School of the Crown Assassins

21

"What's wrong?" Axe asked after a long moment. His eyes were still fixed on the broom.

"I went to visit my mom," I told him. "In her prison cell."

Axe looked up but stayed silent, telling me to continue.

"You know things aren't good with her."

Axe nodded. "What happened?"

The scene around me faded into a dining room with a glass table and black chairs. The sky outside was covered in strange gray clouds which made everything look more black and white. The white countertop seemed to glow against the darkness until my mother turned on the light switch.

She turned back around, facing the stove which she had just turned off and lifted the pan.

"What's for dinner?" my ten-year-old self asked.

"Honey garlic salmon."

I groaned. "My breath's gonna stink."

"Don't worry," she said smiling as she shoved the salmon into plates. "We don't mind."

"But my friends will!"

Mother eyed me carefully. "Which friends?"

I rattled off a few names of the kids in the area and followed it with, "They'll hate me for it."

"Good. Then we'll get you all to ourselves."

"Hahaha. Sounds fantastic."

She raised an eyebrow. "Don't get sassy with me, little dove. There's still three years left before you're a teenager. Now, fill up some water for your dad and I."

I walked around the counter top and grabbed two glasses then paused. "What about me?"

"I've got some chocolate milk for you as a little surprise."

"Chocolate milk?" I whirled around. "Seriously Mom?"

"Not a teenager yet, remember? Besides, we both know you like it," she added winking.

Not being able to help the grin spreading across my face, I said, "Fine."

We set up the table, talking and laughing as she placed the dinner into our plates and poured the milk. When everything was ready, I asked, "Should I call Dad? I think he's upstairs in his office."

"Um, no, that's fine," she mumbled. "Let him work. I'll call him later if he stays too late."

"It's okay, I don't think he's working-"

"I said it's fine," she snapped. I blinked at her sudden change of mood and mumbled an apology before sitting down.

As quickly as my mother's light tone had left, it returned. We talked as we normally did during dinner, though she kept telling me to be quieter so that father doesn't get disturbed. I obliged, not bothering to remind her that he wasn't working, just reading a book.

By the end of dinner, I began to gather up the plates when I noticed my mother biting her lip and looking at the clock for the tenth time in five minutes.

"Should I go call Dad now?" I asked, assuming that's why she was checking the clock.

"No, no, no. He'll be fine. Leave him alone," she said waving her hand. "Aren't you going to drink your milk?"

"Yeah, just a little lat-"

"Drink it now," she commanded. "We don't want it to get spoiled."

I shrugged and raised the glass, about to take a sip when the smell hit my nose. It wasn't a bad one, but it had a strange tinge to it, something that was almost too sweet but yet a little sour. It only took me a moment to connect the new smell to one of my father's many lessons.