saw him once in passing over to the mortal realm for an "errand." She described him as burly but not tough with messy straight hair and a demeanor that could make mountains part. He's the kind of nice guy, she said, that you'd immediately want to friend-zone or be friends-with-benefits with.

"Scott would be lost here." Leo sweeps her hair back from her face and goes to work washing the dishes. "He's too mortal for his own good."

Aren't we? I want to say. We lack handmaidens to clean our clothes, sweep the house, or do the freaking dishes. The reality is: being a lowly family, for the most part, sucks but then I involuntarily remember the reason why we became this way and my feelings become conflicted.

The Reynes House is laughable with a total of four living members, not including my mother that lives in the mortal realm. We're a joke. An utter disgrace to the God of Death and everything he stands for. Maybe it's because we drop like flies. We crack like autumn leaves, having already fallen from grace, and let people look down at us but do nothing for the world  we're born into.

I'm reminded of this every time I see my family tree. When will Rhymos rid the world of the last remaining four? I wonder. Or can I wait out Prey's satisfaction?

Pushing the bad thoughts out, I remember that our mother will be here in little over half an hour, so I get to work.

It's her favorite, an unspoken tradition of mine. Macaroni and Cheese. For some reason she says it helps upon returning to the realm, lessens the effects of her headache and the sickness that overcomes her. I'm happy to do anything to make her passover less painful, so I don't mind learning how to grate cheese, stir milk, and throw things in the oven.

My sister, on the other hand, isn't much of a chef.

I open the fridge, prop the milk against my rib-cage. "Leo, I thought you went to the garden for cheese."

She looks up at me from wiping her hands, strands of her hair coming undone. My own sister gazes upon me like a servant. Milena would throw a fit. "I forgot. Come up with something else."

"I can't just wing mom's happiness."

"Of course, you can. Gush about how you want to give it all up to live in her little suburban house with Scotty and she'll melt. She always does."

That's not true. "I don't want to give it all up."

Leo scowls. "Could have fooled me."

Normally I'd argue back; it's my second nature.

But she doesn't give another word and proceeds to march past me and up the stairs, probably to change into something more fitting for the occasion. I bite my tongue as she disappears across the second landing and taste blood.